I'm Going to College

The Christmas season is upon us here in the North Georgia mountains, and things are pretty quiet. This is the Bible Belt, and the local population is predominantly Christian and very traditional. They take Christmas seriously. It is time for family and friends, good cheer, holiday greetings, carols, crèches with the little baby Jesus and the three wise men, Christmas morning church services, and Santa Claus. Things slow down around here this time of year. As a consequence, there is not much to report.

I’ve been feeling a little restless lately so I decided I needed new activity. I am going back to college. That’s a slight exaggeration but I have signed up to take a college level course at the University of North Georgia (UNG).

UNG recently opened a branch campus here in Fannin County. Campus may be an overstatement. The campus is actually a small office suite with one classroom. The winter semester consists of five freshman level courses and one sophomore level course, and I have signed up for the sophomore level political science course entitled Global Issues.

I majored in political science with an emphasis on international relations in college so I figure a course in global issues is right up my alley. I realize my prior studies may be a little dated (not to mention foggy) since I went to college back at the end of the Viet Nam era when international relations focused on the Cold War and relations between the U.S., Russia and China. Still, I expect that I have paid way more attention to world affairs over the course of my lifetime than your average 19-year-old.

I also suspect I have other advantages over a typical college student. I actually learned to read and write in an era before twitter and instant text messaging. I spent most of my life in a career that required critical analysis, the capacity to think logically and marshal arguments and the ability to communicate effectively. Most importantly, I believe I have reached the point in life where I know my ass from a hole in the ground. I thought I did when I was college-aged (as did we all) but now know I was sadly mistaken.

My biggest concern is that the professor will be a frappuccino-sipping, Birkenstock-wearing, liberal commie pinko intent on promoting a progressive new world order who believes in gun control, the United Nations, open borders and Al Gore and who opposes the idea of American exceptionalism, nation-states and carpet bombing. And if that son-of-a-bitch bad mouths the American military, we’re going to get it on. Oh, I forgot to tell you that I intend to be open-minded and non-judgmental when I take the course.

The class starts the second week of January. I’m looking forward to showing up in my newly purchased University of North Georgia t-shirt (Go Nighthawks!) and getting educated. I’ll let you know how it goes.

This is my last post before Christmas. I hope all of you have a Merry Christmas.

“Christmas in Dixie” by Alabama

By now in New York City, there's snow on the ground

And out in California, the sunshine's falling down.

And, maybe down in Memphis, Graceland's all in lights

And in Atlanta, Georgia, there's peace on earth tonight.

Christmas in Dixie, it's snowin' in the pines.

Merry Christmas from Dixie, to everyone tonight.

It's windy in Chicago, the kids are out of school.

There's magic in Motown, the city's on the move.

In Jackson, Mississippi, to Charlotte, Caroline

And all across the nation, it's the peaceful Christmas time.

Christmas in Dixie, it's snowin' in the pines

Merry Christmas from Dixie, to everyone tonight

And from Fort Payne, Alabama

God bless y'all, we love ya.

Happy New Year, good night,

Merry Christmas, Merry Christmas tonight

To which I would add:

And from Mineral Bluff, Georgia 

God bless y'all, we love ya.

Happy New Year, good night,

Merry Christmas, Merry Christmas tonight.

It's a Bear Dear

The mystery of the dead possum and the dead deer has been explained but a small question remains in my mind. In a prior post I recounted how I found a dead possum with bloody teeth marks on its neck beside my house next to a heavy wooden pallet that had been dragged out from under the outdoor shower. A few weeks later I described finding a dead deer with bloody teeth marks on its neck hanging from a wire fence at the border of my property.

A man who has lived in this area for some time told Meredith the culprit was a bear. He said that bites on the neck of a dead animal are characteristic of a bear, and he pointed out where the bear’s claws or teeth had left marks on the wooden pallet. His theory on the possum is that the bear chased the possum under the pallet and then pulled the pallet out to get at the possum. His theory about the deer is that the bear bit it on the neck after it got hung up on the fence.

In the absence of any other reasonable explanation (which rules out aliens, chupacabras and other-worldly spirits) I am accepting this explanation for these curious incidents though I have a lingering question why the bear bit the deer but didn’t eat part of it. Bears are omnivores, and I would think a young, dead deer hanging from a fence would be a tempting midnight snack for a bear.

All of this prompted me to do a little internet research to find out more about bears in this area. According to the Wildlife Resources Division of the Georgia Department of Natural Resources we have black bears around here. Their scientific name is Ursus Americanus which is a whole lot better than Ursus Syrian Terrorist or Ursus Bernie Sanders. The black bear population in Georgia is estimated to be more 5,100. This seems too few to me given the number of bear stories I’ve heard since moving here.

The typical life span of a bear is about 8 to 15 years. Adult bears are generally up to six feet in length and about three feet high at the shoulder. Presumably that’s when they are on all fours. If not, then they’re short little fuckers, and it’s no wonder I haven’t seen one. Female adult bears can weigh up to 300 pounds and adult males can weigh over 500 pounds. Bears have poor eyesight but an excellent sense of smell. They are good tree climbers, can swim well and are able to run at speeds of up to 30 miles per hour. I imagine a 500 pound beer with poor eyesight running at 30 miles an hour is a menace to himself as well as others. Think of Mr. Magoo with the bulk of a Sumo wrestler and the speed of Usain Bolt.

As for bears’ eating habits: “Bears are considered omnivorous meaning their diet consists of whatever is readily available at that time of year. (Sounds a lot like Rosie O’Donnell.) Diets vary according to what part of the state the bear calls home. However, the majority of their natural diet consists of berries, fruits, acorns, grasses and animal matter, including insects or mammals-even deer.”

Finally, the website assured me that there are no recorded bear attacks on humans in Georgia, and no fatalities (which would seem to follow from the fact there were no attacks), while in the entire Southeastern United States there have only been two documented fatal black bear attacks. According to another website there have been only 52 recorded fatal black bear attacks in North America in the last 100 years. I could not find data on non-fatal bear attacks.

So it seems to me that your odds of getting killed by a black bear are way lower than your odds of being killed by an Islamic terrorist. That’s not a very comforting conclusion when you think about it. Click here for a list of all known fatal black bear attacks so you can check whether anyone you know is on the list.

Just for the hell of it, I researched what other animals accounted for human fatalities in the U.S. The annual average of deaths from bees, wasps and hornets is 58, from dogs is 28 and from cows is 20 people according to one website.

I was a little surprised at the figure for cows. They seem so non-lethal. Yet, another website informed me that “herds of cows on British farms have killed 74 people in the past 15 years.” For some perverse reason I find that humorous. Maybe it’s the fact that English cows kill in herds. I guess they have a lot cow stampedes on British farms. If I ever visit England I’ll be sure not to sign up for the visit to a working English dairy farm. These statistics give me a whole new perspective on Ol’ Bessie. 

It turns out that deer are the real people killer in the U.S. The U.S. Department of Transportation estimates that white-tailed deer kill around 130 Americans each year by causing car accidents. In 1994 there were 211 human deaths in car wrecks caused by deer. This only confirms my view of deer (which I acquired since moving here). Far from the cute animals that Walt Disney would have us believe, they are obnoxious rat-faced pests who will destroy your garden, eat your shrubbery and, if given a chance, take your life by jumping in front of your car.

So, to get back on topic, it appears I have a bear or two in the neighborhood. We were told as much by people in the area. I thought, however, that bears stayed away from our property due to the number of barking farm dogs in the neighborhood. Obviously that’s not the case so I’m going to be more cautious when I let the dogs go out to pee at night.

Having bears roaming your property at night is not the type of problem one generally encounters in cities and modern suburbia. I guess you can chalk that up as another reason living in the country is a different experience. I’ll tell you this: I’d rather worry about a bear or two visiting the property than random drive-by shootings, home intrusions, kids hawking magazine subscriptions and religious fanatics distributing tracts.

Country Dogs and Creek Indians

We suffered a deluge last week—five inches of rain in two days as recorded by the rain gage attached to the flagpole in my front yard (from which proudly wave Old Glory and the Marine Corps Flag). This is a mountainous country, and there are many streams, creeks and rivers. To get from our cabin to Blue Ridge we have to cross a couple of creeks and one river, and they were running full, fast and muddy because of the rain. I understand why many people think the phrase “God willing and the creeks don’t rise” refers to flood waters. I certainly did.

However, I was told recently that the correct phrase is “God willing and the Creek don’t rise.” The Creek in this case refers to a Southeastern Indian tribe that battled with the early settlers. Davy Crockett and Andrews Jackson fought the Creek Indians in the Red Stick War. You’d know that if you are old enough and watched Davy Crockett on the Walt Disney Show in the early 1960s.

There is some controversy among etymologists over the origin of the phrase. If it’s true that the phrase actually refers to the Creek Indians that makes it even cooler in my estimation. While I consider myself a seeker of the unvarnished truth, in the case I’m going to make an exception. I like the Indian tribe derivation of the phrase so much that I’m going to believe it is true no matter what.

Now on to a totally untreated subject—country dogs. If you have dreams of living in the country, then you need to know about country dogs.

Real country men like their dogs. When I say real country men, I’m talking about men who were born and raised in the country—men with rusting cars and broke down washing machines and riding lawnmowers in their yards; men who hunt and make deer sausage, have Skoal rings on the back pockets of their jeans and wear work boots; men who watch NASCAR, drive four-wheel drive pickup trucks with NRA stickers in the window, wear faded baseball caps that are frayed from use and hate cats.

You won’t catch real country men with dogs like Shiatzus, Pugs or Chihuahuas. Real country men only own dogs that are large, scary and loud. I don’t know much about dog breeds, but I’m told some of the dogs owned by real country men are recognizable breeds. If I had to guess, I would think they can be found in dog books in the sections devoted to mean, vicious and dangerous dogs. Others seem to be a cross between the Canine genus and other creatures like wolves, hyenas and the hounds of hell. It’s the long, yellow, dripping canine incisors that give them away.

I know this because I have worked the annual Fannin County rabies clinic for the last two years. This is an event where dog owners can get a low cost rabies shot for their dogs. It brings out the dog owners who live in lonely rural homesteads and down isolated gravel roads.

Some of the dogs that you encounter at the rabies clinic are absolutely frightening. When you see a dog in a cage built from reinforced half-inch rebar you know it’s not to be messed with. If you try to pet one of these dogs the odds are that you're going to be missing a few finger or your arm. When these dogs look at you it’s obvious they are calculating how much food value you represent. They’re dogs that use two by fours as chew toys and are capable of opening cans of dog food without help.

It seems that real country men are not content to own one or two of these dogs. From what I can tell they’re not happy unless they own a pack of them. They’re not house dogs. They’re yard dogs which at a minimum means they are tethered with a thick anchor chain connected a thick iron stake pounded into the ground. They’re outside all night keeping the property safe.

The common characteristic of these dogs is that they bark and howl with voices that carry over three mountain ridges. If you move to the country be prepared for the fact that on any given night, often multiple times a night, all the dogs in a several mile radius will start barking and howling. It begins with one set of dogs and then the whole choir starts in. I figure that some nighttime critter like a bear, deer or bobcat sets them off.

It’s something you just going to have to get used to when you live in the country. There’s nothing you can do about it. If you call the local sheriff’s department and complain about the noise you’ll be placed on the suspected pinko communist watch list. If you say something to your neighbor about the barking he’ll look at you like you’re some citified sissy and never talk to you again.

The good thing is that when you live in the country your neighbors are not right next door so the barking dogs are usually some distance from you. After a while you get used to the noise. Over time you feel comforted by the thought that the nighttime howling is scaring away animals that are even scarier than the dogs doing the howling.

I think the reason that real country men like country dogs is because they are tough, macho companions instead of prissy pampered pets. They can stay outdoors in the rain and the snow. They forage for themselves when bored or hungry by catching varmits like moles and field mice and perhaps the occasional small child. They don’t mind laying down in the dirt or drinking water from a creek. They stay at your side all day when you’re working outside except for occasional forays to chase a squirrel or follow up on some smell that trails off into the wood line.

So this is my homage to country dogs and my caution to those who aspire to live in the country.