I suppose that with the longest periods of daylight and the shortest periods of darkness with the summer solstice just past, we can expect that typically nocturnal visitors will now be up and about during daylight hours. It is a little disconcerting when those visitors are black bears. Saturday evening at 9:30, such a visitor tore down the thistle feeder. I decided to remove the hummingbird feeder as well, when I tackled the clean-up. The goldfinches and hummingbirds will have to go elsewhere--go natural.

Last evening at 6:30, another bear strolled through the yard apparently on a search for supper. I know it was a different bear, because
Saturday's visitor was sporting a red tag in each ear. Yesterday's visitor has not yet been fitted with such jewelry.

I received an email from a neighbor, which reported on a bear's visit to and destruction of the service or juneberry tree on the corner of his lot. This took place a couple of nights ago. The tree was planted a few years ago as part of the city's urban forestry/beautification project. It now appears that the planning will now need to take into account not only road salt, snowplowing, overhead utility wires, but also the risk of bear predation.

My April 26th posting reported on an earlier daytime bear visit. I guess I was lulled into a false sense of security since two  months had passed without a daytime bear sighting. From now on, I will try to remember the camera so as to record the visuals.

I see from my nephew's blog that he is on a road trip these days--a kind of whirlwind tour of the west--the "west" in midwestern speak--the tall and short grass prairies--the land of wagon trains, cowboys, Indians, buffalo, and antelope. For east coasters, the west is California, Nevada, Oregon, and Washington State.

I wander if my nephew is anything like me and that he saves his sinnin' for when he's on he road. I reserve certain activities to indulge in only when I am on the road, that is, out of town. I haven't sorted out my motivation for this segregation of behaviors unless it is to safeguard my reputation in my own mind. My on-the-road bucket list includes: buying a single powerball ticket at gas and refreshment stops, having a Quik Trip donut to go with the coffee-to-go in a disposable cup including a three-part plastic lid, and buying a bag of caramel corn to accompany the single serving sized chocolate milk in lieu of an afternoon coffee break.

Caramel corn has a sordid history in our family. Dad would buy a single bag of caramel corn, when the carnival came to town rolled into town on its annual circuit. The carnival was appropriately named "Mardi Gras," so letting go of social constraints was community sanctioned. (For those readers looking to cut loose this summer, the 2012 Northland Mardi Gras is scheduled for July 19th thru 22nd. There's your opportunity to hang out with carnies and get those fingers  and the steering wheel during the drive back home sticky with caramel corn residue.)

My experience is clear evidence that the slippery slope phenomenon is a reality, not only with gateway drugs but also with caramel corn. Does this make caramel corn the next gateway drug? Rather than the one-time-a-year in the style of the previous generation, I indulge several times a year. Early in my career, I received a caramel corn recipe from an older co-worker (a woman, at that), so I have been known to cook up a batch at home. Does that mean I am setting up some descendant to be cooking up a little meth in the back bedroom at some future date? The dude will probably be singing Family Tradition by Hank Williams, jr.

Back to my nephew for a moment. I wonder what kind of example his father, my brother, gave him and his brother in terms of on-the-road sins, that is, acceptable violations of good taste and right living in which to indulge when out-of-town. Playing the accordion in public comes to mind, but I probably shouldn't go there. But I just went there, so I will stop now.

With the 40th anniversary approaching on June 17th, The Washington Post has published an article titled "Woodward and Bernstein: 40 years after Watergate, Nixon was far worse than we thought." Its an unsettling read as it brings back memories of unfinished business, lost opportunities, and the subversion of fairplay and justice. It also gives rise to the question: Is the current ship of state in any better condition or repair and staffed by those heeding a higher call?

Whenever I see Henry Kissinger or Patrick Buchanan getting some air time as a talking head, a reported expert, or some sort of elder statesman, I cringe. It is my opinion that neither deserves to be afforded any such dignity; neither has, to my knowledge, ever acknowledged the crimes in which they participated or with which they were associated. P. Buchanan has more than once passed his involvement with the Nixon white house off as little more than high school sophomoric hijinks.

Then there is an article in today's local newspaper with a brief account of the return of the remains of Lt. William Swanson, a Navy pilot lost over Laos in April 1965. Yes, Richard. Yes, Henry. Yes, Patrick. There are grave consequences of our decisions and behaviors. Tragically, it is often from others that the consequences of one's behaviors are extracted and at great price. I know that Richard Nixon was not the president in 1965; I am not suggesting that this triumvirate was personally linked to Lt. Swanson's death. In June 2012, these events are linked; one celebrates its 40th anniversary in ignominy, and the other marks a long delayed burial at Fort Snelling National Cemetery.

(I am certain there is more to this bit of history in which Lt. Swanson was a central figure. His aircraft was lost in April 1965, seven months before the official start of the Viet Nam War on November 1, 1965.)