Wasp

There are over 1,000 North American species of solitary hunting wasps. All of them prey on arthropods, which the female stings and paralyzes (but doesn’t kill so that they don’t begin to decompose immediately). Most solitary wasps specialize on a single type of prey, and many build highly characteristic burrow nests. Once the prey is […]

via Thread-waisted Wasps Provisioning Nests — Naturally Curious with Mary Holland

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Cannabis sativa

Hemp  The following hopefully will clear up any confusion about Cannabis sativa from Hemp and its medical uses. I am an herbalist and not a medically trained person. I am speaking from my own experience and truth.

Cannabis sativa from Hemp is not to be confused with Cannabis sativa from Marijuana. The Cannabis sativa from the hemp plant contains cannabidiol (CBD). Cannabis sativa from Marijuana also has the same molecular compounds. CBD from Hemp is a natural pain reliever and legal to use. In February 2014, President Obama signed the Farm Bill which has a special amendment to legalize the production of Industrial Hemp in the United States. Learn more at http://www.votehemp.com/PR/2014-02-07-vh_farm_bill_signed.html

The US Government rushed to patent Hemp (Patent # 6,630,507).
According to the Patent Office at http://patft.uspto.gov/netacgi/nph-Parser?Sect1=PTO1&Sect2=HITOFF&d=PALL&p=1&u=/netahtml/PTO/srchnum.htm&r=1&f=G&l=50&s1=6630507.PN.&OS=PN/6630507&RS=PN/6630507

Marijuana proponents allege that the U.S. government is exhibiting hypocrisy by owning a cannabis-related patent while also denying marijuana’s rescheduling. (Denver Post file)

Abstract: Cannabinoids have been found to have antioxidant properties [and neuroprotectants], unrelated to NMDA receptor antagonism. This new found property makes cannabinoids useful in the treatment and prophylaxis of wide variety of oxidation associated diseases, such as ischemic, age-related, inflammatory and autoimmune diseases. The cannabinoids are found to have particular application as neuroprotectants, for example in limiting neurological damage following ischemic insults, such as stroke and trauma, or in the treatment of neurodegenerative diseases, such as Alzheimer’s disease, Parkinson’s disease, and HIV dementia. Nonpsychoactive cannabinoids, such as cannabidiol, are particularly advantageous to use because they avoid toxicity that is encountered with psychoactive cannabinoids at high doses useful in the method of the present invention. A particular disclosed class of cannabinoids useful as neuroprotective antioxidants is formula (I) wherein the R group is independently selected from the group consisting of H, CH.sub.3, and COCH.sub.3. ##STR1##

Other sources such as Edens Garden state that Cannabis sativa helps relieve fibromyalgia, joint pain, and other ailments.

According to the National Cancer Institute, cannabinoids activate specific receptors throughout the body to produce a drug-like effect, specifically in the nervous and immune systems. Although more research is needed to conclude the effects of CBD, it may relieve pain, lower inflammation and decrease anxiety without the psychotropic effects of THC, as reported by the National Cancer Institute.

Currently, the institute is studying the effects of cannabis and cannabinoids for the relief of nausea, pain, anxiety, and loss of appetite. Studies in mice and rats have shown that cannabinoids may inhibit tumor growth by blocking cell growth. Other possible effects of cannabinoids include antiviral and anti-inflammatory activity, and relieving muscle spasms caused by multiple sclerosis. But despite promising results, more research is needed to verify the possibilities.

IDENTIFYING THE DIFFERENCES

Cannabis Essential Oil: To be diluted into a carrier oil, Cannabis Essential Oil is produced by the steam distillation of the cannabis flower. The active components are myrcene and beta-caryophyllene, which are packed with anti-inflammatory properties.

CBD: Extracted from the Hemp Plant, Cannabidiol is a potent phytocannabinoid that is non-psychoactive.

Hemp Seed Carrier Oil: Rich in vitamins and antioxidant properties, Hemp Seed Oil is produced through a cold pressed method. The oil is pale to golden yellow at https://www.edensgarden.com/blogs/news/what-is-cannabis-essential-oil-and-how-it-differs-cbd-hemp-oil-and-cannabis-co2

Benefits+of+Hemp I mixed a bottle of Edens Garden Cannabis sativa essential oil (5 ml) at https://www.edensgarden.com/collections/single-oils with a bottle of Hemp Carrier Oil (100 ml) and used topically. This enriched oil is rubbed on sore hips, knees, and pain centered locations. It takes the edge off and at least helps me to sleep without pain. I hope this will help you too.

  The Creator put all the plants on the planet. Each has their own use.
Natural medicine is better than side-effecting prescription drugs, and I believe that the plants were put on this Earth for us to use, “Physician heal thyself.”

Bunny

Early morning
the sun is out
the field is fresh green after a rain
are there dandelion flowers?
did the bunny eat the leaves?
a young bunny is ever so still
I became still also
I start to quietly chant
in love with the little creature.

 

 

 

 

Interview with Author Leona Casey Signor

Tell us something about yourself.

I am a retired registered nurse and a widow living in upstate New York.

2017-01-04 12.02.01 Author Leona Casey Signor

Please share something about your book How Did He Find Me?

When I was young, I became pregnant and had to face my family. I realized what a scandal I created for my Catholic family. Because of the family background, I received little help with my “situation.” After finding out how difficult it was to care for my infant son, I finally gave up the struggle and placed my 10-month-old baby up for adoption.

What happened when your son grew up?

My son grew up and tried to find his birth mother. We embarked on a journey together to discover each other, resulting in a new and loving relationship.

Why did you write the book?

This memoir was written as a catharsis and in the hope of helping other girls facing an unwanted pregnancy.

Book is available on Amazon at https://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_noss?url=search-alias%3Daps&field-keywords=How+Did+He+Find+Me

Rainy Day Tales

It was a humid, rain-soaked summer morning. My dog Tia and I went for a walk on a dirt road near our home in the village of Minong, Wisconsin. No one used the road, and we had the woodlands and prairie all to ourselves, just the way we liked it. Problems disappeared when we were out in nature. The sun glistened, and occasionally small agate stones smiled back from the steamy earth. I stooped to pick one up and pocketed the tiny red gem.

Tia decided to go adventuring. Looking into a prairie, I saw my dog’s white-tipped tail waving in tall native grasses kissed by dewdrops.  She looked up as if checking on me. After seeing me, Tia went back to frolicking. After awhile, she returned to my side. We heard the sweet song of chick-a-dees in Jack pine trees. The birds were enjoying tree nuts and insects. We heard their Thanksgiving song. I knew that milkweed grew in a nearby field, and we went over to investigate and to see if any life was astir after the rain.

23rain - Copy  Bending down, I look on the underside of the milkweed leaves and saw a monarch caterpillar sleeping under the protection of the soft green roof. Rainbow-colored water drops dripped from its back, and still, the caterpillar slumbered. Did it dream that soon this part of its life would end? Soon the caterpillar would change into a pupa, and then a beautiful monarch butterfly. Did the butterfly come to tell us that we too would be transformed and emerge into a new form?

Sadly, Tia passed away in the fall, and my life changed dramatically and forever. I became an executive director of a nonprofit public charity, Happy Tonics, that implemented sanctuary for the monarch butterfly. My name was given to me by Dr. John “Little Bird” Anderson. In Ojibwe, I am called Memengwaaikwe, which means Butterfly Woman. Looking back on this rain-drenched morning, I know my life was transformed forever, just as the tiny messenger foretold.

NOTE: Notice of John “Little Bird” Anderson’s obituary is at http://www.pineviewfuneralservice.com/home/obituary/3808530

Photos: Tia and Dr. John “Little Bird” Anderson

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

Dr. John (Little Bird) Anderson

The Sanctuary

by Audrey Scharmen

Published in Potomac Review, Fall/Winter 2001-02.

In the aftermath of lighting,  thunder and a heavy downpour with the horizon streaking rose, and mauve, tall silhouettes of trees encircle a dooryard garden where the cardinal flower stands amid a bed of her offspring. She is regal and rainswept, unbowed by the storm, each scarlet spike of florets beaded with diamond droplets aglitter in the fading light.

Cardinal Flower

Lobelia cardinalis,  older than time, the symbol of hope and continuity in an era when both are precarious, has chosen this garden of a herbalist and healer as a sanctuary. Here are boneset, lion’s foot and agrimony. Argiope spins silver among cats claw and zebra grasses where winged Luna and Promethea linger to meditate and metamorphose. Here is a strident chorus of tree frogs and birdsong, the fecund scent of a generous season, and the subtle fragrance of white sage burned in an ancient ritual of welcome.

Lobelia cardinals,  older than time, the symbol of hope and continuity in an era when both are precarious, has chosen this garden of a herbalist and healer as a sanctuary. Here are boneset, lion’s foot and agrimony. Argiope spins silver among cats claw and zebra grasses where winged Luna and Promethea linger to meditate and metamorphose. Here is a strident chorus of tree frogs and birdsong, the fecund scent of a generous season, and the subtle fragrance of white sage burned in an ancient ritual of welcome.
The gardener, who presides with the blessings of the natural world, describes an entourage of daddy longlegs spiders that came to spread a net about the cardinal’s buds when predators threatened. The spiders quietly retreated when the first flowers opened, and the plant remains flawless. She tells of hummingbirds who came to pollinate-among the few winged creatures able to penetrate the deep nectar of the florets-and of a fat bumblebee who sleeps nightly amid the blossoms.

And she tells of the cardinal’s coming. To this thickly wooded acreage that she has long tended in the watershed of a great estuary, where precious fossils of an inland sea abound, and where relics of Piscataway Indians who once hunted here lie all about, have come uncommon botanicals,  seeking refuge from the constant threat of progress. But her garden lacked a cardinal flower, an elusive plant she coveted.

It is a stunning survivor of the warm period that preceded the glacial epoch-its flowers so intense a hue the leaves often are stained with it. It is said that no color due to sustained sunlight could have originated in our temperate zone. Thus its birth has been traced to the Age of Flowers, to a sudden explosion that changed the face of Earth. The cardinal indeed may have been present at the creation.

The gardener’s efforts to transplant such a flower had been futile, and she had gone in search of it in a woodland beside the bed of a brook in a nearby glen protected by dense undergrowth and tall trees. Stalks of summer things spoke of a secret garden, and she thought it an ideal place for the Cardinal, a wetland plant with an aura of the rain forest, which craves a secluded habitat where it may keep its feet wet and its head crowned with sunlight. Hidden beneath a residue of autumn past were infant seedlings resembling those of the cardinal-flat green rosettes of leaves with baby fuzz still intact. But she was uncertain so she would return later when jewelweed and goldenrod bloom, in the time of the cardinal.

Fate intervened. A few weeks later four young people died instantly in a head-on collision beside the road that borders the woodland, steps away from a trail that leads down to a haven of seedlings. An entire community mourned, and the crash site became a shrine. Candlelight vigils were held there, and paper roses bloomed beside a white cross with photos of four smiling faces forever sixteen. The gardener considered the glen a temporary haven for the transitory souls of the children and so she did not return.

Autumn faded; winter turned quickly cruel, and the wilted roses shed red on new fallen snow. Spring came early with clouds of dogwood to grace the shrine. Chaste stars of Bethlehem shone on the hillside, and burgeoning foliage hid the path beyond from the eyes of passerby. Summer followed long and sweltering. No rain fell and the wetlands withered.

With late summer came rain, the heat subsided, Virginia creeper and sumac bled scarlet beside the road, and white blossoms of autumn clematis covered the carnage of drought. A semblance of peace came to the shrine, and the gardener returned to the glen. But the Cardinal hadn’t come. Black-eyed Susans bloomedin its place.
In early September it appeared in her garden-rising from tall stalks of feverfew and ferns beside the porch, undetected until a bright beacon of buds reviewed the presence. A rare albino deer had come, as well, to linger briefly at the woods edge, pale and ghostly in the blue twilight. Hummingbirds returned-none had been seen all that summer.

There is no explanation. Perhaps a single seed, dormant for centuries nurtured by one of many springs known to lie deep beneath the unique woodland, suddenly had awakened. It was the cardinal’s time.

Born Under a Lucky Star

aunt-ellen-and-gram-alone-mothers-day

Aunt Ellen and Gram (Ann O’Grady Sullivan) on Mother’s Day

All my life, she was there when I needed her. My Aunt Ellen lived in the village of Ballston Spa, New York, in Upper New York State. She was my mother’s sister. Aunt Ellen usually wore dresses. She gave the world her sunny side with sparkling blue-eyed Irish smile. She had rosy cheeks and auburn curly hair.

On the private side, Aunt Ellen told me that when she did cry, she would hide in the closet. She didn’t want Uncle George or her children to see her upset. Seeing pictures of Aunt Ellen in her youth, I imagine my Uncle George fell in love with her because she looked like a Victorian lady with her hair all swept up in the day’s fashion. When they married, Aunt Ellen moved into the ancestral Victorian home where my Uncle George grew up.

Aunt Ellen always knew that when I called, there was usually some trauma going on at my house. It was the drinking that upset me the most with its unpredictable rage that would flare up. Mostly I remember the kitchen chair scraping across the floor when my dad stood up from the table and started yelling at us kids, or my mother. Those were terrifying times, and when I could, I would sneak away and call my Aunt Ellen to come and get me.

Pulling into the driveway and getting out of the car, she would come into the house with a smile and charmingly say, “Hello Woody. Hellow Connie.” The way she said it was like nothing was going on in the whole wide world, and she could diffuse an explosive situation with her innocent smile. Oh, she knew all right what was going on.

Aunt Ellen had a shield that I frequently hid under as a child and young adult. She would say, “I’ve come to take Mary Ellen home for a visit.” Sometimes an argument would be smoldering, and the air would get cloudy and laden again. It didn’t matter, Aunt Ellen had a way of turning a situation around, and soon, I was safely out the door. Different feelings plagued me as I got into her car.

At times, I felt downcast and sometimes confused as to why I felt the way I did. Aunt Ellen had the ability to sweep my dark mood away. Driving the car, she would say, “Look at the sky M.E. Look at how beautiful the world is.” I would get caught up in her enthusiasm, and in an instant, my melancholy evaporated. Aunt Ellen liked driving the car and seeing all the beauty around her.

One day while riding in the car from her house to the farm, I started to get uptight thinking about returning home to the chaos again, and she caught my mood. All of a sudden, she stopped the car along a country road, and said, “Look M.E., look at those flowers. Do you know what they are? In a foul mood, I said, “No.” Aunt Ellen said, “They are Turk Cap Lilies.” The way she said it was like witnessing the Lands of Arabia and her sheer magic had a wonderful affect on me.

As a young woman, I was selected by Seventeen Magazine for a position at the World’s Fair in New York City. My father forbade me to go to the city. He said,”No daughter of his was going to New York City.” It was a terrible time for me. I had no clothes or money, and he was adamant. I wasn’t going to New York City. As usual, I called my Aunt Ellen and told her about the job and that my dad wouldn’t let me go. She said, “You are going, and I am going to take you there.” She knew that I needed to get out of that house and to start a life of my own. There was no future for me in Saratoga Springs where I grew up.

For the trip, we went shopping for clothes. Hiding them under the bed, I waited for the day when Aunt Ellen would come to get me, and we would travel to New York City. The day finally arrived, and I came downstairs wearing a new suit, hat, and gloves and carrying my sister’s Samsonite blue suitcase. My sister was going with us too and helped drive the car. My father had tears in his eyes when we stood in the driveway to say goodbye. He was having financial difficulty at the time and was not in the position to adequately provide for me. Dad handed me $40 and told me that was all he could give me. I knew he felt bad and without adequate funding, I still went ahead. I felt free as a bird. My Aunt Ellen was there, and I was walking into my future thanks to her.

Years later, I was home visiting my parents from the far corners of the Earth. Aunt Ellen had kept up with my adult life and had followed my adventures across the country, Europe, Mexico, and South America. One one of our last visits we drove, from the farm in New York to my sister’s home in Massachusetts, and we took a long way. Aunt Ellen wanted to go through the Vermont Mountains to see the view and fall colors. After all, it was only three or four hours out of our way. In listening to me talk about my travels, she said, “M.E., you were born under a lucky star.”

All my life, I think about my Aunt Ellen who had so much to do with who I am today. When something special happens, and I see something beautiful in nature, I remember to say, “ Aunt Ellen, you would love this.” I often feel her close. I think my Aunt Ellen had a lot to do with how I think because she taught me how to see.

Saratoga Lake

Saratoga Lake Pontoon (8) Photo shows mowing down to water. Sure indication of possible future erosion.

To the Editor, The Saratogian and Saratoga Today

by Sid Gordon

If Saratoga Lake could talk, it would cry and say help save my life. My main body of water is a little over four miles long. I have been a good lake for Saratoga County and surrounding area. I have tried to take care of all the fish that make me their home and all the swimmers that enjoy my good water for swimming. I have been faithful to the people that use me. I now ask for help as I am dying a slow, but sure death.

I am too small for the number of boats that now use me, along with other things [invasive species, herbicides, pesticides, oil on water, prescription waste disposal, and fertilizers] going into me. The handwriting is on the wall. Can’t anyone see what is taking place with me? For those that know, please care about me. For others that don’t know and don’t care I say, turn around and do something while there is a little life left in me.

I love serving the people in this area. There is nothing worse than when a body of water dies. What good is a dead lake when all the fun is gone? Let those that can do something do so, now before it is too late. Sign up as a volunteer with Saratoga Lake Protection and Improvement District (SLPID) to promote stewardship of Saratoga Lake at http://slpid.org

Attached is the score card: 2015 Citizens Statewide Lake Assessment Program for Saratoga Lake at

http://slpid.org/content/Generic/View/25:field=documents;/content/Documents/File/87.pdf

Article inspired by Mary Ellen Ryall

NOTE: eColi forced the closing of Brown’s Beach on July 16. Raw sewage was discharged into Saratoga Lake.

This article was published by The Saratogian and Saratoga Today week of 18 July 2016

 

 

Strugglgling or Looking to Sell Your Own Book Someday…? Here’ What Can Turn It Into a Best Seller (For Book, Food & Writing Bloggers)

Paranormal Energy

by Mary Ellen Ryall

Recently, I woke up and felt that the energy source that lights up my life had vanished. What could have caused this? Unexpectedly, on April 7, a straight line storm came barreling through Saratoga Springs. The storm blew from south to north, and the winds were tracked at 90 mph. I knew what this was because I had lived through a severe straight-line wind storm in 2011, when winds were tracked at 100 mph.

According to meteorologist Jeff Haby, “Straight-line wind damage will push debris in the same direction the wind is blowing (hence the creation of the term straight-line.” All of a sudden, I couldn’t even see out the window, the rain made visibility impossible. I thought, “Get away from the windows.” Before I closed the bedroom door, I noticed the tree branches outside my bedroom window were violently scratching at the glass and I thought the window might break, the force was that intense. It was just like a tunnel going through the space between two buildings. The fierce wind noise was eerie and terrifying like a train was moving through. Could it have been the wind that reset my body’s electrical system? We do have energy fields. Dr. Mercola says, “Electricity allows your nervous system to send signals to your brain. These signals are actually electrical charges that are delivered from cell to cell, allowing for nearly instantaneous communication.”

While I was in the lethargic state, I wondered did my beloved energy leave me for good? What a wake-up call! I took this energy for granted, this gift of the heart, which had vibrational healing capacity, this wondrous gift of swift mind, capability and mobility. Now with it gone, I felt like I was getting ready to move on, meaning I thought perhaps I was getting ready to leave this Earth. It made me wonder, was I now closer to the other side?

The famous psychologist Carl Jung (b.1875 – d.1961) also explored the question concerning life after death. Jung believed that “All of the dreams of people who are facing death indicate that the unconscious, that is, our instinct world, prepares consciousness not for a definite end but for a profound transformation and for a kind of continuation of the life process which, however, is unimaginable to everyday consciousness.”

A few nights later, I had a dream about my late husband. In the dream, he was alive and we were younger, in our middle years. For some reason, unknown to me, he walked out the door one day without even a fair thee well. He didn’t give me any warning of wanting to leave. Only as the days passed by, did I realize what this loss meant? This behavior was so out of character. I felt heartsick. A lot of time went by. Then one day he returned, just like that. It was as if he was saying I am here. I would never leave you behind.

What mysteries. Perhaps I would have never experienced the dream if the wind tunnel hadn’t come and created paranormal energy. It really was something out of the ordinary. It was like going through a time warp. Today gratefully I am back to my old self, but for how long? At least now I am conscious that life can change in a New York Minute, as Don Henley would say. But, I must never lose hope.

NOTE: Carl Jung Paranormal quote at https://ocprstoronto.wordpress.com/2011/03/11/%E2%80%9Cparanormal-science%E2%80%9D-%E2%80%93-electromagnetism-ghosts/

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