Fish in a Cincinnati Creek

Through the Cincinnati Nature Center, I attended a demonstration at which biologists from the Ohio Department of Natural Resources sampled fish from a local creek to get a snapshot of its overall condition. They focused on a large pool — one of the few left in the rocky streambed at this time of year, when rainfall is scarce — and stunned the fish with a mild electric current (we could see most of them swim off a couple of minutes after going limp). The biologists waded through the pool and collected the fish with a net, and then scooped them into a clear plastic pitcher filled with water so we could observe them up close.

In a quick sampling, they found 16 different species: bluegill, green sunfish, rainbow darters, rosy-faced shiners, large-mouth bass, creek chub, white suckers, minnows and others. Most were no bigger than a remote car key, but the presence of so many different species indicated a healthy ecosystem, the biologists said. Despite concerns about pollutants in runoff from nearby houses and commercial development, they rated the stream health an “A.”

Ru-burbia

Our house here on the edge of greater Cincinnati lies in a cultural zone that’s becoming increasingly common in the United States: the ru-burbs. (That’s pronounced roo-burbs.) It’s the place where suburbia shades into rural America. It’s a place where corn and soybean fields are interrupted by housing subdivisions and big-box malls; where Supercuts and White Castle and Home Depot are as common as horse barns and chicken coops; where coyote, fox, goats and cattle are sometimes serenaded by ice-cream trucks.

Ru-burbia is sprawl of an insidious sort. It’s not the pushing out of city boundaries so much as the co-opting of rural land through leapfrog development. It comes about when acquiescent county officials fail miserably in their planning role and allow new malls or subdivisions to be carved out of what was formerly rural land, far from already developed commercial centers and housing tracts where services and utilities could be more sensibly and economically clustered.

For many residents, ru-burbia seems to hold the promise of better services. It’s the tranquility and space of rural living combined with the conveniences of suburbia; civilization on their doorstep rather than a 45-minute drive away. But it’s often a phantom advantage. It only works if you’re willing to eat at a particular chain restaurant, patronize a particular pharmacy or shop at a particular home-improvement store. Reality leads and often even forces many people to make the old, longer drive to major commercial centers anyway. And meanwhile, more and more farmland, more and more forest, more and more country living rooted in raising food and animals, disappears every year.

Adopted by Deer

A group of five deer — it appears to be a family — has been coming into the yard recently. They appear at twilight, keeping to the fence between the yard and the hay field, and work their way cautiously over to the driveway, where there’s a crabapple tree that’s dropping fruit.

There are two fauns, two does and a big, dark, eight-point buck. Eight points is quite a rack of antlers. They’re still in velvet. The animal must weigh upwards of 300 lbs. All five are wary of the dogs barking at them from inside the house, but appear to sense that the dogs can’t get at them.  After grazing on the crabapples and hay stubble, the deer make their way back across the yard as darkness falls, and disappear into the woods.

Ohio — The Tailgate State

One of the least attractive parts of life here in Ohio is the legion of tailgating drivers on the freeway. It’s not uncommon for someone to whisk up to within eight or 10 feet of your rear bumper, and then camp there at 65 mph. They will hold this position tenaciously for miles, even though you’re already going the speed limit, and even though there are empty lanes on the left and right that they could easily use to pass. The scariest part is that if you eventually do pull over and let them go by, they jet past without a glance at you, as if their life-threatening, needlessly aggressive behavior is the most normal thing in the world.

I was tailgated by three different drivers in this fashion just this morning as I drove Mrs. SR013 to the airport. I don’t get it. This approach to driving can be described three ways: amazingly dangerous, extremely annoying, and astoundingly stupid. I urge the Ohio Bureau of Motor Vehicles to initiate a major campaign to educate residents on the dangers of tailgating — something the BMV has obviously neglected to focus on thus far. Here’s a potential slogan: “Don’t Tempt Fate — Don’t Tailgate.”

Rabbit Hash

I made a short visit to Rabbit Hash, KY this afternoon. It’s on the Ohio River just a few miles down from Beaverlick. That is to say, it’s about a 45-minute drive from Cincinnati.

The general store in Rabbit Hash, KY

Rabbit Hash gained notoriety some years back for electing a dog as mayor. Literally. A border collie named Lucy Lou. (The highest finish for a cat was third place. Who said the electorate isn’t well-informed?) Truth be told, though, Rabbit Hash is little more than a wide spot in the road. Even calling it a hamlet might raise objections from ham. There’s a general store, a small art gallery, and some sort of lodging called “The Old Hashienda” that appears to be a couple of rooms above a garage.

Anyway, many locals like to visit once in a while, and it’s a nice drive through the Kentucky countryside to get there. I stopped in the general store and bought a root beer made with real sugar cane. It was good.

Cooler Weather

I’ve whined some on this blog about the heat in Cincinnati this summer, fully aware that some of my friends in Southern California might be thinking, “What did you expect?” In my defense, let me point out that my sister, who has lived in Chicago for decades, recently said that summer in the Midwest this year has been “unusually, ridiculously” hot. Also, the city of Cincinnati has declared upwards of 30 heat emergencies this summer, compared to four last year.

Anyway, over the last week, temperatures have dropped considerably. We actually had one day where it was about 76 degrees and not a cloud in the sky — gorgeous. And it looks like daytime temperatures in general might be dropping into a more normal range — high 80s — as the first hints of fall arrive. Don’t get me wrong, the countryside is still green to the max, but here and there, leaves on a few of the smaller trees are already starting to turn.

Reds Baseball

Rosie Red visited our section halfway through the game

A hot, sticky night at Great American Ballpark on the Ohio River in downtown Cincy last night. It was our first visit to the stadium this year, and Mrs. SR013 got great seats just outside of third base, seven rows up from the field. We saw three close plays at third base on the way to a 7-2 Reds victory. The weather was uncomfortably hot, though — it was in the mid-90s at 9 p.m., one of the hottest days of the year.

A Visitor from San Diego

Violet liked Arthur. A lot.

None other than Arthur Salm came by for dinner; he is visiting in-laws in nearby Oxford with his wife, Susan, who grew up there. She was not feeling well, unfortunately, and wasn’t able to accompany him. The day was slated to be the hottest of the year, but an afternoon thunderstorm cooled things off considerably. We celebrated with cold zucchini soup, warm shrimp marinated in olive oil and lemon juice, jalapeno mac&cheese, a tomato salad with fresh local corn, and some peach ice cream from Graeters — a Cincinnati ice-cream icon. There were also a few Christian Morelein ales that disappeared (Morelein is a local brewery). Tomorrow Arthur is off to New York to have lunch with his agent, who’s interested in the juvenile novel he just finished. Good luck, dude!

Hot Again

A new hottest day of the year, 94 in the shade on the north side of the house at around 3 p.m. In full sun it must be four or five degrees hotter. The humidity is high, too, around 80 percent. The air is heavy and thick as molasses. Coming out of the grocery store at around noon, I was hit by air as hot as it is when you open the oven door to check on something baking. Looks like no relief in sight for the next few weeks, at least.

Baling Hay

Mark came back yesterday with a couple of guys to bale the hay he cut on Saturday. They brought a baler with them, an ingenious machine that they towed around at a snail’s place behind a big tractor. It scoops up the hay and augurs it into a chamber where it’s automatically compacted and bound with twine, then spit out the back end in rectangular bales. These they stacked up 6-8 feet high on a wide, flat wagon that they towed behind the baler (they had several wagons and switched over when one got full).

Using this three-part convoy, it took them several hours to bale all the hay he had cut on what I would guesstimate was 2-3 acres total. Then they drove off, towing the wagons full of hay behind them, to put the bales in a protected storage building of some sort. They beat the rain, which is expected to return tomorrow.