view counter

Articles by All

Our four have assisted all in their own ways

Four dogs have helped us run Upakrik Farm.
    Our first farm dog was a black cocker spaniel. Dixie moved with us from College Park but adapted to farm life. She quickly learned the perimeter of the fields and the joy of riding on the tractor. The sound of its diesel engine made her stop what she was doing and make a beeline for the tractor. Despite her short legs, she would jump onto the platform and sit behind my legs, watching as we drove. She was a great companion during the many hours I spent on the tractor preparing the fields for planting.
    For some unknown reason, she needed help getting down from the platform to the ground. I often suspected that she would have preferred staying on the tractor. Dixie was good at chasing squirrels and rabbits but to my knowledge never caught any. One night when she was 14 years old, Dixie walked away from the farm never to be found.
    Several months after Dixie left us, we adopted an eight-month-old golden retriever. Dandy was not much of a farm dog and did not like riding in the tractor or even a car. But he was a great companion who loved to play fetch and follow me around the farm. He always stayed within eyesight of me, and whenever I stopped to rest, he would come to me wanting to be petted. I never saw him chase squirrels or rabbits, but one day I found him licking baby rabbits in a litter under a tree. I watched him nudge the baby rabbits with his long nose and wash a few with his tongue while holding them between his front paws. I had to pull Dandy away so mother rabbit could approach and feed the babies. He paid daily visits to those baby rabbits until they left the lay.
    For a short time after we adopted Dandy, T.J. joined the family. He appeared to be a cross between a cocker spaniel and a basset hound. We adopted him from our oldest daughter, who was having difficulty training him. Within days, T.J. and I became inseparable. He followed me wherever I went on the farm and would lie patiently by my desk when I had office duties to perform.
    Since T.J. was a rescue dog, we knew nothing of his background except that he had a stiff rear right leg, evident when he walked or ran. One day while following me in the field, he tripped and fell while chasing a rabbit. He was in pain and unable to stand. Since the accident occurred in the evening, I carried him to the house and laid him on the foot of the bed. The next morning I brought him to the veterinarian where X-rays reveled breaks in the shoulder joints of both front legs. The X-ray also reveled he had a metal pin in his right rear leg, which caused him to limp. Because damage was extensive and with an apparent history of broken bones, I decided to have him put down. Clara and I both missed T.J. because he was the only dog we could take for a canoe ride, as he sat motionless and seemed to enjoy the changing scenery.
    Our current dog, Lusby, is a Carolina dog, a breed related to dingoes. She is a rescue dog from Georgia, where she was on death row. Lusby is a real farm dog and knows the territory. She has reduced the squirrel, rabbit and groundhog population and even catches mice. She prefers being outdoors and running beside my golf cart instead of riding in it. Lusby follows me all over the farm and stays within eyesight. When I stop to rest, she comes to check on me but is not a dog that likes to be petted much. She is my back-seat companion when I drive the truck.
    Lusby is great with children whose parents come to cut Christmas trees. She shows off by running at great speed in circles and follows the children through the trees. She will even fetch sticks and balls for children, though she will not fetch for me.


Ask Dr. Gouin your questions at DR.FRGouin@gmail.com. Please include your name and address.

Gone all too soon

Dogs’ lives are too short.
Their only fault, really.

–Agnes Turnbull

As I watched her clumsy frolic across the yard, attempting to catch the stuffed bear she had just tossed into the air, it was hard to believe that we had met almost 14 years ago. My dog, Sophie, a particularly comely German shorthair pointer, was just seven weeks old then.
    Our family had been without a dog for some time. Noticing an ad for a litter of German shorthairs in the pet section of the daily paper, my wife and I impulsively took a ride to the Eastern Shore just to look. Of course we did far more than look.
    The breeder, a woman of great knowledge and affection for GSPs, ushered us to her back yard. There, the whole litter of pups, some 10 or so, were engrossed in a wild melee.
    We noticed a small female in the middle of the scrum using her stature to unusual advantage. As her littermates attempted to dominate her, she dodged under and around the outdoor furniture scattered throughout the yard.
    Then, as she threaded through the forest of rough wooden legs and low seats, twisting and turning, she would double back upon an unprotected rear, sending that pup sprawling and rolling across the lawn.
    The breeder and her husband, a fellow bird hunter, tried to interest me in one of Sophie’s stouter littermates. But after meeting and holding the affectionate pup, we were not dissuaded.
    On the ride back to Annapolis, Deb drove while I held the pup. Alert at first, she peered out the car window as we departed her birthplace. Then she looked around us, curled up in my lap, pushed her head against my chest and slept all the way home.
    Our first few months together were an exquisite adventure. On our first trips to the Eastern Shore to exercise in a large, overgrown field, I would purchase a half-dozen or so pen-raised quail to release for her to seek out. She loved the game and became adept at locating the birds, pointing, then chasing after them for a few yards when I flushed them into the air.
    I marveled at how she mastered the sport.
    We were approaching the edge of a grassy field near where I had earlier released a quail when she went on an intense point. Sometimes if a gamebird sits for a time in one location, then moves on, the scent that concentrates in that spot will cause a dog to false point.
    That seemed to be happening because, as I kicked just about every bit of nearby cover, no bird flushed. The edge of that field was bordered by another field of freshly plowed vacant ground.
    I tried to call her off, but Sophie would not move. For every bit of five minutes, she continued to hold her muscle-quivering point.
    It was only when I looked over the abutting expanse of turned and barren earth that a tiny movement caught my eye. The quail was sitting 50 feet away, virtually invisible among the clods of dark brown dirt but in a direct though distant line with Sophie’s quivering nose. I never again doubted her.
    Those memories crossed my mind as I watched her returning across our yard with the stuffed bear held proudly. Then she stumbled and, unable to catch herself, fell. Slowly and with some confusion she regained her footing and resumed her way back to me.
    Sophie was failing and had been for some time. I doubted she would see Christmas this year.
    A dog’s only fault, I’ve read, is their short lifespan and Sophie’s was reaching its end. With a catch in my throat I welcomed her back to me, holding her and telling her what a great girl she was. It was all I could do.

How else to explain such a catch?

Pulling on the trotline one final time to straighten it and ensure proper tension, we dropped the red trailing float and released its anchor into the water, completing the setup. It was just after sunrise, an early start being a necessity when hoping for a good catch of blue crabs. Still, we also knew our job was not going to be easy.
    There had been nothing but bad news this season on the local population of jimmies. My friend Frank had invited me on this trip with the understanding that he needed a basket of crabs for a gathering later that very afternoon. But, perhaps, if we caught enough, a few fat males might come my way.
    That possibility, I knew, was slim to none. But hope springs eternal on the Chesapeake. We also had two lucky charms with us: two of Frank’s granddaughters, Emma and Sydney, ages nine and 10.
    If anything tugs at the heartstrings of crabbing’s Lady Luck, it’s a youngster on board, and two female youngsters pull on them that much more. Frank and I, of course, had no idea how much good fortune the girls would bring.

Fishing a Trotline
    A simple crabbing trotline has the chicken neck baits tied directly onto the line, generally one every five to seven feet. There is a drawback to that simplicity. When the line begins to be pulled up off the bottom, the weight of the crab grasping the neck flips it over. Often that startles the critter enough to cause it to drop off.
    Our trotline, however, was rigged with snoods. A snood is a dropper line about six inches long knotted onto the main line and rigged with a slip loop to hold the chicken neck. This tends to keep crabs holding on all the way to the surface as the line is pulled up.
    Our first run was startling. In recent seasons, the number of crabs in the Bay has dropped significantly, to about half that of years past and worse in some areas. If a sport crabber nets just a few legal (51⁄4 inches) males off a trot line with some 200 baits, lately that’s considered a good catch.
    When we reached the end of the line and lifted it off the roller, we rushed back to the culling basket and counted. Fourteen keeper-sized jimmies crowded the bottom, fiercely brandishing big, bright blue claws and daring us to come closer. It was an awesome beginning, but, we feared, unlikely to continue.
    Then it did. Taking turns, the girls netted crab after crab. Occasionally, the girls relinquished their nets to do a share of the culling, allowing us adults to make the catch.
    Within an hour, keeper jimmies were filling the big orange basket, climbing up and over the top to scuttle into the confines of the boat. That wouldn’t do. So we put a lid on the first basket and pulled out a second.
    Well before the end of the morning, the impossible was accomplished: Two bushels of big, beautiful blue crabs, one for Frank, and the other, quite miraculously, for me. Motoring back to the dock we all congratulated ourselves and, especially, our lucky charms.

Bring the whole flock to this family comedy

Shaun (voiced by Justin Fletcher: Gigglebiz) is a sheep on the edge. Every day, it’s the same old routine: Rise at dawn, greet the farmer, head to pasture, eat, head home. The only excitement is shearing day, when the pigs enjoy mocking Shaun and his flock.
    Though he loves the farmer, Shaun needs a break. He conspires to get rid of the farmer and their loyal sheepdog Bitzer for a day. The plan works beautifully — until it doesn’t.
    A series of accidents leads the farmer to the big city, where a conk on the head relieves him of his memory. Without the farmer, the farm soon plummets into chaos. The pigs take over the farmhouse; the goat wanders the grounds eating what he will; and the bull charges anything in sight. To restore order, Shaun and the herd journey to town to rescue the farmer.
    The wooly additions to the city draw the attention of an animal control officer who takes his job a little too seriously. Can Shaun find the farmer before animal control finds him? Or are the sheep in a lot of bleating trouble?
    A family film that will entertain all ages, Shaun of the Sheep is a triumphant feature debut for directors Mark Burton and Richard Starzak. The movie continues Aardman Studio’s tradition of a nearly silent protagonist. The animals and people make noises, but no one speaks discernable words. Story, emotions and jokes are telegraphed through expressive Claymation characters and careful visual framing.
    Each joke lands, and there are punch lines for everyone. Little ones will laugh at moments of physical comedy and naughty gas-based humor. Adults will snort at clever pop culture references, including a hilarious Silence of the Lambs send-up that somehow fits perfectly in the context of a children’s film.
    But the key to success is the soul and emotion Burton and Starzak wring out of bits of clay. Shaun is brave and clever, but he’s also quite sensitive and sweet. Each of his flock has a distinct personality trait that makes them special, and even the farmer gets a touching sub-plot. In this cinematic world, humanity and personality are shared by all creatures great and small. Even the ducks have dignity and pathos.
    Shaun of the Sheep is by no means just a kids’ film. Animation fans of every age will enjoy another meticulously crafted Aardman adventure. Be sure to stay through the credits to get a few final laughs.

Great Animation • PG • 85 mins.

Fall gardens want compost

It is highly unlikely your garden has used up all the fertilizer you applied this spring. This is especially true if your garden soil is rich in organic matter and you used lots of compost.
    Compost raises soil temperatures, while its organic matter releases nutrients at a rate nearly equivalent to the needs of plants. The roots from the previous crop are also decomposing and releasing nutrients.
    If you used your own compost or one based on yard debris, your plants will benefit from an application of nitrogen. But if you used compost from lobster waste or crab waste, you’ve almost certainly got all the nitrogen your fall crops will need.
    If you are an organic gardener, blood meal, cottonseed meal and fish emulsion are good sources of nitrogen. Other sources of nitrogen include calcium nitrate, ammonium sulfate, ammonium nitrate and urea. Don’t apply slow-release formulas on fall vegetable gardens.
    Fall gardening is an excellent time to maximize your use of compost. If you are tilling the soil to control weeds, incorporate compost into that surface layer of soil. With soil temperatures into the upper 70s, the compost will instantly start releasing nutrients at just the correct rate to promote good steady growth of plants. As the soil begins to cool in mid-September, the release rate of nutrients from the compost will decrease. At the same time, the nutrient requirements of maturing plants will be less. After soil temperatures drop into the 30s, the compost will stop releasing nutrients, thus reducing nutrients lost to leaching. As soon as soil warms in the spring, the organic matter in the compost will start releasing nutrients.
    Another advantage of applying compost in the fall is that spring garden tilling will incorporate the residual compost more deeply into the soil, where it will help reduce the bulk density of the soil and improve its structure.
    Organic matter does so much good for soils. In addition to providing nutrients and reducing the density of soil, compost also has disease suppression properties most effective when applied in late summer. Soil-borne diseases are most prevalent when soil temperatures are high. Applying compost to your garden soil in time for planting the fall crop helps maximize all of the benefits compost has to offer.
    Only where you’re planting carrots do you want to skip the compost. Carrots grown in composted soil will look like clusters of fingers. That’s because high levels of organic matter tend to cause multiple roots to develop on tap-rooted plants. I reported these findings from studies I conducted in the mid 1970s on the use of compost in the production of black walnut trees. This effect was beneficial for producing walnut seedlings for transplanting but not good for growing carrots, where a single root is preferred.


Ask Dr. Gouin your questions at DR.FRGouin@gmail.com. Please include your name and address.

The other side of adventure is always danger

Water has drawn our species back ever since we left its embrace.
    In Saharan cave drawings, ancestral swimmers frolic in weightlessness. On beaches and in pools, 21st century kids submerge with the same exhilaration.
    Relics of boats dug out of logs or woven from reeds date back at least as far as those cave drawings, 7,000 and more years. On boats, we’ve extended our reach, surpassed our known horizons, sought and lost fortune, advanced our civilization. Imagine the stakes when all that was known was what we ourselves knew — and all that lay ahead was mystery.
    The adventure has remained irresistible. But the other side of thrill is danger.
    We are reminded of the danger at the 60th anniversary of the sinking of the Levin J. Marvel and taking 14 lives. The Bay excursion boat sank off my community, Fairhaven. Neighbors set out in small boats to save lives and, as we see in our neighborhood photo archive, recover bodies.
    Tragedy of that sort never goes out of date. Natural Resources Police and Coast Guard report boating accidents, sinkings, fires and drownings almost every week of summer.
    Swimmers, too, fall victim to the waters that drew them in. In the last weeks, three swimmers drowned in two incidents off Cove Point in Lusby, a friendly seeming beach where a standing lighthouse suggests dangers but not so close at hand.
    All these lives are lost in somebody’s neighborhood, in adventures gone awry.
    In this week’s paper, Bob Melamud makes a cautionary tale of the Levin J. Marvel. “In spite of all our technical progress, we still rely on the skills, experience and judgment of the person in charge to keep us safe,” he writes. Below my letter, the Coast Guard of the Baltimore Sector explains their work in inspecting commercial boats like the Marvel to “keep the boating public safe.”
    As swimmers and boaters on our own, however, we are the person in charge, and by and large have only our own skills, experience and judgment to rely on.
    How good are yours?
    Only if you’re younger than 43 are you required to pass a structured safe boating course. Otherwise, the safe operation of your boat is up to you. The Coast Guard Auxiliary will inspect your pleasure boat to ensure it meets safety standards, but that inspection is purely voluntary. The Coast Guard may enforce safety by stopping you for a chance inspection, but that’s a relative rarity. Basically, when you’re on the water, you’re free to do all the harm you can’t avoid.
    Swimming safety is slippier still. Except for the occasional on-shore sign, what tells you to refuse the invitation of the water?
    Safety on the water is a last frontier of personal responsibility. Even so, we do not have ultimate responsibility. For as much as we love the water, it obeys only its own laws.

Sandra Olivetti Martin
Editor and publisher; editor@bayweekly.com

It doesn’t need to be the Appalachian Trail to push you forward

Have you had your summer adventure yet?    
    Kids are going to camp, families to the beach, couples on cruises, boaters daring the Great Loop, RVers traveling the highways, sisters reuniting for long road trips, roamers climbing mountains, paddlers kayaking unfamiliar passages, sightseers wandering ­exotic cities …
    I was pretty impressed with 19-year-old Calvert Countian Evan Metz’s 41⁄2-month-long 2,189.2-mile hike along the Appalachian Trail, recounted this week by contributing writer Selene SanFelice, who has her own adventures lined up.
    Then new staff writer Kathy Knotts tops that. Her friend Brady Adcock of Mars Hill, N.C., an ultra-marathoner, picks up his pace, running on the AT.
    Apparently, you can always push it farther.
    While you circumnavigate the Bay, somebody else rounds the globe. You fly round the Earth in 80 days; somebody else does it in a week. You climb 5,270 vertical feet up Mt. Katahdin. Somebody else climbs Denali at 20,322 feet. Still somebody else summits Mt. Everest at 29,029 feet. You snorkeled in the Florida Keys. Our dear old proofreader Dick Wilson and wife Ellie scuba-ed around the world before retiring their masks and tanks. You visit your kids in St. Louis. Your friend makes her family visit to Singapore.
    But that’s not the point, is it?
    What matters is doing it. Your doing it.
    Every adventure is the achievement of its own adventurer.
    The distance you travel is your distance, and it can reach up mountainsides, down into lightless depths, across oceans, the Bay, rivers or creeks.
    You can even make your journey inward, into the depths of human time and mind. That’s where I find myself, compelled by my journey even though the book I’m writing is about Illinois country women while my friend biographs Italian type designers and English caricaturists.
    What’s your summer adventure? Inspire me — and the rest of us on this page — with your story. Tell us where you went, why and one wonder you encountered: editor@bayweekly.com.

Sandra Olivetti Martin, Editor and publisher

Help Bailey find his way home

Oh where, oh where has this giant dog gone? Oh where, oh where can he be?
    Five-year-old Bailey, a 120-plus-pound all white Great Pyrenees, ought to be hard to lose. But in the month since Bailey wandered away from his West River home, owners Janet and Bennett Crandell have found not a clue to his whereabouts.
    “People from Edgewater to Waldorf are saying, I could swear that I’d seen that dog,” Janet Crandell says. “But the sightings have not been Bailey.”
    Bailey and the family’s second dog, golden retriever Bella, went missing July 4. A door was left ajar, and both dogs slipped out. Bella soon turned up rolling in a nearby horse field. Bailey has not been seen since.    
    Family members, friends, neighbors and strangers have joined in the search. Crandell has contacted Anne Arundel County Animal Control, the SPCA and rescue organization Dogs Finding Dogs. The Anne Arundel County Police Department is keeping an eye out for the big dog.
    The area has been blanketed with flyers. One volunteer used his boat for a shoreline search. Drones are in on the hunt. Social media are buzzing with 25,000 hits and hundreds of shares on the Facebook page Bringmybaileyhome. Phone calls at all hours report possible sightings.
    “I am so overwhelmingly blessed to have such an outpouring of support,” Crandell says. “I feel as though I have 20,000 new friends. But I feel someone out there has him.”
    A reward is offered for the safe return of this laid-back dog, so agreeable that the Crandell’s seven-month-old grandchild happily crawled over him.
    “I’m begging for his safe return,” Crandell says. “No questions asked.”
    Bailey was last seen in the area of Crandell Road, off Muddy Creek Road. Friendly as he is, he’ll evade a chase. Should you see him, call him by name.
    If you believe you’ve see him or know where he is, the Crandell family wants to hear from you: 443-994-9339; on Twitter at #bringmybaileyhome; Facebook at Bringmybaileyhome.

This review will self-destruct in 10 seconds

Whether he’s hanging off the door of an ascending plane or casually participating in the demolition of the Kremlin, Ethan Hunt (Tom Cruise: Edge of Tomorrow) has quite the reputation in the spy game. The top spy in the IMF, a super-secret government agency, Hunt is assigned impossible missions with his only guarantee complete government disavowal if he fails.
    Though he always comes through, the government is tiring of his methods.
    CIA director Hunley (Alec Baldwin: Aloha) leads the charge to shut down Ethan and his team. When the government sides with Hunley, Hunt doesn’t take it well. Instead of contritely accounting for every instance of vehicular mayhem, property damage and personal injury he’s inflicted on the world, Hunt goes rogue.
    He hasn’t joined the dark side; Hunt has a greater mission. A secret organization, The Syndicate, is behind most recent disasters and acts of terrorism, and he has sworn to track down and destroy The Syndicate before returning home.
    The problem: No one at the CIA believes him.
    Can Hunt and his faithful tech friends — Benji (Simon Pegg: The Boxtrolls) and Luther (Ving Rhames: James Boy) as well as operative Brandt (Jeremy Renner: Avengers: Age of Ultron) — stop The Syndicate? Or will they be taken out by their own government?
    Filled with action, technobabble and engaging acting, Mission: Impossible Rogue Nation is a summer blockbuster that doesn’t have to re-invent the wheel. The plot is formulaic, the faces familiar, the jokes well-worn. Viewers know what to expect, and Mission: Impossible delivers.
    Director Christopher McQuarrie, who also wrote the script, does a remarkable job of making a predictable film exciting. We know Hunt isn’t going to die. In fact, most viewers know within the first 30 minutes how the film will end. Still, action sequences feel visceral and alive. A breathtaking car and motorcycle chase through the streets of Casablanca is particularly thrilling. McQuarrie also peppers his action with plenty of comedy, with Pegg and Renner landing most of the punchlines.
    One of action’s most committed actors, Cruise keeps the film from slipping too far into parody. While other stars of his caliber shuffle through their action films and collect their paycheck along with their copy of AARP Magazine, Cruise always gives 100 percent. His natural intensity will allow for nothing less. He runs full force, attacks each fight scene and pratfall with gusto.
    In spite of some great action and acting, Mission: Impossible Rogue Nation is far from perfect. McQuarrie drags out the final act about 15 minutes too long. The plot is also filled with ridiculous contrivances, including a morally compromised character named Faust.
    Your mission, if you choose to accept it, is to buy a ticket and a bucket of popcorn and watch Ethan Hunt save the world for a fifth time.

Good Action • PG-13 • 131 mins.
 

Cool-weather vegetables are ready to plant mid-summer

Now that spring-planted lettuce, broccoli, cauliflower, cabbage, Chinese cabbage, kohlrabi and potatoes have been harvested, it’s time to prepare your fall garden. Many spring vegetables can be repeated. Beets, broccoli, Brussels sprouts, cabbage, carrots cauliflower, lettuce, peas and snap beans love the cool weather of fall. Most can be planted in the garden from late-July to mid-August.
    Unless your garden is heavily infested with weeds, there is no need to till or plow the soil.  If the weeds have taken over, mow them first with the lawnmower or weed-wacker. Then till as shallow as possible to destroy the weeds. Shallow or no tilling helps conserve soil moisture and delays the formation of plow pan.
    Seeds of fall beets, carrots, peas and snap beans can be sown in the garden during the last two weeks of July.
    If you are growing your own transplants of broccoli, Brussels sprouts, cabbage, cauliflower, Chinese cabbage and kohlrabi, it’s also time to sow those seeds indoors in air-conditioning. As soon as the seeds germinate, move them outdoors to grow in full sun.
    Delay the sowing of lettuce seeds until the second week in August.
    To maximize production, I sow beets, carrots and peas in double rows six to eight inches apart. To reduce the need for thinning carrots, I mix equal parts by volume of carrot seeds with dry ground coffee. Ground coffee has approximately the same bulk density and size as carrot seeds.
    To minimize having to thin beets, I mix equal amounts of sawdust and beet seeds before sowing.
    Soon after sowing the peas, I install 48-inch-tall chicken wire supported by bamboo stakes for the peas to climb.
    Since I grow my own transplants, I direct seed using cell packs and commercial potting mix. Direct seeding means placing two seeds in each cell. This method reduces the need to transplant and results in larger plants because the growth of seedlings is not delayed. I sow the seeds at least one inch apart. If both seeds germinate, I save the larger seedling and either snip away the other seedling or carefully remove it to transplant into a cell where the seeds failed to germinate.
    If you are purchasing transplants, do so soon after they appear on the market, and plant them promptly in the garden. The longer you keep those plants in the cell packs, the longer they will take to become established in the garden soil. If the transplants are growing in peat pots, tear away the tops of the pots before planting them. If the top edge of the peat pots is allowed to remain above ground in the garden, the root balls are likely to dry out because the exposed peat will wick away water from the root balls.
    If you see a dense mat of roots on the outer edge of the root ball when you lift the plants from the cell pack, crush the root ball to force the root to grow into your garden soil. Root-bound plants establish slowly.