Don’t bat that bat
We found ourselves back at a familiar campground this afternoon. For years, we have gone camping at the same location, but what with a new house, and a new RV, and no real need to see if a tent is actually waterproof we’ve missed the last couple of summers. There might be a chance to meet up with old friends in a couple of weeks, so today was an excuse to make reservations in person.
Oh, and we dumped the RV tanks. Just because we could.
It’s hot outside; even the dog finds a reason to keep trips brief. Out, focus, scratch to return. I haven’t been laying about in the sun; in the absence of a stiff breeze, the bugs figure out that there’s fresh blood available. Inside, I have the same view, just with protection.
This marks fifty years since that first lunar stroll. If you can’t find an article, or a documentary, or mention on the radio, stop gazing up in awe. The astronauts came home, half a century ago. Now we just have the memories. I particularly appreciated learning that the “first garbage bag pitched on the ground” is still there. Seems an appropriate way to recall the most expensive bit of practical science ever practiced.
What’s the deal with rabid bats? First, the man in BC that died after a bite, and now a small child in NB who got bit while in bed. Enough reason to keep my windows closed, thank you very much. And forget the bat boxes on my trees. Let the beasts adopt another neighbourhood.
