Akayo'kaki A'pawaawahkaa: Yellow Jacket Queen

13 April 2010

Yellow Jacket Queen

IIII ) lllllllllllllllllllllllll Yellow Jacket Queen (11Apr10)

1256 Sspopiikimi - considerably colder than yesterday, there's a constant, chilly wind coming from the north

1257 Walking the length of the pond, all four regular aapsspini couples are in their respective territories, tending to their nests. The new, fifth couple has returned again as well, grazing on the neighboring golf course. The gander from this new pair is disheveled from battles, trying to gain access to the pond. Several large feathers on his wings are askew

1300 There's no sign of the midpond mi'ksikatsi, or the drake that lives north of them. In the south pond, we find the usual three mallard pairs, plus four lone drakes. Also, the male redwing who came in yesterday is still here, and at least for the time being has complete run of the cattails below the subpond. Nobody to flash his bars at though

1316 Even in the chilly wind, there's a male house finch singing to attract some ladies toward his haunt in the bulberry brush above the peninsula

1318 As we start to round the south pool, we notice the peninsula mi'ksikatsi are in their area below us, at the edge of the cattails. We decide to sit down on the bank of the levee and watch them a bit

1343 For twenty-five minutes we observe as the mallard couple drifts around in their shallow pool, dipping their heads underwater to feed. While we sit with them, a flicker repeatedly gives its laughing call from the trees behind us, the redwing male sings to himself in the cattails, a robin stops near to hunt worms and another gives a repeated, high-pitched tweet from the forest

1356 After another fifteen minutes of watching the couple feed, we're ready to move on. We can return and repeat this exercise on our next visit

1404 As we pass by the always-open shallows near the blind, we see that there are actually three mi'ksikatsi couples in this area today, when we thought there was only one. There is also a lone drake

1449 For the next while, we poke around in the forest, turning logs and lifting bark from poplar snags, looking for insects and spiders. For the most part, the little critters seem tucked away. We find lots of thatching refuse, and just a few of the pale lasius ants themselves. One log turns-up a harvestman spider. And a small, dark-colored, elegant crab spider emerges on the bark of a tree, completely camouflaged. We also find an odd insect when we strip off some rotten bark. It looks almost like a stone centipede, same orange color, same size, but its body is flat, and it has only six legs up front. Perhaps it’s the cucujus larva

1511 We sit down for a break in the forest, then turn a few more logs, finding more lasius ants. Just when we reach the slope that will take us out of the trees, Mahoney turns a relatively small branch from the ground, and there beneath it is our find of the day: a yellow jacket queen, still hibernating

1552 We could have left after seeing the queen, but we aren't ready yet. Instead, we briefly look out over the river island, then return to south-pond, where we have lunch. As we eat, a pair of magpies fly in for a quick sip. There no longer seem to be as many mallards here. We see only one couple, sleeping beside a tuft of bulrush

1608 Finishing our sandwiches, now we feel ready to go home. We walk to the north side of the pond once again, past the hibernating yellow jacket branch. The midpond mallard couple and lone drake have returned, they must have been among those gathered at south-pond earlier. Beside the trail, we see a seven-spot ladybug clinging to the base of a new absinthe stem. Soon we are back at the truck

IIII ) llllllllllllllllllllllllll Chrysalis Hatching (12Apr10)

0841 Wow! Two of the chrysalii I collected at the pond a month ago and put in jars have hatched. And to my total surprise, no moths or butterflies emerged. Instead, a big black wasp and a bumblebee-ish pollinator (probably a fly in mimic). I will have to research their identification

0937 Redhead ducks by Bingo Bridge, golden eagle beside Thunderchief, plenty of new arrivals on this morning's drive to work

1902 Okay, letting the bumblebee-ish critter (who's probably a harmless fly) out of the jar, in my basement, for a photo session, was not a good idea. It used its legs to clean of its wings, then came right after me. Imagine a grown man running circles around his basement, wide-eyed, screaming like a girl

Obsessing On Purpose

Like most living beings - human or otherwise - I have cultivated a number of behavioural routines and aesthetic predilections that bring structure, or perhaps a sense of security, to my everyday life. In some instances, these quirks and habits border on the embarrassingly obsessive-compulsive. For instance, at nookoowa, I routinely make sure that anything situated on tables or counters be set in an alignment parallel to the edges. Sometimes, nipiitaam or nitana will offset things purposely, just to watch me run around straightening them. On the other hand though, I prefer our tables and countertops to be absolutely empty except when in use, and all items that might otherwise be placed upon them to be neatly stowed away in closets, trunks, and cupboards. I also try to make sure that any like-type objects that happen to be stored on a shelf - such as books, video games, compact discs, statuettes, picture frames, what have you - are neatly aligned and arranged in some pleasing order. My bed must always be made, unless someone’s in it, and nothing beyond sheets, blankets, or pillows belongs on it. It bothers me when clothing is tossed on the floor, or draped anywhere other than on hangers in our closets. Furniture, in the form of couches, cushioned chairs, dining sets, etc. strike me as clutter, limiting the spaces that one would otherwise have available to conduct creative activities. I prefer to sit on the floor, with just a pillow or folded blanket for support. I don’t like any lighting except that which comes from naato’si, nor prolonged periods of electronic noise. The different foods on my plate cannot touch, unless we’re eating Mexican, in which case it must all be mixed together into a bean, cheese, and rice paste. And I don’t think sinks are places to keep dirty dishes, or sponges, or globs of fallen toothpaste… although they are for cleaning such things immediately. The list could go on, all these partialities that are so rarely realized to my satisfaction. The truth of the matter is, in the long run, most of my aesthetic habits bring me more irritation than comfort. Yet I continue to uphold them all the same.

One of my greatest obsessive-compulsive behaviours, a massive sink-hole of energy, and that which applies more than any other to the present project, is an overwhelming desire to document periods of transition in my life. I’ve been journaling since I was about twelve years old, using this practice as a surrogate companion of sorts, with whom to discuss the occasionally strange (and often mundane) changes I’m constantly attempting to make in my life, in whatever direction I happen to be exploring at the time. Over nearly three decades, I’ve experimented with a wide variety of media, from classic stationary and blank books, to audio notes, photography, film, sketching. I’ve written in both first and third person, I’ve tried to approach the practice as story telling, as ethnography, as documentary, as art. But my trouble is this… for me, the final product of my efforts is never good enough. I’m constantly shifting tactics and media. I’ve probably made some stationers fairly rich. In fact, any new idea at all can compel me to destroy prior work and start anew, because my sense is that a fresh journaling project is like an opportunity for the redefinition of self. It’s a personal renewal. A cleansing, a chance to make a vow and completely transform the narratives that guide one’s experiences. An old journal, on the other hand, one that no longer accurately reflects my sensibilities or interests in the present, is to me a blemish, an imperfection, a blatant reminder of the self I’ve already outgrown. Such past projects are like carelessly wrought sculptures, beyond repair. And so I must begin, again and again.

Now I know, some may say that for the artist it is the process that matters, not the product. And there are examples from around the world to demonstrate this claim. There are the Tibetan sculptures made from butter, which melt in the sun. The sacred sand-paintings of the Navajo, scooped-up and discarded at the close of their healing ceremonies. Origami cranes, floating down the rivers of Japan. There are all manner of ikitstakssiistsi to look toward as monuments to the significance of process over product. True. I don’t deny it. But these examples involve at least two aspects that my journals do not. First, they are almost always seen to some stage of human completion, each creative act having a very defined conclusion, the point at which they are left in sacrifice to the sacred beings, the ancestors, the future generations. Which brings up the second distinction they have from my journals – these creative acts are also highly spiritual, inaugurating, feeding, or renewing sacred relationships. And while my journaling practices have always nurtured, I’ve never really approached them as offerings to the forces that sustain my life. Rather, and perhaps sadly, I feel deep down that they have been little more than tools for fostering detachment, as if the immediate activities involved in my pursuits for growth and transformation are somehow not enough in themselves. And I’m aware that it is in large part my history of exposure to an immature and ego-centric global ethos that has conditioned me to such hollow practice.

There is another (and related) reason why I tend to discard imperfect or outdated journals, over-concern myself with the organization of items on my shelving systems, fret obsessively over household clutter, etc. It is because I have been enculturated in an aesthetics that defies nature by placing all like items together, and all unalike items apart. It’s a system partial to concrete categories, surface in its emphasis, allowing little room for metamorphoses, transfigurations, or interconnectivities. In fact, it is a way that fears these complexities and the potential loss of present form. A journal, by its very nature of recording a series of thoughts and life experiences, all of which are unalike except by means of their association to a single person in the midst of constant change, somehow simultaneously calls-to and troubles this aesthetics. As typically carried out, a journal is in essence just another means of imposing false order on the flow of life, both by objectifying experience and by organizing its representation into segments of a linear-time framework that is completely removed from the shifting cyclicality of the natural world. My fluent relationship with both kinds of awareness has, in a sense, rendered me bipolar. I strive for a certain level of systematicity, all the while knowing full well that such order reflects an impoverished approach to negotiating the human condition.

Perhaps what I’ve needed all along is a healthy recognition of both the limitations and potential functionalities of record-keeping practices, particularly in the traditions of aokstakio’p and aisinaakio’p… this, followed by an alterative adoption of those beneficial techniques and media from the established global culture, inwardly, in a manner that augments rather than re-shapes niitsitapia’pii. I am lucky, in this sense, to be already engaged in a learning process through iiyaohkimiipaitapiiyssin, which I’m sure will offer many insights along the way. But all the same, I know that to achieve my vision, to revitalize forms of niitsitapi record-keeping through my journaling practice, I will have to work much more closely with those constant resources I can trust - niitsi’powahsin, akaitapiitsinikssiistsi, ki nipaapao’kaanistsi. I will also need to develop a habit of respecting the advice of my own deeper intuition, and begin responding regularly to the voices of the sspommitapiiksi, ksaahkomitapiiksi, and soyiitapiiksi of kitawahsinnoon. My hope is that in blogging the present journal, Akayo’kaki A’pawaawahkaa, I can explore and perhaps realize this interest. And if nothing else, if the urge to renew strikes again, all I have to do is hit DELETE.

Akayo'kaki A'pawaawahkaa

13 April 2010

Yellow Jacket Queen

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