●Development of Test equipment and Elemental technology Specially we develop novelty and attractive products.
●High resolution color scanner by using Line CCD , paper transportation device like ASF and ADF etc….
is now possible using a single chip, with the advantages of both miniaturization and cost reduction.
speeds. This technology makes possible sharper, higher quality images.
of specification; rather a sufficient level of separation has been truly realized.
by dye sublimation and thermal transcription print.
bookbinder systems that are smaller and lighter than ever before.
precision design in a short period of time.
2016 Wedg developed the world's first mass-production printer for amusement machines.
2013 Wedg has implemented the development of auto bookbinder machine , it is minimum ,ultra lightweigh and variable 8.5inch×6inch .
2008 The article of jointly-Developed'Rewritable Printer' was published on Ricoh technical report.
December 7,2006 The article was published on 'Tosei Newspaper'.
July 14,2006 The article was published on 'Nikkei Sangyo Newspaper'.
2006 The article was published on Chushokigyo's book.
April 11,2006 Wedg was selected by'300 Good Venture companies' and get a letter of appreciation by Minister of 'Ministry of Economy,Trade and Industry'.
August 29,2005 The interview of Wedg President Yoshida was published on 'Nikkankogyo Newspaper'.
November 26,2004 Wedg won a prize of 'Chushokigyokenshu center'.
February,2004 Photo Printer Wedg licenced was released in North-America.
December,2003 Photo Printer Wedg licenced was released in Europe and Asia.
December 3,2003 The article was published on'Sankei Newspaper'.
September 9,2003 The article was published on 'Nikkeisangyo Newspaper'.
June 21,2003 The article was published on'Forbes'.
June 18,2003 The article was published on 'Nihonkogyo Newspaper'.
June 16,2003 The article was published on'Nihonkogyo Newspaper'.
March 9,2002 The article was published on 'Weekly Daiamond'.
February 18,2002 The article of precise control technology was published on'NihonKeizai Newspaper'.
January 24,2002 The interview of Wedg President Yoshida was published on 'Weelky Dias'.
January 31,2002 The article of printer for business use Wedg developed was published.
Our President, Yoshida was awarded the prize for Entrepreneur Of The Year'Start Up' in 2001.


Madison Bumgarner is known for policing the game on the field and now he's trying to control it before he even gets on it.
After the Giants' new president of baseball operations Farhan Zaidi told reporters in December he could embrace an "opener" strategy, Bumgarner reportedly shot a quick, firm text to San Francisco manager Bruce Bochy.
"If you use an opener in my game I'm walking right out of the ballpark," the text read, according to NBC Sports Bay Area.
Bochy said Bumgarner sent him a text after Zaidi said Giants might use openers. "If you use an opener in my game I'm walking right out of the ballpark."
It was later noted that Bochy was joking.
M Bumgarner has always been a team player and respectful of Bochy. He also has a good sense of humor. It's staggering to see the number of purported "spiders news sites" that jumped on Bochy's line and wrote that Bumgarner literally would refuse to follow an opener into a game.
Bumgarner went 6-7 with a 3.26 ERA for the Giants last season and held opponents to a .193 batting average in their first plate appearance.
He's probably not a candidate for an opener.
However, Derek Holland (4.20 ERA), Johnny Cueto (8.00) and Jeff Samardzija (9.00) have all had trouble in the first inning, so they could be candidates to come out in the second inning rather than the first.
Clearly though, Bumgarner is having none of that.


Wilby is a village in north-eastern Victoria, about 15 km south of Yarrawonga and the same distance east of Tungamah. Originally known as Pelleuba East, the name was changed after a school was opened in 1883. The head-teacher's proposal for the name was Wilby, thought to be derived from an Aboriginal word wilpy, meaning hut.
The churches and dairying activities continued for several decades. By the 2000s Wilby was noted for a sporting oval, tennis courts and a car-racing circuit. The memorial hall remained, but the school had closed.


text:
Приходько Микола Ілліч ( , с. Кірово Оріхівського району Запорізької області- 23.12.2018) — український науковець, доктор педагогічних наук, професор.

Життєпис
Приходько Микола Ілліч народився 19 квітня 1938 року в с. Кірово (наразі село Таврійське) Оріхівського району Запорізької області.

З 1943 до 1952 року — виховувався в дитячому будинку м. Мелітополь.

В 1952 р. — учень реального училища № 2 м.Запоріжжя.

1954 р. — слюсар 4 розряду заводу п/я 18.

1956 р. — електрослюсар електроремонтного цеху заводу «Запоріжсталь».

З 1957 р. — перебував на службі в лавах Радянської армії.

1958 р. — нагороджений значком «Відмінник радянської армії».

1961 р. — старший піонерський вожатий середньої школи №28 М.Запоріжжя.

1963 р. — нагороджений значком «Кращому вожатому ЦК ВЛКСМ».

1965 р. — завідувач культурним сектором Будинку культури імені М.Горького заводу «Запоріжсталь».

1966 р. — старший піонерський вожатий середньої школи № 41 М.Запоріжжя.

В 1969 році закінчив філологічний факультет Запорізького державного педагогічного інституту. Учитель російської мови та літератури середньої школи № 41 міста Запоріжжя.

З 1988 р. — доцент кафедри педагогіки і психології Запорізького державного університету.

В 1991 році — захистив докторську дисертацію «Педагогічні основи учнівського самоврядування загальноосвітньої середньої школи».

1992 р. — завідувач кафедри проблем управління Запорізького державного університету. Професор кафедри педагогіки і психології Запорізького державного університету.

В 1993 році присвоєно вчене звання професора кафедри педагогіки і психології.

З 2000 року — професор, завідувач кафедри управління і соціальної педагогіки Запорізького державного університету за терміновою угодою. Член спеціалізованої вченої ради К 64.051.19 Харківського національного університету імені В.Н.Каразіна.

В тому ж році нагороджений Знаком «Відмінник освіти України».

З 2002 року — професор, завідувач кафедри проблем управління і соціальної педагогіки Запорізького державного університету на підставі строкового договору.

З 2007 року — Завідувач кафедри дошкільної освіти та соціальної педагогіки Мелітопольського державного педагогічного університету.

З 2010 року — професор кафедри соціальної педагогіки Запорізького національного університету.

Вчительська та наукова діяльність
Вчительська діяльність розпочалась з посади організатора позакласної та позашкільної робота і вчитель російської мови та літератури і малювання середньої школи № 72 м. 3апоріжжя.

Надалі були наступні основні етапи наукового становлення:

Асистент кафедри педагогіки Запорізького державного педагогічного інституту.

Публікує свою першу роботу «Із досвіду роботи класного керівника по профорієнтації».

Стаття «Тематичний облік знань учнів на уроках російської мови» в журналі «Русский язык и литература в школах УРСР».

Науковий кореспондент Науково-дослідного інституту педагогіки УРСР.

Закінчив аспірантуру Науково-дослідного інституту педагогіки УРСР за спеціальністю «Дитячі, юнацькі, молодіжні комуністичні організації і педагогічна соціологія».

У 1978 р. захистив кандидатську дисертацію у Науково-дослідному Інституті педагогіки України на тему «Виховання громадсько-політичної активності старших підлітків у процесі діяльності піонерської організації», спеціальність 13.00.01 – теорія та історія педагогіки.

Викладач кафедри педагогіки Запорізького державного педагогічного інституту.

Старший викладач кафедри педагогіки Запорізького державного педагогічного інституту.

Доцент кафедри педагогіки Запорізького державного педагогічного інституту.

Завідувач кафедри педагогіки Запорізького державного університету.

Завідувач кафедри дошкільної освіти та соціальної педагогіки Мелітопольського державного педагогічного університету імені Богдана Хмельницького.

Основні напрямки наукової роботи
• андрагогіка;

• методика викладання соціально-педагогічних дисциплін;

• акмеологія;

• основи соціально-педагогічних досліджень;

• технології соціально-педагогічних досліджень;

• методологічні засади соціально-педагогічних досліджень;

• самовиховання та саморегуляція особистості.

Основні публікації
• Приходько М.І. Учнівське самоврядування в сучасному вимірі. – Х.: Вид. група «Основа»: 2008. – 176 с. – (Б-ка журналу «Управління школою»; Вип..3 (63).

• Приходько Н.И. Педагогические основы ученического самоуправления: Книга для учителя. – М.: «Просвещение», 1991 – 126 с.

• М.І. Приходько, О.М.Приходько, Н.І. Селі верстова, О.В. Турська. Словник – довідник менеджерів освіти, соціальних педагогів та працівників соціально-педагогічних служб, консультацій. – Запоріжжя: «Поліграф», 2000 – 131 с.

• Приходько Н.И., Белоусова З.И., Бойко В.Э. Семья – школа – конфликт: Книга для учителей, родителей, социальных работников, психологов и широкого круга читателей. – Запорожье: ПО «Гамма», 1995. – 140 с.

Ненадруковані наукові роботи

• Воспитание общественно-политической активности старших подростков в процессе деятельности пионерской организации: Диссертация на соискание ученой степени кандидата педагогических наук. - К., 1978. - 176с.

• Педагогические основы ученического самоуправления общеобразовательной средней школы: Диссертация на соискание ученой степени доктора педагогических наук. - К., 1991.- 377с.

Нагороди
• Нагрудний знак «Петро Могила»,

• «Відмінник освіти України»,

• Значок «Кращий вожатий»,

• Почесна грамота Міністерства освіти і науки України.

Посилання

Джерела
Приходько Микола Ілліч

Українські педагоги
Науковці Запорізького національного університету
Доктори педагогічних наук України
Українські професори
Відмінники освіти України
Уродженці Оріхівського району
Мелітопольський державний педагогічний університет імені Богдана Хмельницького
Нагороджені почесною грамотою Міністерства освіти і науки України
Нагороджені нагрудним знаком «Учасник АТО»
Нагороджені нагрудним знаком «Петро Могила»

redpajama_set_name: RedPajamaWikipedia


text:
Home | Environment | A Chief Permitting Officer for Federal Projects: Does Portman-McCaskill Go Far Enough?
A Chief Permitting Officer for Federal Projects: Does Portman-McCaskill Go Far Enough?
by Jeff Yoders on April 16, 2015
Environment, Ferro Alloys, Ferrous Metals, Global Trade, Manufacturing, Metal Fabricated Parts, Public Policy, Sourcing Strategies
The US ranks 41st in the world in terms of the ease of gaining federal permits to proceed with construction or infrastructure projects, according to the 2014 World Development Indicators' Ease of Doing Business Index.
Free Webinar: MetalMiner's Q2 and Q3 2015 Forecasts
Philip K. Howard of Common Good, recently discussed with us how permitting, not funding, is the biggest obstacle to renewing and replacing the nation's crumbling infrastructure.
A Chief Permitting Officer
Senators Rob Portman (R. – Ohio) and Claire McCaskill (D. – Mo.) have introduced a bill that requires the first chief permitting officer for federal agencies. The bill would impact projects that cost more than $25 million and receive federal dollars, which includes most interstate roads and bridges. However, it does not give the new CPO the right to force individual agencies involved with projects to make decisions or move forward on projects in a timely manner.
"It's a multi-headed federal bureaucracy that we have," Howard said. "The problem with their bill is the CPO doesn't have any authority. He can't lean on one unreasonable agency if it's holding up a project. There needs to be a dialectic here. If any one of 19 different agencies involved (in the Bayonne Bridge project in New Jersey) decides it's going to dig in its heels in, there is no alternative but to give in to what they want. That feeds the paralysis. There needs to be a presumptive authority somewhere. There needs to be someone who can cut through that. If that authority is too high-handed that won't work, either. You want an incentive for everyone to be reasonable and agree to make decisions within a reasonable timeline."
In countries that rate higher on the Ease of Doing Business Index, interstate road or bridge projects there is a permitting officer or a department designated as the one stop for permitting and review. You can't ignore it. There is an internal mechanism where agencies inside the permitting process can, essentially, complain if their concerns are being ignored by the overseeing agency and its CPO.
"If the question is the adequacy of environmental review, the decision maker to draw the line on that would be an environmental official," Howard said. "If it's a powerline running through several states, it should be the agency responsible for the adequacy of the power grid."
Howard cited the Cape Wind Project is an example of a federal project where people in the agencies were definitely gaming the process to slow it down, and where the perpetual nature of the permitting process was helped to draw out political indecision. He noted that no process is going to solve that completely.
One Decision Maker, Several Constituencies
"In any business setting there is an officer in charge who is not just responsible of making decisions, this person can't just do whatever he or she wants, there are various internal pressures this person faces," Howard said. "The same is true of a one-stop agency. It still must be accountable and responsive to other constituents and satisfy the goals of the law. From the standpoint of the person or business trying to get a permit, they have to deal with the one authorized agency and all of those below it be extension."
While state and municipal governments are generally more action-oriented than the federal government they're not perfect, either. For an interstate project or one of national significance, Howard said, for projects with federal dollars, there is not much of a choice but but to have a federal decision maker.
"The Portman-McCaskill bill is a start," he said. "(At Common Good) we are going to try to open up a public debate about what the best way to gain accountability is. The one thing we know is the current state of paralysis by dictate has tragic consequences. We're dealing with decrepit infrastructure which reduces competitiveness while allowing 2 million jobs to sit on the sidelines."
Free Download: Price Trends in the April MMI Report
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Specialty Metals Division Conference: Innovate or Die
Housing Starts Miss, Beijing Walks the Slowdown Path

redpajama_set_name: RedPajamaCommonCrawl


text:
package org.xena.logging;

enum Level {

	ALL(0),

	INFO(1),

	WARNING(2),
	ERROR(2),

	DEBUG(3),

	OFF(4);

	private final int value;

	Level(int value) {
		this.value = value;
	}

	public int value() {
		return value;
	}

	public boolean shouldLog(Level otherLevel) {
		return shouldLog(this, otherLevel);
	}

	public static boolean shouldLog(Level level, Level otherLevel) {
		return level.value() < otherLevel.value();
	}

}

redpajama_set_name: RedPajamaGithub


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text:
Category Archives: Otter Creek
Acadia National Park community Listening to the Dew: Nature Log Nature Log Otter Creek
Seeking sunlight, we went looking for caves.
Pitch Pine grove in Otter Creek, Maine
It is the time of year when days are short. During the week it is barely light when I head to work, and usually dark when I head home. Weekends are the chance to get some sun and soak in those warm vitamin D filled rays. There are plenty of reasons to be outside—hunting down and cutting the Christmas tree, stringing lights, gathering mussels, bringing in wood for the stove—but these only give a few hours, if that, of outdoor time.
There are only sixteen short hours of daylight each weekend, weekends that include commitments like family gatherings, indoor construction projects, laundry and other household tasks. This weekend we celebrated Christmas with cousins, aunts, siblings, and in-laws. Otter Creek, where we live, and many at the gathering grew up, was of course a topic. The Tarn, a small pond where people used to skate, fish and iceboat, is filling in. Coyotes, unheard of thirty years ago, boldly sit by the road munching on their kill. Someone mentioned playing in caves were they were little, and wondered if anyone had been there lately. Caves? As we drove home I begged for more information.
I knew these would not be caves as most people think of caves—deep, extensive, a place to get lost in or explore. But I have lived in Otter Creek close to half my life, and had not heard about these caves. Sunday, I had already begged, we would get outside for some sun. Now we had a purpose, we were going to find caves.
The modest mountains of Acadia National Park have several caves. Day Mountain is a two-mile walk from our house, and the caves there are deep enough to reach a point where no daylight enters. I would crawl in, and squeeze into the little corner where light did not reach, and crouch with my eyes wide open. I played with touching my nose, and moving my hands towards each other, index fingers pointing, and seeing if I could get them to meet. This is a place I love to share with visitors.
One friend, huddled next to me, said turn on the flashlight. We gazed horrified at the dozens of large black spiders on the roof of our cranny, inches above our hair.
I was ready for some new caves. "How big?" I asked. My husband said he couldn't really remember, but that they were big enough to fit inside. He said when he was young his grandfather told him he used to go up there with the girls. His grandfather was not specific about what they did, but the implication was they were big enough to get in out of the rain.
Sunday, chores were done or shrugged off. There was sun, glorious sun. It was twenty-one degrees. We got directions from neighbor Clyde, who has spent all his life in the Creek and knows every inch of it.
We headed up the steep hill behind the Otter Creek Hall (formerly the Congregational Church). I had walked back there a few times, and we tap trees in that area for maple syrup. We went beyond that. We followed deer trails to an old property road, which marked a boundary of David Bracy's land. David was one of the village settlers. The day was crisp and fine, and I was so happy to have the sun on my face that the search became secondary, as we knew it would.
After a short climb we reached an open ledge, a rocky stretch with twisted pitch pines and Dorr Mountain in the distance. There is a pitch pine grove behind my house, and these small growths are suggestive of Chinese watercolors. There is little underbrush, and the short stunted pines seem to rise out of the granite ledges. Silver grey deer moss covers the rocks. Frost edged a the opening of chipmunk hole, and we saw three more entrances to this little chipmunk community. A large aspen had extensive beaver teeth marks along the bottom. It was a big tree, and I am not surprised he gave up.
Chipmunk hole surrounded by bits of pine cone
We continued to follow the old road, and there, plunk in the middle of the woods, was a fish shack. "That belonged to Mike Bracy," my husband said. Around 1970 Acadia National Park employees were instructed to go to Otter Creek and destroy all the villager's fish shacks. Later, they rebuilt Mike's shack, and he moved it up into the woods. He was getting old, and no one really understands the logic behind the move, but there it is, a sturdy little building with newspaper insulation. Someone has sprayed a peace symbol on it, and some plastic toys lie abandoned inside the door.
Mike Bracy's fish shack, moved from the shore to the woods.
Under a hemlock tree we saw the scrapings a buck had made with his hoof, and I was told they almost always marked their territory under an evergreen. I asked why, but did not get an answer.
After an open trail and sloping woodland floor we came upon a tumble of boulders and ledges. There were overhangs, and some dark crevices, but nothing I would call a cave unless I was ten inches tall. Someone had been up there cutting brush, about two years ago judging by the ages of the cut marks. Several tall spruce were splattered with sap. Something, wasps, parasites, I do not know but welcome a scientist to explain, had wounded the trees and they were producing sap and making spruce gum. Otter Creek spruce gum was once sold in New York markets as chewing gum.
Spruce sap spatters on spruce tree.
The sun was already heading for the mountain that would soon hide it. We passed another hoof pattern in the earth, and sure enough it was under another hemlock. Could it be buck's mark elsewhere, but it is only in the clear, needle covered space that we notice it?
I have had some sun, and while I did not get to crawl into a spider infested cave, I have learned a little more about the people who came before me in this village of mine, and explored a few hills and ledges I had never seen before.
Granite rocks in Otter Creek
A young cave
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Tying one on
Assorted string
String, twine, rope, and ribbon, once part of everyday life, are seen less and less. The lumpy Kraft paper package tied up with fraying cord that was delivered parcel post is now rejected by the United States Postal Service. They want uniformity. Odd shaped bundles that ignited the receiver's curiosity have been replaced with a half dozen standard ready-to-assemble priority boxes, complete with self-seal adhesive, no string required or even accepted. String may not be on the endangered list, but its homely presence is no longer a daily occurrence.
My dad had a varied assortment of string and cord, some was on spools, some in a bag, and others wrapped around shingles. He never passed any up at yard sales or flea markets. A giant spool, ten inches tall and eight inches in circumference, offered a lifetime supply of orange nylon cord. There was black cotton twine, brown-gray jute, and a white string in some other material that he would pass through a flame to melt and stop from fraying.
As children, my dad's string was frequently resorted to. We made cat's cradles, macramé hanging plant holders, and used it for jewelry. It was called into service to hang Christmas ornaments, and tied around the knob of a door that was then slammed shut to pull a tooth. I do not ever remember buying string at a store. We had whatever I might need for a project, hanging on the wall in his shop, neat and arranged by weight and type. His string was never in tangle, just as his knives were never dull. This was a man with a full-time job, three kids, and always in the midst of a project, from swimming pool deck, to fieldstone fireplace to growing award-winning beefsteak tomatoes or learning German. He still had the time to keep his string tidy.
Dad, of course, was not the only one with a string stash. Most households had a collection of it. String was a commonplace and completely simple commodity. It still is, but the three feet of twine that wrapped bundles of wood at the campground has been replaced with ten or more feet of clear stretchy plastic. The box from the bakery that was once tied up with white cotton string, offering a convenient carrying handle, is now quickly taped closed and handed over. We are certainly not a stringless society, but as it becomes replaced with tape, staples or plastic, the times we do tie things up are becoming more and more infrequent.
There is such a variety of string–so many hues, weights, and uses. My dad's collection was beautiful. My more modest collection is a colorful assortment in a corner of the shed, admittedly not as neat as his, but an artistic still life nonetheless. While much string can be used for many purposes, string was also specialized. There was green gardener's string, lightweight kite string, packing string, guitar string, fishing line, and some tightly twisted black string whose original purpose is long lost. And then there was a golden-brown rough twine used for bundling hay. This has been replaced with wire, but in the early 1900's it was this honey colored and grass-scented twine that kept hay bundled into blocks for delivery as fodder.
Hundreds of pieces of string, saved from hay bales, tied together.
I know this because we have a wooden board with u-shaped curves at each end, which is wrapped with yards of hay twine. Some farmer carefully took the string off each bale of hay he used to feed his cattle. He accumulated these pieces all summer, and the following winter tied them together with tight square knots and wrapped it around the wooden holder he had made. Silvery gray pencil in an elegant script stated the year, 1938, and the total length of the twine. As he used it, he would cross off the old length, and pencil in the remaining amount.
The time required to do this is astounding. I marvel as imagine this unknown farmer tying a small tight knot and reaching for another rough length to add. A winter task, he probably knotted after dark, with a fire burning, and I see him in a high-backed comfortable chair with a dwindling mound of loose twine at one side, a growing roll of neatly tied string on the other. It is evidence of the importance of string and of the frugality of the beginning of this century. To save all those pieces, tie them together, wrap the new long length, and then use this string, is classic Yankee thrift. Decades later we look at this with respect and awe. Today, that bale string would be pulled off and tossed.
String is still utilitarian, but these painstakingly saved and tied rolls are works of art. Barbara Kurgan, designer and stylist from Otter Creek and New York City, has a deep appreciation of the beauty of string. She collects and displays balls of string and string accoutrements. String in mass, or as a ball, appeals to her. Her kitchen has an eight-inch tall spool of red and white baker's string, and near it is a perfectly round ball of red twine perched on a string holder. She is a collector, and her string collection mingles with her other collections on display in deep curio cabinet.
Baker's twine in Barbara Kurgan's kitchen
"String is rife with potential," Barbara says. "I love when something natural has been transformed by man to fulfill a function, a wolf becomes a dog, and fiber becomes string." She also likes all the words and phrases associated with string. "Think of the nuances," she says, "Tie downs, tie one on, string someone along, string theory, strung out." She lifts a large flat spool from the cabinet. "This came from Japan, and is spun from twisted unbleached paper. I got it years ago, long before the 'Green Movement'." It is now in Maine, and while it is still string and capable of performing its function, it has been transformed once more. It is now captive in a tableau, and viewed for its shape and color and texture and the story it tells.
Curio cabinet with display of string and other objects in Kurgan's Maine home
String, mundane, humble, and practical, is never showy or frivolous. Its simplicity is appealing. There are only two basic types, braided, and twined or twisted. Single-ply string is made by spinning fiber or fur, and can be made from nettles, hemp, maple, cotton, straw, jute, rabbit fur, sheep's wool, alpaca, and the cocoons of larvae. There are even businesses which make yarn out of the fur from your cat or dog. It can be collected it when you groom your pet–my Maine coon needs frequent brushing, and soft brown and black kitty fur mittens are in my future.
After spinning the fur or fiber, the single strands are then twisted or braided. Thread with two strands is called two-ply, string with twenty strands is twenty-ply. It is then formed into balls, or wrapped around spools or bobbins. One single perfect strand is beautiful; a group of spools and balls become art. A massive ball becomes a tourist attraction. Francis Johnson rolled one ball of twine for twenty-nine years, eventually building a plexi-glass shed to protect and display it. Finley Stephens of Missouri rolled a ball of string weighing 3,712 pounds. It is now a draw at O'Malley's Irish Pub in Weston, Missouri. He used packing string, gathered from area post offices. The post offices no longer use string, Mr. Stephens has died, and the ball of string will grow no more.
We may not use string as much as we once did, but when we do there is comfort and familiarity. String has remained relatively unchanged, and I tie a knot just as my mother did, and her mother's mother's mother. Together we form a long line, a string of string users, past, present and future, and we are slowly, inexorably, being rolled into a giant, record-breaking, ball of twine.
Listening to the Dew: Nature Log Nature Log Otter Creek
Mushroom fever
The start of our large autumn harvest
Death by mushroom happens every year, as it has for hundreds of years, but it does not deter me from gathering my favorite edible fungus, Grifola frondosa, sometimes called hen of the woods. Death in mushroom is a newer concept, and one I first heard of at a recent mushroom party. As a gatherer and eater of wild mushrooms, and someone who loves wandering old cemeteries but never wants to be in one, being buried in a mushroom shroud has a purity and simplicity that appeals.
It is mid October, leaf peeper season, and the leaves of the trees are burnt orange with an occasional blast of bright red. Storms have not yet stripped the branches, and photographers gather at choice locations to capture the glory of the Maine autumn. It has been a spectacular and long-lasting fall. This is also maitake season. My husband has joined me foraging, and our first outing yielded a half dozen rosettes of these earthy and flavorful mushrooms. More than once we filled the trunk of the car, and gladly gave them to fellow mushroom lovers. This fall we harvested about a hundred pounds. Other gatherers are collecting massive amounts as well. An abundance of color has coincided with an abundance of maitake several times. Years with few mushrooms have been paired with less than glorious foliage. Coincidence, or do the same weather conditions and temperatures that stimulate vibrant fall leaf colors also promote maitake growth? If there is a scientific connection I would like to know, but not knowing doesn't dampen my mushroom fever at seeing so many giant fungi, and I cannot stop gathering them.
The color of old oak leaves and dead pine needles maitake often blend into the forest floor. It is their height and rose blossom shape that I spot.
In late September we drove along a dirt road though an old forest. "Stop,'" I called. It was the first spotting of the season. Three large clumps of maitake rose above the ground cover of damp oak leaves, but they were blackened and gelatinous. They would grace no one's table. Maitake have a firm slightly toothy texture when cooked, and retain their shape and size, not diminishing the way commercial white mushrooms do. Their flavor is deep and full, earthy and buttery. We have found them in other months, but it is late September and early October when we hunt them seriously. Fall is also prime time for many other mushrooms in Maine—hedgehogs, black trumpets, or a second fruiting of chanterelles. It is also the season for Laeitoporus sulphureus, or chicken of the woods, and we have harvested a good year's supply from the stump of a two hundred year old ash tree just cut down at my husband's family camp. These bright orange mushrooms are meaty, do not have much water content and when cooked are very like chicken in texture. Delicious, but it is maitake that capture my soul.
Varying shades of brown, the maitake mushroom resembles a giant dried rose with velvety petals curving away from a hidden center.
There are a few locations we check annually, and some produce year after year. Harvests vary widely, though. Last year we had perhaps five pounds, all were eaten or shared, and none saved for the winter. Next year may be equally slim. And so it was that this year's bounty was greedily collected. We ate maitake in omelets and we added it to soup and stews. We sautéed it with bacon and added cream and rosemary for a pasta sauce. We had maitake and Swiss cheese quesadillas. My husband went off on a fishing trip, and I looked at the close to hundred pounds of fresh maitake on the table in the backyard. It was the first time I ever gazed at these delicious monsters with dismay. They might still be fine in a few days when he returned to help process them, but they might not, and to pick them and not use them was not an option.
A few phone calls and the mushroom party was on. The model is as old as community. I had mushrooms, and I needed help. The friends who came took away half of what they bagged, we had plenty for our winter supply, and in a few hours the table buried in mushrooms was bare. It is a simple formula to share a harvest, and share an evening. We covered the dining room table in paper and everyone took a pile of mushroom, a soft brush to clean off dirt, and a knife to cut away any spongy or questionable areas. Wine was poured; local feta, seedy crackers, and red pepper quiche were consumed.
Alexandra, Tammy and Marilyn clean mushrooms, there was plenty for everyone.
This was a hen gathering, quite appropriate for hen of the woods. There is freedom in a gathering of all women, laughter flows and hands never stop working. We exchanged information. "Where does one find all these mushrooms?" Tammy asked. While it was indeed a shame I had to pretend I had forgotten exactly where we found them, I could at least offer advice–they are most commonly found at the base of older oaks, usually trees with signs of damage such as a dead limb or lightening strike.
Maitake still life by Tammy Packie
We all had suggestions for preparing them, but conversation rambled down many other roads. I had passed a four-foot tall houseplant in a garish plastic Italianate urn to Marilyn, one of my mushroom-cleaning friends. I had been slowly killing the plant, but the urn was un-killable, and I could not just throw them out. "Flourishing," she reassured me, "The dead leaves are all gone, and it is healthy and thriving." "Still in that baroque pot? I asked. "Er, no," she replied. "Does anyone want it?" she asked all us around the table. There were no takers, and suggestions of gold spray paint, theatre groups, Halloween décor, and anonymously gifting to a problematic landlord were offered. The conversation veered to cremation urns, which this unfortunate plastic pot resembled, and right back to mushrooms. We were, after all, sitting with one hundred dwindling pounds of mushrooms in front of us.
Maitake rose, by Tammy Packie
Forget urns or coffins–be buried in a corpse-consuming mushroom suit. Mushroom shrouds–I had never heard of them, but am right on board. Marilyn's daughter told us about them, and it is a simply brilliant idea.
Jae Rhim Lee, visual artist and human-environment researcher, has founded the Infinity Death Project. The project includes a fungi-laced shroud as well as exploring cultural aspects of death denial.
From DEAF Expo, Rotterdam 2012: The Mushroom Death Suit consists of a base layer of cotton and a top layer of netting embedded with mushroom spores and mycelium, which allows the fungi to grow and spread across the body. The 'Alternative Embalming Fluid', liquid spore slurry that allows spores to develop and grow inside the body, accompanies the suit. Lee is training fungi to consume her own body tissue and excretions (skin, hair, nails, blood, bone, fat, tears, urine, feces and sweat) as part of her Infinity Burial Project.
Lee was asked in an interview, "How does one train a mushroom?"
Her answer: "Although the mushrooms I'm using prefer wood-based food sources, mushrooms will pretty much eat anything. The training process involves introducing different food sources to the mushrooms and then slowly depriving the mushrooms of wood-based substances. One mycologist has even trained mushrooms to eat plastics like Bakelite. "
The stylish mushroom suit
Before learning about the mushroom suit I had requested my family donate my body to science to have eyes, heart, kidney, every usable organ used, and then let some pre-med student practice on the rest. I have held firm to this for decades. My mind was changed at the mushroom party. My organs will still be donated, but the premed student loses out. A consumer of mushrooms, being consumed by them has a sense of circular completion. I will eat maitake, chanterelles, morels, trumpets, whatever fungi is in season, with even more relish, knowing that as they sustain and give me pleasure now, I will be one day feeding them.
Mushroom party is over, but we took away an evening full of laughter, boxes full of maitake, and a plans for a new wardrobe addition–the mushroom death suit.
Note: If you gather from private property, please ask permission first. Lucky us, one of our sources is a neighbor who shudders at the thought of eating fungus. Oaks are frequently found near cemeteries, but my advice is to not gather in an area that systemic pesticides just might, maybe have been used. I would also never harvest from a tree close to a golf course. Those greens are pristine and beautifully maintained but mycelia draw from a fairly large area. It is possible that maitake do not pull nutrients beyond their host tree, but I am not taking that chance. Scientists, please tell me if you know, I have seen some lovely specimens at the edge of a golf course I just walked away from. (And lived to tell).
In The Garden Maine Otter Creek
Back to Green
Grape leaves with water drops
The plants in my garden flower abundantly in the Spring and Summer, going from the dreamy mauve and pink of lupines and bleeding heart to bold orange day lilies, blazing scarlet Monarda and deep purple monkshood. Now it is Labor Day, September, and instead of bloom I have green tinged with brown, and yellowing leaves. Some I will leave all winter–the flower caps of Queen Anne's Lace provide a frilly cup to hold a serving of light winter snow, and the globe thistle create a spiky silhouette against the white ground. But now they just accuse me of neglect. I try to recall when I last tended the garden, and acknowledge the accusation is justified.
In Spring I weed and plant and live and breathe my gardens. Green, all that green after a dark winter inspires me and I wake to tend the returning flowers, shrubs and vines. I prune and thin and transplant as needed. Then I just step back and admire from a distance. In mid-July there is a massive invasion of unwanted growth, and I spend a few hours in a frenzy of weed-pulling, moving with determination from one flowerbed to the next, filling the wheelbarrow again and again.
Fading Queen Anne's Lace
Then August blurs by in bike rides, boat rides, fund-raising dinners, family visits and no weeding. Today is Labor Day, and there it is once again, my September garden of green and brown. A pale Autumn Joy sedum is just starting to come into color and a late-blooming phlox adds some crisp white, but seed pods, yellowing leaves and dried flowerheads predominate. It has not always been like this for me. When I had a tiny in-town house with a picket-fence enclosing a tiny yard, I had the seasons under control. I had over-laying sheets of graph paper with neatly labeled plants, one for each season, so in spring I would know not to inadvertently plant on top of a yet to emerge platycodon or other late awakener. But 1600 square feet is a radical difference from an acre, and I have yet to master continual bloom here in Otter Creek. There is also a vegetable garden that requires attention, and so year after year I look around in September and sigh at the lack of color, while out of sight there are gaudy red tomatoes, ruby chard, glowing sunflowers, and vibrant squash blossoms.
Next year, I always say. That ten-foot run of phlox could be dug back to two, and surrounded with fall flowers. The Chelone is out of control, and a reducing it to a modest four-foot circle would leave additional area for Echinacea and rudbeckia. I sip my dark smoky tea, and really look at the weedy mess.
Last petals on the hydrangea
The overgrown patches are lush and full, tangled branches tumble under and over each other. Silver webs stretch from a flowerhead to a neighboring leaf, and the drops of dew, so many every night that the mornings sometimes seem washed by a light rain, reflect the light of the rising sun. There is sound, too. No gentle spring garden or showy summer blooms offer this. The leaves murmur, and there is a constant tip tap tap. It comes from all around, in the garden and from the trees above. A hiss and tremolo comes from the left, and I hear a sweet shimmering trill on the right.
The grapevines droop, each leaf holding a bright white spot of water on its tip. One drop falls with an audible "tupp" onto the leaf below. This leaf is then overloaded, and bends to send its drop and the newcomer to the next leaf. Many leaves are doing this, and the entire wall of vine is shimmying and sending out a chorus of "tip-tap –plop," as the leaves, relieved of the weight of water, spring back up.
The climbing hydrangea near the grapes has a small fringe of white petals along the edge of what were massive flowerheads. A breeze shivers through the weeping cherry, and a lone petal drifts away from the hydrangea and descends to the browning grass, accompanied by the rustling applause of a yellowing trumpet vine, and the nodding encouragement of the Queen Anne's Lace seed cups.
My gaze and ears continue to take in the weedy green again garden. Lazy for sure, but I think perhaps I will not pull out half the phlox and three-quarters of the chelone to plant a patch of September bloomers, after all.
Dried thistle pod
Acadia National Park community Day to day Nature Log Otter Creek
Just squidding around
August 17, 2012 – 2:32 pm
Sydney's dad shows the soft skin and colors of a squid.
Pale and luminous, the squid drift in a group towards our lures, and then scatter. Their movement is smooth, so different from fish that swim with tail flicks and fins. They slide. Propelled by sucking water and then forcing it out of their body cavity their path is straight and direct, not curving and swaying like a fish. Standing on the pier watching them in the bright lights that shine on the water their silence seems deeper, larger, and more palpable than that of the mackerel that swim nearby.
Catching squid is supposedly easy, but we are not getting any. The lures we bought are heavy, and when we shine our flashlights on them they cast a soft luminous green glow, not unlike the squid itself. The squid come near them, check them out, but are not fooled. We are just so fascinated to see these tentacled creatures stealthily pulsing through the water, always in a pack, that we do not care. We have a picnic: bread and olive oil, sliced cucumbers, molten goat cheese and warm sweet tomatoes from the garden sprinkled with our own sea salt. It is a family outing, and the kids are squid fishing, eating, and chasing each other, while we squid fish and eat. And plot the next squid expedition.
Setting up the picnic to squid by.
A week later we try again, this time going to Northeast Harbor, two inlets over from Otter Creek. We are surprised to see the dock filled with people, and then astounded at the number of milky squid sliding back and forth in the water below. One young boy is pulling a spinning squid through the air, and his dad gently strokes it and unhooks it, then adds it to their bucket.
We have just encountered Sidney, perhaps thirteen years old, a squid whisperer for sure. One family is just leaving, and say they have caught two squid, but that they watched Sydney, who they call Squidney, pull them in as quickly as he can throw his lure back into the water.
We toss out our heavy lures, and again the squid scatter. Sydney casts his small blue lure and draws it across the surface. He snags a squid, the tentacles spin, spraying water, and he pulls it through the air. Again his dad unhooks, and this time shows us the speckled pattern on the squid's skin. He remarks that some have a deep red color, while others are pale. As he holds it the color changes. The squid is dying, but he is held with reverence, and it does not seem a cruel passage.
Sydney pulls in another squid
Sydney is happy to share his skills, and shows us his lure, much lighter than ours. I toss mine in, and Sydney gives advice on jigging and how to create movement that will attract the squid. He then he tosses his line back in and thirty seconds later pulls up a squid. Young Sydney is unknowingly modest. He believes I, too, could catch buckets of squid if I had that lure. I am skeptical. I will order some, but I think it is more than the lure, it is Sydney's skill and dexterity.
His dad agrees. He generously tells us where to get that lure, and then says, "We were both fishing, but Sydney kept catching them, not me, so I just help him." It is a lovely father-son partnership. They share a respect and love for squid. Sydney sees a baby squid, and begs his dad to let him catch it and keep it in an aquarium so he can study it. But they do not have an aquarium, and so the baby squid is left alone. They both tell us squid habits, and that squid are smart. "After a while in one spot, the squid tell each other to stay away from our lure, it is taking their brothers away." I believe. Sydney tells me how they swim in one way when content, and another when looking for food. He has observed them and paid attention.
The father cups Sydney's most recent catch in his hand and shows us how to clean a squid. The entire time he speaks to us he is stroking the squid, and I reach out and run my fingers along the firm smooth flesh. Yes, I feel love.
Squid have ornate patterns on their flesh.
We talk recipes. I am making paella the next night, which is one of the reasons we came to catch squid, and Sydney asks us to please take some of his. We do, and he and his dad know they will be respected. But we are not done. The night is fine, the air calm, and we continue to optimistically toss our clunky lures among the cruising squid, as we watch Sydney pull one after another high through the air.
Then–fast, large, and dark–a wide, fat, seal races into the group of squid. We yank our lures out of the water and a hundred squid explode, shooting two feet above the surface of the water and sending water spray in all directions as they make desperate leaps away from their predator. The light on the erupting water droplets, the shimmer of the colorful skin of the squid–it is finer than Bar Harbor's Fourth of July fireworks. The seal circles two more times before heading out of the narrow area between the dock and the floats. And the squid return to their calm silent cruising.
We also leave. Sydney's dad has been suggesting they go home for about half an hour. But the squid are still thick, and as we walk up the ramp to the car we hear Sydney say, "Just one more, please dad?"
A squid's tentacles with a golden glow.
community Dramatis Personae Maine Otter Creek
Hills Like White Otters
July 1, 2012 – 9:04 pm
Ben's Hill, Otter Creek, from U.S. Geological Society drawing 1887
Dorr Mountain, Cadillac, and Champlain–these are the mountains that surround the island village of Otter Creek. Their namesakes were men of power and position. George B. Dorr was the founder of Acadia National Park. Antoine Laumet de La Mothe, Sieur de Cadillac was a French explorer who once held title to all of Mount Desert Island and founded Detroit. Cadillac cars were named after him. Samuel de Champlain landed in Otter Creek in 1604 and gave our island its name, Isles des Monts Desert. It was adventurers, movers and shakers, people who stepped out of a mundane life to explore new territory that we chose to name our mountains for. These mountains are my everyday view, sometimes red and orange with foliage, sometimes white with snow, but always the background of life in Otter Creek. They are ever-present but always out-of-arm's-reach.
Closer than the mountains, right under our feet and beneath the wheels of our cars, are the hills of Otter Creek. My home sits on the top of Ben's Hill and I drive up and down Marm Allen's Hill every day on my way to work. No one seems to remember who Ben or Marm Allen were, or why they had hills named after them. Roads have been straightened, and some of our hills blasted and flattened. Marm Allen's Hill on the old Bar Harbor road once went down to the brook that runs into Otter Creek, and then straight back up past the old Allen farm. Presumably Marm was one of those Allen's. The first bridge at the bottom of this hill was built in the 1800's just a few feet above the surface of the stream. Rocks from its footings can still be seen. The second bridge, wisely built a bit higher since snow melting in spring makes the stream roar, has also left traces. This bridge was still walkable in the late 1960's, the timbers old but spanning the water. It, too, flooded every spring. Today there is just a culvert, with twenty to thirty feet of dirt piled above it, raising Marm Allen's bottom, making her hill far more gentle and leaving the remains of the first two bridges far below.
The granite remains of the oldest bridge on Marm Allen's Hill, with the concrete remains of the second bridge.
Marm did not found a city or get a car named after her, and Ben could have been a hobo, but they are as much a part of the geography of our small village as the renowned personalities our mountains are called after.
Corkscrew Hill was not named after anyone. The road up this hill started at the base of Ben's Hill where a timber and stone bridge crossed Main Brook close to where it opens into the Creek. Tumbled granite blocks in the water show where it once stood. This bridge was abandoned in the 1920's or 30's but the timbers were still there until they washed away some time in the 1960's. My husband's father, Larry Smith, said that when it rained and Corkscrew Hill was slippery the Model T's would go up the hill backwards in order to make it to the top. We have walked the old road bed, and while steep it does not seem to twist. Did the cars have to zig zag up like a corkscrew to get to the top, or, as a neighbor suggested, was a bottle of something uncorked for the long ride to the other side of the creek?
Standing near the old bridges, looking at the fill that was brought in to level Allen's Hill.
We have two other hills here in the village. Music Hill is to the northwest of the cemetery and Music Hill Lane is the road leading to it. Paul Richardson, whose family was one of the village's first families, thinks this name is fairly recent. Clyde Carter, whose family has been here for at least a few generations, recalls various members of the Smith family who lived up there playing what he calls old time music, fiddles and squeezeboxes and homemade percussion. Music Hill is as quiet as its neighboring cemetery these days.
Our last hill is Esther's Hill. This was the local name for the long descent towards Seal Harbor, and finally there is someone who remembers Esther. Her name was really Vashti Esther, but she preferred to be called Esther, or V. Esther. She also had a pond named after her, and I heard the bullfrogs singing there today as I biked by. Esther was married to Lawrence Maynard Smith's brother Maurice. She and Maurice had four children, Shane, David, Maurice and Martha, and one of the boys shot and killed Maurice the elder in a hunting accident.
After the accident Esther had better things to do than be a mother, and Martha and was raised by her grandmother Nyra, who also lived in Otter Creek. Now Nyra sounds like someone to name a hill after. While she may not have selected her three husband's for their names, they make lovely sequence. Her first husband was Tripp, her second was Trott and her third, with whom she spent the rest of her life, was Harold Gallup. Harold did not live up to his name however, as Nyra once told my mother-in-law. "I'm interested, but Harold isn't."
The old road bed with the new road in the distance. Marm Allen's Hill.
Although Nyra lived on the same hill as Esther, it is Esther's Hill, not Tripp, Trott, and Gallup Hill. Martha says she is not positive her grandmother's second husband really was Trott, but that is what the villagers said, and it might have been.
Our hills are less steep and curved than they were a hundred years ago, but even then they were not considered majestic enough to deserve the name of a worldly explorer. But Champlain Mountain, Ben's Hill, Dorr Mountain, and Esther's Hill, whether named for hobo or hero they are equally part of the landscape of life in Otter Creek.
Acadia National Park Dramatis Personae Maine Otter Creek
Snake on a plain
A fifty-foot boa constrictor skeleton lies mouldering on the south face of Cadillac Mountain, Otter Creek, Maine, in what is now Acadia National Park. I have never seen it, but Everett Walls told the tale.
"Fifty foot long she was, the vertebrae three foot high, Yup, we'd pick blueberries around them bones." Everett said a circus boat had sought shelter in the nearby village of Seal Harbor during a storm. This was in the 1950's, and the big snake had escaped.
"But," I protested, "Snakes don't grow that big."
"Maybe thirty feet then, does it make any difference?" Everett asked. He is right, and we will leave that boa, which Everett also said might have been a python, but no difference there, either, at fifty feet.
"Quite a ruckus it caused, people 'fraid to walk on the ridge. And he did come out now and again. Fifty feet is pretty big, people remember running into that." I am sure they would, but I have not been able to find anyone who saw the snake. Not even Everett. "No, I never saw it alive, jus' the bones. Fine with me." Everett says.
This snake escaped captivity for a summer among blueberries, foraging on rabbits and voles, basking on slabs of flat pink granite. What a summer! The cramped cage was left behind, along with the smell of the ship's hold, and the unnatural rocking on waves was exchanged for sun and a whole mountain to cavort on.
According to Everett, the circus crew hunted for their snake, and so too did local police. But he kept hidden, and the circus boat left without him.
The snake spent lazy days sinuously winding up to Eagle's Crag, darting out a tongue to sense the moist salt air. The boa did not see and did not care when the ship disappeared from view over the edge of the sea.
"Yep, quite a scare around here, but we knew it t'wouldn't be a problem long."
The boa dozed and ate, lazily opening an eye against the warm August sun.
Then Everett started to talk about his aunt, that she had painted a picture of Otter Creek that was in the World's Fair in 1939. "She painted nothin' fancy, just simple pictures, but she entered a contest, and this picture went down to the world's fair. Imagine that!"
An old painting of the Creek, by a creeker! I was excited. "Where is it now?"
"Oh, behind the 'frigerator last time I saw it." I pleaded for a peek. "Heck, I'd give it to you, but Elsie still likes knowin' it is tucked back there."
Elsie is gone now, and so too is Everett. But what about that snake?
"He weren't designed for a Maine winter. We knew we didn't have to worry 'bout him." Everett liked to come by, making the slow journey on crutches from his house to mine. He always had something to share, a story, some old photos, a flounder spear (this is still hanging in my shed) or just a few minutes of time.
"Really, Everett, really? A giant snake in Otter Creek?"
"Oh, yes. It was in the papers." We smile at each other. Guess then it has to be true. I want it to be. I want that snake to have had such a fine summer here on our hillside. And every time I walk the South Ridge of Cadillac I can't help but look for a long moss covered shape that just might be a fifty-foot boa skeleton.
community Festivals Maine Otter Creek
It Takes a Pig
Not much different from 1500
The coals in the pig cooker were snapping, the bonfire hissed and spit, our host cocked his head and said "shhhh, coyotes!" Conversations stilled, and we all smiled. It wasn't coyotes, it was the kids by the apple tree hooing and calling, in some child game that we were not privy to.
We were at a pig party, orchestrated by a few Otter Creek residents including Farmer Chris Brown who contributed and prepared the pigs. Yes, pigs.Two pigs, one inside the other, and stuffed with apples, sausage, and bacon and rubbed with herbs before slow cooking over the coals. Tim Smith admits to going for coffee around two am, and sitting down to wait for it to drip. He woke an hour later. Kevin Walls, manning the cooker, looked at Tim knowingly when he returned and said, "You sat down, didn't you? You can't sit down."
Naps or not, this team roasted a tender and flavorful pork roast. But they did more than that. They brought the members of this tiny village together to share food, and remember that we are neighbors. Cole slaw, casseroles, home baked breads, cakes and cookies, jugs of cider, and bottles of wine and beer. Plates were loaded and bellies filled.
We met the couple from a neighboring house, I asked if they had moved in recently. Nine years ago was the answer. It took a pigfest for us to meet. There were introductory conversations, kid story swapping, recipe exchanges, but a common subject was the village. Some guests had been involved in our small community events, others said they never knew when they were happening but would like to help.
We munched savory pork, and marveled at the hinged pork roaster with its motorized spit. Bones were wrapped in butcher paper and given to those who wanted them for their dogs.We listened to tales of the beginning of the roast, the efficient dispatching of the pigs, the seasoning and stuffing, and the gift of the roaster just a few days before the event. The pig meister, the farmer, and the host who hauled the firewood all worked hard, and were pumped up with their success. "Try some pig" one would urge if he saw an empty plate.
Smoke drifted among the clusters of people, a dog ran through our legs, a boy tugged at a little girl's hat. The scene was reminiscent of an Hieronymus Bosch painting with figures scattered about, each involved in their own small piece of the scene. Or perhaps it was more like Pieter Bruegel's Children's Games, which portrays a village populated with small groups playing an assortment of games. Aptly, for many years, this was part of Otter Creek's annual Christmas celebration, pinned to the wall for people to guess all the games.
Bonfires bond, may they never be illegal.
Day became night and a toddler slept deeply, his head back and mouth open, in his stroller. A circle of older women settled into sturdy lawn chairs around the fire for cake and coffee. The older children came from the field to be close to the bonfire, tossing in small branches and logs. People continued to arrive bearing dishes of food. "We have to make this an annual event," I heard more than once.
When we left there was still a lot of pork, and party, to go. But we had gotten the best of it–we made friends, met neighbors, and felt connected by village and pig.
Chris Brown, Kevin Walls and Tim Smith. Thank you.
For more pig roast pictures go to the roasters Facebook page, Otter Creek P pig Roast.
Photos by Sue Cullen
Bar Harbor Day to day gardening Maine Otter Creek
Tags Bison, Well pumps | Permalink | Comment (0)
Acadia National Park Destinations Maine Otter Creek
In a fog
A small boat on the ocean, visibility twenty feet, no navigation system, and close to ten o'clock at night is not a good place to be. We did not mean to be there, but there we were, lost in the fog.
Fog changes the familiar. It has a presence, and the cool moisture is palpable. It cloaks the sharp edges of things making them a bit less comfortable, but beautiful and mysterious. I am happy walking in fog on the well-known paths behind my house. The soft gray contrasts with the dark forms of trees, accentuating their branches. It is not weather to explore new territory, however, or to stray off the trail. Driving on foggy nights takes concentration. The road disappears into the light of the headlamps, and progress is slow and tense. I only drive on foggy nights out of necessity.
To be out in a boat in such weather is foolish, and it can be fatal. We were foolish, but it was not fatal. This sounds melodramatic, but we were indeed in danger. We know better, so how did this happen? How did we end up floating, engine quieted, trying to hear a bell or sound that might tell us where we were?
We live close to the ocean, and our favorite restaurant is on an island just a few miles offshore. The Islesford Dock is on an old wharf and you feel like you are floating on water as you eat. The location and views are enough reason to go, but the food is taste after taste of heaven: Buratta cheese, rice, grain and pine nut cakes with spruce tree oil and roasted vegetables from the garden out back, sautéed kale with just the right tenderness and garlic. I close my eyes and swoon whenever I think of their food. There are usually fellow ID fans at the bar, and it is always a joy to meet fellow addicts. You can get there by ferry, but that means planning, as well as eating, around the ferry schedule. So we bought a boat.
As soon as they open for the season we head out, and during the long summer days we are back safe in our harbor well before dark. We go several times a week, it is a short 15-minute ride and we know it well. The season was drawing to an end, and we felt the need to go as much as possible before they closed. The days were also getting shorter. We asked a couple of friends to join us, and to meet us at the dock at five, but from that point on a series of unfortunate events unfolded. Individually, none of them would have been a problem, but cumulatively we ended up where we did.
Life jackets, check. Hand-held compass, check. GPS, check. Hmm, batteries are low. A few minutes were taken to find new batteries and toss them in the bag. Cell phone check. Powerful spotlight. No check. We searched the shed where life jackets and this light are kept but could not find it. We went up the road to the garage, another possible place for it. We debated. We planned to return before dark, but it would be close. We felt we needed it, and went back to the shed and found the lamp where it had fallen behind the counter we store the jackets on.
We get to the dock, and instead of the boat on the water ready for our friends; they are there ahead of us. We launch and head off, half an hour behind schedule. As we are leaving the harbor I explain we were late looking for the light. I point to it, but where is it? We each thought the other had put it in. Again the debate, go without or go back? We go back for it. We arrive at the restaurant with time to eat quickly and get home before dark, but it is packed and we have to wait half an hour to order. It is then my husband reaches for his cell phone to find it is not hooked to his belt. The fog we had seen off in the distance moves in, between home and us. The fog is there, we have to go back through it, we decide we may as well eat first. But the kitchen is backed up, and it is after eight when we finally eat. If I had a choice of last meals, this would be it.
We get underway, but it is after eight, dark, and, as my husband says, the fog is dungeon-thick.
We leave the Islesford Dock and go from one buoy to the next. After the third one there is a short stretch before the buoy at the mouth of Northeast Harbor, which would guide us home. We pull out the GPS, but the batteries we had grabbed turn out not to be new batteries. We had our powerful lamp, but it simply reflected a wall of gray. We see dim running lights of another boat, and coming close see it is a boat someone had told us was going to Northeast. We follow it. At some point one of us said, "seems as though we should have hit that buoy by now." The boat we were following was not heading to Northeast Harbor, but to Southwest Harbor. We turn around, and think we were heading back the way we had come, but become disoriented. We take a bearing with the hand held compass, but it just does not seem possible. Maybe the compass is broken, we think. We move slowly, sweeping our light across the water to let other boats know we were there. There is, surprisingly, traffic on the water. Large shapes heard long before they are seen.
The fog is so thick and heavy our clothing is wet and our hair is plastered to our heads and necks. The constant moan of ships' horns let us know we have company out there, somewhere. And quite close, we just cannot see them. Abbie and John, our dinner companions, are in it with us, no accusations, fear or complaint. We discuss whether we should trust the compass, and take turns wielding the light. The possibility of being out all night is a real one. We are all calm, calling it an adventure, while offering reasonable suggestions and avoiding lobster buoys. Abbie has a cell phone, but it only has a few minutes left. We decide to save it as a last resort. A large piece of flotsam emerges from the fog and silently drifts by.
Finally we hear a bell, marking the harbor entrance. We get close, and check the number, it is can number two. It is the first bell we heard since we reversed direction and so we feel it has to be the mouth Northeast Harbor. If we set our bearings and trust the compass we would see harbor lights in about two minutes. We floated, keeping the red can in sight. If it was not the Northeast can, and there was a problem with the compass, we might be heading to Ireland. We were divided here on what to do. It felt like the win or lose question on Who Wants to be a Millionaire. It was really important that we make the right choice. It was time to use a lifeline. Abbie turned on her phone.
Our friend Edgar grew up on Islesford and makes his living on these waters. He had joined us briefly at dinner, and had been hired to bring a party back to the mainland. He couldn't be far away. We called. Abbie explained our situation, and the red can. It is not long before Edgar tells Abbie, "I've got you, be right there." In minutes the Instagator was beside us, and we felt safe, and could admit just how very unsafe we had been. As Edgar bobbed comfortingly beside us and offered to lead us to harbor, the Elizabeth T. came by. Captain Danny Lunt is another man who is at home on the water. He is a local legend, known for competency and calmness. They were headed for Northeast. Edgar asked him to guide us, and we left our lifeline to follow the Elizabeth.
It was a long ride. We were wrong, we had not been at the buoy at the mouth of Northeast Harbor, so it is a good thing we did not head off following the compass. We might very well have ended up out of sight of land, and very lost.
We followed Captain Lunt, but it was still not smooth sailing. His wife Linda describes that night as follows: Wild Ride Last Night on the Elizabeth T! Rainy, foggy, Dark, and around 9:30 someone in a small boat darted from nowhere in front of us, then did the same thing to the folks behind us – NOT SAFE! Don't know who they were, but hope they are not on the water today!
We were the folks behind them, and thank them for bringing us home safely.
The next morning my husband called Edgar. "Good morning, God," he said. "This is the village idiot calling to say thank you."
Some lessons come at great expense. Our only price was a damp ride with cheerful friends.
Tags Boating, Islesford, Islesford Dock Restaurant, Maine fog | Permalink | Comment (0)


This delightful recipe comes from Posh Little Designs. A mix of Thatcher's Organic Yumberry Liqueur and Sparkling wine make up this sweet and tart mimosa. Garnished with fresh berries.
Cut lime into 8 pieces, place into the shaker glass. Muddle with sugar, add remaining ingredients, fill with ice, shake vigorously and pour all contents into a rocks glass. Garnish with a lime wheel. Enjoy!
Combine, shake, and strain Thatcher's Coffeehouse Liqueur and vodka into a classic martini glass. In a separate shaker, combine heavy cream and sugar. Shake without ice, then carefully strain on top of the base and let distribute itself until covered. Garnish with chocolate flakes. Enjoy!


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'If we do not take adequate measures': IMA warns of 'massive' third wave of Covid amid Omicron threat
Omicron cases in Bangladesh rise to 55
The Omicron variant of coronavirus has infected 23 people in India till now. The Indian Medical Association demanded that the government expedite the proposal of vaccinating individuals aged 12 to 18 years
The Indian Medical Association said that vaccination has proved to be effective against coronavirus and its different variants.(Representative Photo/Vijay Bate/HT File)
The Indian Medical Association (IMA) has issued a warning about the third wave of the coronavirus disease (Covid-19) hitting the country if necessary precautions are not taken amid the surge in Omicron cases. The new variant of the Sars-CoV-2 virus has so far infected 23 people across the country.
With the scientific evidence available and the experience noted in countries of origin, it is evident that the Omicron variant will have high penetrability and will affect more people, the IMA claimed at a press conference on Monday.
"At a time when India is limping back to normalcy, this is a great setback. If we do not take adequate measures, we may have a massive third wave," it said.
The doctors' body also demanded that the government expedite the proposal of vaccinating individuals aged 12 to 18 years.
"At this juncture, IMA also appeals to the government to officially announce additional dose (of vaccine) be given to healthcare, frontline workers and immunocompromised individuals to augment the immunity," the IMA officials said.
The Omicron strain was first detected in southern African countries late last month, and categorised as 'variant of concern' by the World Health Organization (WHO). The rapidly-spreading variant is believed to be more resistant to vaccines.
Since being detected in Botswana, Omicron has spread to two dozen countries. In India, 23 cases of the new strain has been detected, and the highest number is in Maharashtra.
The Indian government has implemented strict measures for international travellers, especially those arriving from countries identified as 'at risk' by the Centre. These travellers have to mandatorily carry a negative RT-PCR test result (not older than 72 hours) and upload the travel details of the last 14 days on government's Suvidha portal.
These international passengers have also been asked to quarantine at home for seven days.
Top News / South Asia
India / Covid / Omicron Covid variant


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Q: Avoid overfitting in sequence to sequence problem using keras I'm having a problem with a model I want to train.
It's a typical seq-to-seq problem with an attention layer, where the input is a string, and the output is a substring from the submitted string.
e.g.
Input            Ground Truth
-----------------------------
helloimchuck     chuck
johnismyname     john

(This is just a dummy data, not a real part of the dataset ^^)
And the model looks like this:
model = Sequential()
model.add(Bidirectional(GRU(hidden_size, return_sequences=True), merge_mode='concat',
                        input_shape=(None, input_size)))  # Encoder
model.add(Attention())
model.add(RepeatVector(max_out_seq_len))
model.add(GRU(hidden_size * 2, return_sequences=True))  # Decoder
model.add(TimeDistributed(Dense(units=output_size, activation="softmax")))
model.compile(loss="categorical_crossentropy", optimizer="rmsprop", metrics=['accuracy'])

The problem is this here:

As you can see, there is overfitting.
I'm using early stop criteria on the validation loss with patience=8.
self.Early_stop_criteria = keras.callbacks.EarlyStopping(monitor='val_loss', min_delta=0,
                                                             patience=8, verbose=0,
                                                             mode='auto')

And I'm using one-hot-vector to fit the model.
BATCH_SIZE = 64
HIDDEN_DIM = 128

The thing is, I've tried with other batch sizes, other hidden dimensions, a dataset of 10K rows, 15K rows, 25K rows and now 50K rows. However, there is always overfitting, and I don't know why.
The test_size = 0.2 and the validation_split=0.2. Those are the only parameters I haven't changed.
I'm also made me sure that the dataset properly build.
The only idea that I have is trying with another validation split, maybe 0.33 instead of 0.2.
I don't know if cross-validation would help.
Maybe anyone has a better idea, what I could try. Thanks in advance.

A: As kvish proposed, dropout was a good solution.
I first tried with a dropout of 0.2.
model = Sequential()
model.add(Bidirectional(GRU(hidden_size, return_sequences=True, dropout=0.2), merge_mode='concat',
                            input_shape=(None, input_size)))  # Encoder
model.add(Attention())
model.add(RepeatVector(max_out_seq_len))
model.add(GRU(hidden_size * 2, return_sequences=True))  # Decoder
model.add(TimeDistributed(Dense(units=output_size, activation="softmax")))
model.compile(loss="categorical_crossentropy", optimizer="rmsprop", metrics=['accuracy'])

And with 50K rows, it worked, but still had overfitting.
So, I tried with a dropout of 0.33, and it worked perfectly.

redpajama_set_name: RedPajamaStackExchange


Tomoyasu Ando (安藤智安, Ando Tomoyasu, born 23 May 1974) is a Japanese professional athlete. He is best known as an association football player.
↑ WorldFootball.net, "Tomoyasu Ando"; retrieved 2012-9-22.
This page was last changed on 6 April 2016, at 18:01.


Real Estate News – including property development, luxury homes, REALTOR® news, home auctions, and related real estate industry news, as issued by the Send2Press Newswire service.
BOISE, Idaho, March 27, 2019 (SEND2PRESS NEWSWIRE) — Robert Farias loves real estate, It's his passion. He enjoys seeing his clients start new chapters in their lives, whether they are buying or selling a home. And while every transaction has the client's satisfaction at the center, he also takes pleasure in donating $500 from the sale to a local veteran organization. Farias is the founder of 22-0 Real Estate at Keller Williams Realty Boise.
SAN DIEGO, Calif., March 22, 2019 (SEND2PRESS NEWSWIRE) — Legacy Global Development today announced the launch of new Bungalows at its luxurious Orchid Bay, Belize property. Their Bungalows make owning a home in Belize accessible to a wider pool of potential buyers, as they offer the same quality as Orchid Bay's other homes at an incredible value. Additionally, Legacy is offering a financing option to the first six families who purchase a Bungalow, through its first-ever Paradise Payment Program.
RED DEER, Alberta and WASHINGTON, D.C., Feb. 7, 2019 (SEND2PRESS NEWSWIRE) — Anow, creator of the leading software for real estate appraisal offices, today announced a partnership with the American Society of Appraisers (ASA) that gives members a significant discount off Anow's core appraisal office management platform and early access to the tech firm's cutting-edge products currently in development.


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'It's going in the direction that Liverpool went years ago' - Ex-Man Utd coach concerned for Red Devils
Liverpool v Manchester United
Former assistant manager, Mike Phelan, has seen no signs of improvement in the team since Sir Alex Ferguson left the club back in 2013
Former Manchester United coach Mike Phelan says that Jose Mourinho's current squad are 'lagging behind' their rivals and in danger of mirroring Liverpool's trophy drought.
The Red Devils have already fallen 16 points off the pace in the Premier League this season and currently occupy sixth place, with only seven wins to their name.
A trip to Anfield on Sunday beckons and defeat could spell the end of United's top-four chances, with Chelsea already eight points in front in the final Champions League position.
Speaking ahead of the weekend's huge clash, Phelan, who worked as Ferguson's assistant manager during his last five years at the helm, believes the club is in a state of flux.
"They haven't improved, it's as simple as that," he told Sky Sports News.
"They haven't grasped the mantle and moved forward. They're still lagging behind and a lot of teams have caught them up.
"I think their selection of players and the direction they're going in has proved difficult for Manchester United. Others have overtaken them in that respect."
Mourinho's two and a half year spell at Old Trafford to date has yielded Europe League and Carabao Cup winner's medals, but in the Premier League, he has struggled to get to grips with local rivals Manchester City.
United finished 19 points behind Pep Guardiola's men in second last term and have faded into anonymity this year, while the likes of Liverpool, Chelsea, Spurs and Arsenal have all seemingly improved.
Phelan puts that decline down to a 'lack of investment' from the club and suggests that they face many more years of hurt if money is not spent wisely in the future, while also referencing Liverpool's struggles over the last 20 years.
"There's no shortage of investment into Manchester United," he added. "I think most people realistically could say the money is there to spend, but it's who you spend it on and what you are getting for the money.
"Decision making is always top of the tree when it comes to the big football clubs and where it takes you. Is it going to be a year, is it going to be two years, is it going to be three?
"It's progressing into five, six, maybe even seven. It's going in the direction that Liverpool went in years ago."


Click on the scene to add or withdraw worms from the visual field of the hen.
You don't understand ? Too easy ? Not playable or you simply would like to see more levels... Don't hesitate to comment here.
This cute hen seems to be lost in a worm breeding.
Would you help her find the way to her nest ?
You can guide her, adding or withdrawing worms from her visual field.


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Posts Tagged 'Geoff Jopson'
Taking the Long Road
Posted in SD45, tagged Geoff Jopson, legacy, SD45 on December 14, 2010| 6 Comments »
I am really lucky.
I have had the chance to spend the last 14 months apprenticing for my new role as Superintendent with one of the finest and most thoughtful educational leaders in our province.
This Friday brings to a close West Vancouver, Superintendent Geoff Jopson's 38-year career in public education. From early days as a high school teacher in Vancouver to returning to the community of his youth, West Vancouver, where he has spent the last eight years as Superintendent of Schools, establishing a level of excellence the envy of district leaders across the country, Geoff has built an amazing reputation.
The tributes to Geoff have come in from across the system and throughout the larger community. With words of thanks and praise from partner groups for his steady, ever-calm leadership, to a standing ovation at the Chamber of Commerce Christmas dinner, to a steady stream of visitors who want to share stories about how he has made the system better for our kids — there has been an outpouring of admiration for this remarkable man.
While many have benefitted from Geoff's wisdom, probably none so more than I. There is one reason I am here in West Vancouver, and that is Geoff. When he first called me in the spring of 2007, I had no thought of working in West Vancouver. As I spoke with him and began to understand the district and the opportunities here, I realized it was the chance of a lifetime. I have spent the last three years working beside, and with, an exceptional mentor.
I had the added gift of being appointed the Superintendent-designate last October, giving me 14 months of transitioning groundwork. It has been an amazingly rich and powerful experience. On a daily basis, sometimes in a planned way, other times through his modeling, I have become familiar with my new role. For many of my colleagues who assume the Superintendent/CEO position, the transition or succession plan is often not much more than a lunch meeting and a sharing of files. I can say definitively, there is a better way.
Geoff has led by example. As I said on our district Opening Day this past September:
If I screw this up, it is on me – Geoff is leaving our district as a place of high repute, a reputation for class and excellence – a place where when we have a choice between easy or right, we pick right.
Geoff realized his role was to lead learning, and to do that he surrounded himself with the brightest people he could find. While others might be intimidated by a strong supporting cast, he saw it as a sign of strength. Geoff always focused on making decisions that were not in his best interest, but in the district's interest. West Vancouver public schools exist in an extremely competitive marketplace along with some very fine private institutions; Geoff recognized the importance of keeping the face of a strong public education system in the forefront of the community. He also realized, while we work for individual Boards, we have a responsibility to the larger collective in this province and, to this end, Geoff included a stint as BCSSA President. In all his work, his "Good to Great" commitment was ever-present.
So, it has been a long road. For Geoff, 38 years of commitment to public education — to improving the life opportunities for all students. For me, a transition that has lasted longer than some of my jobs (I've had a one-year stint as an elementary principal). Geoff, leaves the West Vancouver School District as the highest-performing school district in B.C., and hands the superintendency over to me with my commitment that we will strive to become even better.
Thank you, Geoff – you have been a good mentor and a better friend.
The students, staff and community in West Vancouver, have been lucky as well.


Deploy for any mission with heavy-duty autos and weapons of conflict. For each mission, there's a machine to get the job finished. Amazon is promoting Mega Blocks Call of Duty – Quad Drone value Rs.899 at Rs.422.


Indian Coast Guard - ICG, Ministry of Defence Offer Opportunity for Indian male candidates having Diploma in Electrical / Mechanical / Electronics and Telecommunication for recruitment to the post of Yantrik for 02/2018 batch in the pay scale of Rs.5200-20200/- along with Rs.2400/- Grade pay. Selection procedure through written and physical efficiency tests, followed by medical examination. The recruitment Centresare at Mumbai, Chennai, Kolkata, Kochi, Visakhapatnam, Gandhi Nagar, Noida and Paradip.
Educational Qualification: Matriculation or equivalent, and Diploma in Electrical / Mechanical / Electronics and Telecommunication (Radio/Power) Engineering Approved by All India Council of Technical Education (AICTE)with 60% in aggregate.(5% relaxation in above minimum cut off will be given for outstanding sports person of National level who have obtained 1st, 2nd or 3rd position in any field sports events at the Open National Championship/ Interstate National Championship. This relaxation will also be applicable to the wards of Coast Guard uniform personnel deceased while in service).


Help! Came home after 4 days today to major yuck in my pantry...I think I have a *friend* - would you throw everything out, even if it's not been tampered with? Any ideas? Thanks!!!
It is often, though not always, incorporated into the "distemper-parvo" vaccine. It's certainly possible it's not an issue in your area, but I'd check with your vet to be sure.
@hardlikearmour Do most 'standard' canine vaccinations include Leptospirosis? We're always up to date on vetting, but wondering if a special inquiry is warranted.
@ Queen of Spoons: Make sure your dog is vaccinated for Leptospirosis, it can be spread via rat urine. I'd be surprised if the rats don't urinate when your dog catches them! It can cause kidney failure and/or liver disease (depending on the strain,) and is transmissible to humans.
In old part of Austin, Texas and 'Norwegian Roof Rats' are a common problem. Since bugs are, too, I keep everything possible in glass jars. As for the rats, we use kill traps, and one of the dogs kills them when she can, otherwise we'd be over run. There are no logical relocation spots that wouldn't either make them someone else's problems or vulnerable to other predators anyway.
For what it's worth, when I asked my doctor whether I should worry about what I breathe when cleaning up the rat...poop...she said the urine is the big health concern.
We've gotten them under control and nothing in the house for over a year now, although the dog still catches one occasionally outdoors.
Thanks everyone for the advise and links. It's a house mouse, or two or 500. Next door neighbor is renovating and I'm thinking that could be the problem. Everything that's even a slight possibility for entry has been sealed, but one little bugger remains in hiding and I'm assuming, sealed in now, and poor thing (me), has to be patient and wait. I'll spare you all the details, but I think once my de-con suit arrives, I'll be able to cook again. But really, thanks. I appreciate it!!
Another vote for cats mcd2!
What friend is it? Rats, mice, chipmunks, raccoons, cockroaches, ants? Having traveled and lived in various places hospitable to these friends, have learned that each requires a different invitation to vacate. mcd2 is very wise - how are they getting in?
my story: i had a field mouse problem 25 yrs ago in the fall-apparently they come in looking for warmth as the temps cool. i had 4 cats at the time and they couldn't seem to catch it. it always ran behind a particular cabinet in the kitchen. so i begged & cajoled and my husband pulled that cabinet away from the wall. there on the bottom of the wall was a perfect arched mouse hole-just like in the cartoons!! that night the cats got the mouse and we've not been bothered since!
Keep everything in glass jars or metal canisters with tight fitting, screw-on lids. When you come home from the store, transfer anything that is not canned or jarred into non-permeable containers like mason jars, metal cookie tins, glass cookie jars or tight-sealing bread boxes. It has to seal tight so they can not smell the food or chew through the container. You can also use thick plastic containers but tupperware or anything flimsy like that is not vermin-proof.
Move your fridge and stove to check for cracks, holes, and other entry points. Even a fraction of an inch is enough for them. Also check for openings around sink pipes, corners of cabinets, lighting fixtures or other architectural features. Stuff any openings with steel wool and seal with spackling paste.
If you have pets, feed them at certain times of the day so that their food is not sitting around.
This should help end the problem.
Whew! But then there is the dog, 2 rabbits (sisters!), 2 birds.
4 is safely in not crazy territory. I had 5 at one point, but am down to 2.
How crazy is 4? Two are mother and son. All rescues, obviously.
It was seriously very funny, especially to them. Californians, what can you say ; ) And rather than get a cat, they got more sharpees. Personally, I'd take the cat, but go ahead and call me obsessive.
Exactly, I would be afraid they would come right back in. I can see your friend with a sharpee marking mice, Now thats funny.
A friend in California used humane traps also. She took to marking the critters with a sharpie because she suspected the ones she release outside were coming right back inside. Rightly so! So they started taking them several blocks away before releasing. Not close to traveling *upstate*, but great story, sd!
My co worker uses humane traps and transports them upstate when she goes to her country home on weekends I wonder if the rodent population has increased significantly where she lives. NYC is over run with the little critters I agree with everyone here, bleach, face masks, cat, all of the above.
One of my cats once had a baby field mouse cornered in my kitchen when I lived in an old house in Madison. I sat there watching for 10 minutes and nothing. I finally scooped the baby up with a ladle and took it outside.
So is a good cat.
Agree with HLA. The face mask is imperative.
Throw out anything that remotely looks like it's been tampered with.
First wear a face mask. I faced this problem in my garage. Everything that's been, uh, sampled, needs to go. Take everything out of the pantry. Vacuum all of the little left-behinds. Dispose of the vacuum cleaner bag. Mix up some warm, soapy water and wash everything down. Wipe down with some clear, warm water, then make a bleach solution of 1 teaspoon bleach to 2 quarts cool water and sanitize everything. Allow to air dry. Go to the local animal shelter and adopt a good cat. Well worth the investment. And June is national adopt-a-shelter-cat month, so most of them have free or half-price specials. I have 4 - perhaps a bit excessive - and the mice moved on.
What fish recipe is even better chilled or lukewarm?


text:
Moody's Analytics named CLO Data Provider of the Year
NEW YORK, May 25, 2017 – Moody's Analytics announced today that it won CLO Data Provider of the Year at the GlobalCapital US Securitization Awards. The awards dinner took place on May 23 at the Plaza Hotel in New York.
Award winners are selected by the readers of GlobalCapital, which compiled the nominee shortlist using industry nominations, their own research, and peer review. This year's ballot, which shortlisted Moody's Analytics, Intex, and Bloomberg, received the most votes in the award's history.
"We're honored to receive this award recognizing the breadth and high quality of our CLO data," said Luis Amador, Managing Director-Structured Products and Advisory Services at Moody's Analytics. "Our structured finance data incorporates real-time and historical metrics, supports all asset classes globally, and powers the Moody's Analytics Structured Finance Portal, our advanced analytics engine for market participants."
Backed by one of the world's largest databases of structured finance content, the Moody's Analytics Structured Finance Portal gives clients a comprehensive view of the CLO universe. Through its advanced comparative analytics, customizable benchmarks, and an easy-to-use interface, the Structured Finance Portal lets clients instantly gain insight into their portfolios, deals, managers, and a host of regulatory-based metrics, so they can make informed decisions.
The Moody's Analytics CLO Data Feed contains detailed information on the performance of CLO tranches and their underlying loans. Along with the Structured Finance Portal, it is part of the Moody's Analytics solution for investors in securitizations. Moody's Analytics also offers ABS System, a solution for issuers of structured products.
"Having a complete view of your structured finance portfolio is more important than ever," said Kevin Dougherty, US publisher of GlobalCapital. "Being named CLO Data Provider of the Year is a testament to how the securitization industry values the Moody's Analytics offering. GlobalCapital is delighted to honor the outstanding performance of Moody's Analytics."
Click here to learn more about the Moody's Analytics Structured Finance Portal.
Click here to visit the GlobalCapital website.
Moody's Analytics helps capital markets and risk management professionals worldwide respond to an evolving marketplace with confidence. The company offers unique tools and best practices for measuring and managing risk through expertise and experience in credit analysis, economic research, and financial risk management. By providing leading-edge software, advisory services, and research, including the proprietary analysis of Moody's Investors Service, Moody's Analytics integrates and customizes its offerings to address specific business challenges. Moody's Analytics is a subsidiary of Moody's Corporation (NYSE: MCO), which reported revenue of $3.6 billion in 2016, employs approximately 10,700 people worldwide and maintains a presence in 36 countries. Further information is available at moodysanalytics.com.
Justin Bursztein
Associate Communications Strategist
Moody's Analytics Communications
001.212.553.1163
justin.bursztein@moodys.com
Katerina Soumilova
Assistant Vice-President
katerina.soumilova@moodys.com