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      "permlink": "steemitboard-notify-kundaliniknight-20190815t000936000z",
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      "body": "Congratulations @kundaliniknight! You received a personal award!\n\n<table><tr><td>https://steemitimages.com/70x70/http://steemitboard.com/@kundaliniknight/birthday1.png</td><td>Happy Birthday! - You are on the Steem blockchain for 1 year!</td></tr></table>\n\n<sub>_You can view [your badges on your Steem Board](https://steemitboard.com/@kundaliniknight) and compare to others on the [Steem Ranking](https://steemitboard.com/ranking/index.php?name=kundaliniknight)_</sub>\n\n\n###### [Vote for @Steemitboard as a witness](https://v2.steemconnect.com/sign/account-witness-vote?witness=steemitboard&approve=1) to get one more award and increased upvotes!",
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      "author": "kundaliniknight",
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      "title": "Tales From the Whitethorn:  A Miner's Tale",
      "body": "![DSCN2120.JPG](https://cdn.steemitimages.com/DQmdak1bznpok5DeSFD1ozoXWKQB4DbSjVaA2gDW5jPtT4h/DSCN2120.JPG)\n\nWhen I first heard of the discovery of gold in California, I didn’t pay much heed; it’s just another yarn from that wild land we so often heard strange tales about. The story was of how a builder named Marshall in 1848 found several gold nuggets while constructing a saw mill along a river near a place now known as Sacramento. Turned out Marshall and his boss, a fellow named Sutter, weren’t too happy about the discovery of gold. It appears, Sutter wanted to control some kind of agricultural plantation, and gold digging would disrupt his plans. The two of them decided to keep the discovery under their hats . But as you children know trying to hide a secret in a place like that is like trying to keep the sea back from the land. News of the discovery livened up the sleepy town of San Francisco, and in no time many people were talking about gold. Nevertheless, they couldn’t be certain it was true and most thought it was just another fantastic tale, too unlikely to be believed. Then out of the blue, a storekeeper, called Sam Brannan ran up and down the streets of San Francisco waving a bottle of gold dust shouting at the top of his voice “gold, gold from the river” .\n“But grandpa, why would the storekeeper want to tell everyone about the gold? Would it not be better to keep quiet and find the gold himself?”\nBy thunder! master Isaac, you’re a smart one and no mistaken. That’s what I would have done, but I guess Sam Brannan was even cleverer than you and me. You see, before he ran about hollering of gold, Brannan made sure he bought all the picks and shovels and other mining stuff, like pans, sieves, and sluice boxes he could lay his hand on. He became the richest man in California and never had to break his back digging like your poor grandpa. When the gold rush started, he was the only one selling tools, which I later found out to my cost when I had to buy a pick and shovel from him at 10 times their value. I heard tell that in nine weeks he made $36,000 selling mining stuff.\n“Grandpa, I would have done exactly as Mr. Brannan did because I don’t like digging either.” \n “No you wouldn’t”\n“I would too, Isaac Johnson.”    \n“Now Lucy, you know it’s rude to stick your tongue, even at your brother. I’m sure you both would have come up with his idea sooner or later. Come on, the two of you give your old grandpa a hug before I start telling again.” \nAnyway, back in New York, where I lived, earning my bread working in a factory making leather straps for horse wagons, news of Brannan’s antics spread like fire. This time people believed the story, especially when our beloved President Polk declared it true. All of a sudden with farmers, merchants, laborers, and factory workers the only talk was about going to California and getting rich for evermore. The newspapers said the gold there was a plentiful as the mud in our streets. Gold fever spread like smallpox through an Indian tribe. I’ve seen men selling everything they owned and leaving their wives and children, often never to see them again. I myself had neither wife nor kin, but had inherited money from my late uncle who had done well for himself supervising the building of the New York to Lake Erie Canal. Being a city fellow, I didn’t fancy the arduous trip across country along the Oregon trail. The sea voyage around the treacherous horn would take too long. Besides, I’ve heard of ships being swallowed whole by the fierce storms there. I decided to pay extra and take a ship to Panama. \nBy early May, I was ready with what provisions I could carry, including a rifle, pistol, and a bowie knife. With about 200 others I boarded a clipper ships bound for the Isthmus of Panama. Although I suffered seasickness from time to time, the journey was pleasant. It took us four weeks to reach the port of Charges in Panama. To cross Panama to the Pacific, I had to travel first by canoe and then by mule through the jungle.  The novelty of seeing all the strange colored birds and howling monkeys soon wore off as the humid heat became unbearable, together with the mud, mosquitoes, and jungle fever . I almost wished I’d stayed in New York. However, in four days we arrived exhausted at the Pacific but not before two men died from fever. \nYou may ask why I endured such hardships and left my job in New York. Well, the economic times there were not good; life was hard and I had to work long hours at the factory. My wages had been cut. The country had not recovered from some of the bad decisions made a former president called Jackson. He forced the National Bank to close and paper money was not worth as much as it used to be. In 1837, there was a big panic because of the falling value of money, and the U.S. went into a great economic depression. The discovery of gold gave young men like me hope and promised a way out of the drudgery of daily living.\nI’m wondering off the story. Following a wait of only two days, we boarded a German ship bound for San Francisco. I can’t tell you the joy we all felt upon reaching our destination. Some of us really thought the streets were paved with gold, but the reality was far different. The town was a frontier town with muddy unpaved streets with hundreds of people rushing about. I was shocked at the price of everything, including board and foods. I had to sleep in a dirty rat-infested room with about 10 others. Suffice to say, conditions were bad and not like we were told back in New York. Once I purchased supplies, I was glad to head for the mining camps.  \nI soon discovered all the easy gold from the rivers was gone; instead, we had to do backbreaking work digging the gravel and rocks. Life in the camp was sometimes dangerous. All types of humanity were present, and there was much drinking, gambling, and even murders, which I had no desire to be a part of. I become friendly with a big bear of a fellow called William Kelly; together we decided to branch out on our own and leave the camp because we were not finding hardly any gold. We stayed close to small streams along ravines and had to dig down several feet before we found any semblance of gold. To speed the work and to provide greater physical protection we teamed with three other we met. That way we divided the work of digging and sifting the dirt. Nevertheless, we were not finding enough even to cover expenses and funds were running low. Soon we would be hungry and like so many before us we would either starve or be killed by Indians. \n“Children, its time you were in bed, it’s late.”\n“But ma, grandpa is telling us about the gold”   \n“Alright then, just some more minutes. But you, mister, make sure you don’t ramble on like you like to.”\n“I won’t daughter; I promise.”\nAs we moved further up a remote ravine, we came across two scrawny half starved prospectors. They said they were going back to San Francisco to return to Boston. After we gave them some nourishment, they showed us where they had dug a hole about four feet wide that contracted to a point as it reached some bedrock. Carlos, one of our party with a good knowledge of prospecting, suggested they keep the hole the same width down and follow the incline of the rock in a direction away from the river. \n“But thar ain’t nuttin thar, I’m tellin yar.”\nI never forgot those words; they haunt me to this day. We gave them what supplies we could and bade them God’s speed. Later when we tried to find them, we found out Paiute Indians ambushed and killed them. May they rest in peace, poor souls. Many gold diggers didn’t find gold because of inexperience. I was lucky to have met Carlos; without his knowledge of geology and mining, I believe we would not have found gold in any great quantity. \nWhen we had dug down another few feet like Carlos suggested, we found the beginnings of a solid vein of gold, just as we were about to abandon the venture. The vein was substantial in size, big enough to make us all rich men, once we had staked our claim with the legal authorities. We worked the mine for several more years, and we were able to hire men to work for us. Unfortunately, one partner, whom we nicknamed “Peru Joe”, took to drinking and gambling; he lost his senses to gold and was shot dead over an argument during a poker game. However, us remaining four made something of our lives, and as you know your good buddy Carlos often visits us from time to time. With the fortune I made, I moved further north, bought some land and property, and started my own leather factory. Now your pa owns several factories all over California. God has blessed my life and I’ll be happy to see Him when I see Him. Every day I’m grateful for all He gave me, but especially for my family and for the love of beautiful children like you two who are worth more to me than all the gold in California. \n“We love you grandpa.”",
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      "body": "![DSCN2120.JPG](https://cdn.steemitimages.com/DQmdak1bznpok5DeSFD1ozoXWKQB4DbSjVaA2gDW5jPtT4h/DSCN2120.JPG)\n\nWhen I first heard of the discovery of gold in California, I didn’t pay much heed; it’s just another yarn from that wild land we so often heard strange tales about. The story was of how a builder named Marshall in 1848 found several gold nuggets while constructing a saw mill along a river near a place now known as Sacramento. Turned out Marshall and his boss, a fellow named Sutter, weren’t too happy about the discovery of gold. It appears, Sutter wanted to control some kind of agricultural plantation, and gold digging would disrupt his plans. The two of them decided to keep the discovery under their hats . But as you children know trying to hide a secret in a place like that is like trying to keep the sea back from the land. News of the discovery livened up the sleepy town of San Francisco, and in no time many people were talking about gold. Nevertheless, they couldn’t be certain it was true and most thought it was just another fantastic tale, too unlikely to be believed. Then out of the blue, a storekeeper, called Sam Brannan ran up and down the streets of San Francisco waving a bottle of gold dust shouting at the top of his voice “gold, gold from the river” .\n“But grandpa, why would the storekeeper want to tell everyone about the gold? Would it not be better to keep quiet and find the gold himself?”\nBy thunder! master Isaac, you’re a smart one and no mistaken. That’s what I would have done, but I guess Sam Brannan was even cleverer than you and me. You see, before he ran about hollering of gold, Brannan made sure he bought all the picks and shovels and other mining stuff, like pans, sieves, and sluice boxes he could lay his hand on. He became the richest man in California and never had to break his back digging like your poor grandpa. When the gold rush started, he was the only one selling tools, which I later found out to my cost when I had to buy a pick and shovel from him at 10 times their value. I heard tell that in nine weeks he made $36,000 selling mining stuff.\n“Grandpa, I would have done exactly as Mr. Brannan did because I don’t like digging either.” \n “No you wouldn’t”\n“I would too, Isaac Johnson.”    \n“Now Lucy, you know it’s rude to stick your tongue, even at your brother. I’m sure you both would have come up with his idea sooner or later. Come on, the two of you give your old grandpa a hug before I start telling again.” \nAnyway, back in New York, where I lived, earning my bread working in a factory making leather straps for horse wagons, news of Brannan’s antics spread like fire. This time people believed the story, especially when our beloved President Polk declared it true. All of a sudden with farmers, merchants, laborers, and factory workers the only talk was about going to California and getting rich for evermore. The newspapers said the gold there was a plentiful as the mud in our streets. Gold fever spread like smallpox through an Indian tribe. I’ve seen men selling everything they owned and leaving their wives and children, often never to see them again. I myself had neither wife nor kin, but had inherited money from my late uncle who had done well for himself supervising the building of the New York to Lake Erie Canal. Being a city fellow, I didn’t fancy the arduous trip across country along the Oregon trail. The sea voyage around the treacherous horn would take too long. Besides, I’ve heard of ships being swallowed whole by the fierce storms there. I decided to pay extra and take a ship to Panama. \nBy early May, I was ready with what provisions I could carry, including a rifle, pistol, and a bowie knife. With about 200 others I boarded a clipper ships bound for the Isthmus of Panama. Although I suffered seasickness from time to time, the journey was pleasant. It took us four weeks to reach the port of Charges in Panama. To cross Panama to the Pacific, I had to travel first by canoe and then by mule through the jungle.  The novelty of seeing all the strange colored birds and howling monkeys soon wore off as the humid heat became unbearable, together with the mud, mosquitoes, and jungle fever . I almost wished I’d stayed in New York. However, in four days we arrived exhausted at the Pacific but not before two men died from fever. \nYou may ask why I endured such hardships and left my job in New York. Well, the economic times there were not good; life was hard and I had to work long hours at the factory. My wages had been cut. The country had not recovered from some of the bad decisions made a former president called Jackson. He forced the National Bank to close and paper money was not worth as much as it used to be. In 1837, there was a big panic because of the falling value of money, and the U.S. went into a great economic depression. The discovery of gold gave young men like me hope and promised a way out of the drudgery of daily living.\nI’m wondering off the story. Following a wait of only two days, we boarded a German ship bound for San Francisco. I can’t tell you the joy we all felt upon reaching our destination. Some of us really thought the streets were paved with gold, but the reality was far different. The town was a frontier town with muddy unpaved streets with hundreds of people rushing about. I was shocked at the price of everything, including board and foods. I had to sleep in a dirty rat-infested room with about 10 others. Suffice to say, conditions were bad and not like we were told back in New York. Once I purchased supplies, I was glad to head for the mining camps.  \nI soon discovered all the easy gold from the rivers was gone; instead, we had to do backbreaking work digging the gravel and rocks. Life in the camp was sometimes dangerous. All types of humanity were present, and there was much drinking, gambling, and even murders, which I had no desire to be a part of. I become friendly with a big bear of a fellow called William Kelly; together we decided to branch out on our own and leave the camp because we were not finding hardly any gold. We stayed close to small streams along ravines and had to dig down several feet before we found any semblance of gold. To speed the work and to provide greater physical protection we teamed with three other we met. That way we divided the work of digging and sifting the dirt. Nevertheless, we were not finding enough even to cover expenses and funds were running low. Soon we would be hungry and like so many before us we would either starve or be killed by Indians. \n“Children, its time you were in bed, it’s late.”\n“But ma, grandpa is telling us about the gold”   \n“Alright then, just some more minutes. But you, mister, make sure you don’t ramble on like you like to.”\n“I won’t daughter; I promise.”\nAs we moved further up a remote ravine, we came across two scrawny half starved prospectors. They said they were going back to San Francisco to return to Boston. After we gave them some nourishment, they showed us where they had dug a hole about four feet wide that contracted to a point as it reached some bedrock. Carlos, one of our party with a good knowledge of prospecting, suggested they keep the hole the same width down and follow the incline of the rock in a direction away from the river. \n“But thar ain’t nuttin thar, I’m tellin yar.”\nI never forgot those words; they haunt me to this day. We gave them what supplies we could and bade them God’s speed. Later when we tried to find them, we found out Paiute Indians ambushed and killed them. May they rest in peace, poor souls. Many gold diggers didn’t find gold because of inexperience. I was lucky to have met Carlos; without his knowledge of geology and mining, I believe we would not have found gold in any great quantity. \nWhen we had dug down another few feet like Carlos suggested, we found the beginnings of a solid vein of gold, just as we were about to abandon the venture. The vein was substantial in size, big enough to make us all rich men, once we had staked our claim with the legal authorities. We worked the mine for several more years, and we were able to hire men to work for us. Unfortunately, one partner, whom we nicknamed “Peru Joe”, took to drinking and gambling; he lost his senses to gold and was shot dead over an argument during a poker game. However, us remaining four made something of our lives, and as you know your good buddy Carlos often visits us from time to time. With the fortune I made, I moved further north, bought some land and property, and started my own leather factory. Now your pa owns several factories all over California. God has blessed my life and I’ll be happy to see Him when I see Him. Every day I’m grateful for all He gave me, but especially for my family and for the love of beautiful children like you two who are worth more to me than all the gold in California. \n“We love you grandpa.”",
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      "body": "![dogs_playing.jpg](https://cdn.steemitimages.com/DQmf7bHzwyRezANUCW7vrVSbJCW5C6LGgY3FELi51yxFM7t/dogs_playing.jpg)\n\nI never get lucky when Terrier deals and I have to listen to his crude nonsense. Boxer thought with a curl of his flabby lips. Anyways, I don’t know why I bother playing with these misfits every Saturday night. Look at him puff on that heinous cigar as if he was some kind of card shark or something. I don’t believe he is pure anyway; Terrier has that mongrel look about him. If I knew for certain then that would be the end of it.\nIt is good, very good. I hold the two kings. Now I have something to play. Maybe the lady of luck, she finally come to sit with me, and I get some more of the good cards, hopefully. I show them German Sheppard is intelligent poker player. Ok, I open bet for $50.\nHa! I can read that kraut like a cheap novel. But damn it, I got nothing but a shit hand of crap. Terrier thought while savoring a mouthful of bourbon. But hang in there, maybe if the other dummies aren’t loaded I might be able to bluff the son of a bitch out of the pot. Keep the Jack and the Ten. Alright, time to scatter the ducks. I call and raise $100.\nThis is an unfortunate state of affairs. How in heavens can I manipulate this mish-mash of a hand? Greyhound pondered with a downward glance at his chips. Too jolly rich for me. That Terrier chap seems to have all the luck tonight. No, would not be prudent to flitter good money away with just a pair of twos., could become a sticky wicket Nil desperandum, we live to fight another day.\nWhy does that cheat keep upping the ante when someone opens? I bet he has nothing? Boxer thought. Still three little threes isn’t bad. But Corgi is staying in the game as well. Him with his antiquated Welsh traditions and harping on about Royalty. Oh no, Terrier is calling for more whiskey with his eyes out on sticks whenever that tarted-up Red Setter waitress appears. He just doesn’t get it; he not her type. Terrier should stick to the street stray, more his level.\nOh please, that scruffy flea-bag is ogling me again. Red Setter thought. I can’t stand his smell, and would rather have it off with one of the foxes or even with a skunk than with that pervert. Ok, be professional, smile at his crude innuendoes. Mmm, that funny talking Sheppard is cute though.\nWow-wee! What a bitch, and I think she’s hot for me. Yes siree, she can sniff my butt anytime of the day or preferably night. But what have we here. I knew she’d bring me luck. Sweet as a nut! Keep calm, Terrier, don’t give yourself away. That Boxer prick is watching you. Him with his turned up snout, thinks his ass smells of roses.\nNothing good happening. Already again only two kings. Very misfortunately, the Terrier holds the better than me. So sadly, I must make only a call.\nJust as I said, predictable as a poodle. Terrier thought, unable to resist a grin as he blew a perfect ring of smoke across the table in Boxer’s direction. Five hundred bucks bet.\nThe clown’s bluffing. Boxer thought disintegrating the smoke ring with a swipe of his paw and sitting back in his chair to hold his cards close as if cradling a pup. See that $500 and raise $1000.\nNobody beats my Straight. Terrier thought before calling and nonchalantly revealing his “straight to the jack.” He let out a howl of joy as Boxer disdainfully threw his cards into the discard pile. Read them and weep dogs.\nNot so eager me bucko” Corgi said in his lilting Welsh accent I’ve got me a “Full House of Royal Queens. Gentle-hounds, it’s been a rare pleasure, indeed it has. A tidier bunch than yourselves I have yet to stumble on. God save our gracious Queen.\n\nPlease note: image is from free-images.com",
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      "body": "![Boardwalk.jpg](https://cdn.steemitimages.com/DQmVrPBQGEbRFDCUsDJEs2AxFaYhtgsVo5bWRH9aCQubZg3/Boardwalk.jpg)\n\nClara bog, encompassing some 460 hectares, is now an Irish government protected nature reserve and perhaps one of the best remaining examples of a raised bog ecosystem in Western Europe.  Under European Union (EU) directives and lobbying from conservation groups the area was designated  as a Special Area of Conservation (SAC) and a statutory Nature Reserve in 1987.  Because of their unique ecological structure and importance as a natural habitat to a diversity of insect, animal, and plant life, raised bogs such as Clara are now a major conservation agenda.  Oceanic raised bogs, a distinctive type of peat bog, were once extensive throughout North-Western Europe.  However, only a tiny fraction of those ecosystems remains, mainly because of extensive area loss resulting from peat extraction for fuel and conversion to agricultural land (Crushell et al., 2009).  \nClara bog formed from the activity of the last Ice Age.  Over 10,000 years ago, moving ice sheets laid down eskers to the north and south, while retreating glaciers hollowed out the low lying area of Clara, which became a shallow lake located in the great central plain of Ireland.  In time, the lake overgrew with plant-life that because of the water acidity decayed at a slow rate and created a raised bog landscape of compacted peat (National Parks & Wildlife Service, 2013).  Eventually Clara bog rose above the surrounding landscape because so many layers of peat accumulated.  The landscape contains pertinent examples of hummocks, hollows, lawns, pools and flushes, which are common characteristics of a raised bog ecosystem. \nWhile much of Clara bog’s surface remains intact, human interaction over the centuries has greatly altered the biogeochemical cycles of the ecosystem.  Approximately two-thirds of the original bog dome has been cut as a result of peat-extraction for fuel (Crushell et al.,2008).  The three elements of water, peat and vegetation are interconnected; if there is a deficiency in any of those element, the biochemical balance of the ecosystem is offset, and the composition of nitrogen, phosphorus, and carbon alters.  The biochemical cycle of wetlands are naturally influenced by the unique hydrologic conditions prevalent in ecosystems, such as Clara (Carolina University, 2005).  Surrounding drainage in the cut-away area of the bog for converting the rugged landscape to land suitable for agricultural grazing grassland or tillage has affected natural biogeochemical cycles.  These changes and degradation of the natural bog land are the direct result of human activity.  According to Botkin and Keller (2013), since the beginning of the twentieth century, the use of commercial fertilizers has increased exponentially with the fluctuations of fixed nitrogen deposits in the land.  Changes in the nitrogen levels of plants, such as Sphagnum Moss—a natural bog builder—affect plant growth rate and profusion.  Other plants such as the carnivorous Round Leaved Sundew growing along the edges of bog pools have also decreased in number.  Carnivorous bog land plants have adapted to the nutrient poor peat-land by trapping insects with their leaves.  The plants then release digestive chemicals to biodegrade the insects and absorb their nutrients (IPCC, 2013).\nRestoration, preservation, and government protective legislation began with the intervention of Matthijs Schouten, a Dutch conservationist who was responsible for the conservation of Bergerveen peat-lands in Holland.  Schouten was shocked by the extent of damage caused by commercial peat extraction with little concern for the natural ecosystem.  Through his actions, in cooperation with the Dutch and Irish governments, the Irish Peatland Conservation Council (IPCC) was established to conserve a representative sample of peat-lands (IPPC, 2013).  Clara was designated as an area of principle conservation because of the large area of original bog remaining.  The EU funded research into the Clara bog ecosystem gained valuable restoration insight from the work completed to preserve Bergerveen.  The findings stressed that restoration and preservation measures must take into account the bog’s hydrological processes.  Geological research established that Clara bog was not an isolated hydrological entity, but rather it was intrinsically linked to the regional groundwater table (Regan & Johnston, 2010).  Understanding this hydrological connection became central to ensuing restoration activities aimed at arresting subsidence and restoring water levels by constructing perimeter dams to prevent water seepage.\nClara bog supports a variety of plant, bird, and animal life, and the restoration program helps preserve their various habitats.  Human visitors to the national wildlife reserve must remain on the boardwalks that provide ample viewing of the unique landscape without much disruption.  Furthermore, because access to the bog is restricted, neither the plants are trampled nor the surface pools disturbed, which are home to a variety of insects and pond life.  The drier areas of the bog’s dome provides good cover for Red Grouse, Snipe and Curlew (National Parks & Wildlife Service, 2013).  The bog provides an ideal and undisturbed breeding ground for the Merlin, Skylark, and Meadow pipit.  A variety of insect life can also be found in the wetter bog land and pools, such as dragonflies and two species of rare midges.  Since the inception of the reserve, the number of newts, lizards, and frogs have increased.  Former dewatering because of surrounding drainage or turf harvesting altered the integrity of Clara bog, resulting in significant species change and loss of biodiversity.  However, under conservation management rewetting drier tracts of peat-land has helped restore those areas to their natural condition (Bord na Mona, 2011).  In turn, maintaining near optimum hydrological conditions has resulted in greater species interaction and biodiversity. \nThe raised bog at Clara is a living ecosystem that continues to diversify and evolve; its future preservation is assured, chiefly because peat harvesting, at least in this area, has ceased.  Even I cutaway areas of the bog, nature can re-colonize; although, the plant species are different from those associated with virgin bog-lands.  For example, Sphagnum Moss is unlikely to flourish in restored cutaways.  Nevertheless, new vegetation, related fauna, and insect life has biodiversity value.  Even the major commercial turf harvesting company, “Bord na Mona” has outlined long-term strategic conservation plans to promote and develop best practice to rehabilitate and stabilize former peat production areas with the objective of enhancing biodiversity (Bord na Mona, 2011).  Through continued public and government awareness, together with environmentally sensitive management and restoration projects, valuable ecosystems, such as Clara bog can be preserved for future generation. \n\n\n \nReferences\nBord na Mona. (2011). Strategic Framework for Future Use of Cutaway Bogs. Retrieved from http://www.landrehab.org/userfiles/files/Bord%20Na%20Mona/BNM%20Future%20Use%20of%20Cutaway%20Bogs.pdf\nBotkin, & Keller. (2013). Environmental Science: Earth as a Living Planet (8th ed.). Retrieved from The University of Phoenix eBook Collection database..\n Carolina University. (2005). Biochemical Cycles. Retrieved from http://kingfish.coastal.edu/biology/sgilman/778BioChemCycles.htm\nCrushell, P. H., Smolders, A. P., Schouten, M. C., Roelofs, J. M., & van Wirdum, G. G. (2009). The origin and development of a minerotrophic soak on an Irish raised bog: an interpretation of depth profiles of hydrochemistry and peat chemistry. Holocene, 19(6), 921-935.\nIrish Peatland Conservation Council – IPCC. (2013). Lodge Bog, Co. Kildare. Retrieved from http://www.ipcc.ie/discover-and-learn/ipccs-peatland-nature-reserves/lodge-bog-co-kildare-visitor-map-guide/\nIrish Peatland Conservation Council – IPCC. (2013). Dutch-Irish Bog Conservation. Retrieved from http:// http://www.ipcc.ie/a-to-z-peatlands/dutch-irish-bog-conservation/\nNational Parks & Wildlife Service. (2013). Clara Bog Nature Reserve. Retrieved from http://www.npws.ie/naturereserves/offaly/clarabognaturereserve/\nRegan, S., & Johnston, P. (2010, Summer). Consequences of marginal drainage from a raised bog and understanding the hydrogeological dynamics as a basis for restoration. EGU General Assembly, 12(EGU2010-11760).\n\nNote: Image not photographed by me. Instead from http://www.clarabognaturereserve.ie/",
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      "body": "I froze in the moment when I heard it again, that piercing “caw caw” is a thistle in my head. There is heat in my face as I drop the hoe and spin around. There you are perched high in the skeleton tree overlooking my tranquil garden. Your eyes are black coals. But I will rant and rave at you no longer. It does no good to curse you and beat my fists at the four winds; they will only come and drag me inside to lock me up in that silent padded room. There, I no longer see her face in every flower grown. Instead, I stand transfixed before you, evil sorcerer. Memories of your treachery curl tongues of wispy smoldering smoke around my thoughts. I am calm; you cannot touch me anymore because you have taken everything. But dark raven you were not always so aloof and lost to all that is light and airy.\n“Why don’t you leave me alone?”\nI remember you circling high upon the wind up there on the mountain where I lived alone. If rain fell, I was thankful because the grass would grow to feed my sheep. Together, our love covered quivering grass, bare rocks, and cloudy peaks where no tree grew. You told me she was coming. I still hear your voice, a herald of a promise. Love is like a promise; it tries all your strength to keep, and time, as it always does, outdid us.\n“Did I not speak the truth, Crazy-Man Michael? Did she not come to warm the chill that was slowly crawling into your very heart?”\n“Oh, so you chose to speak to me again, Raven.”\n“Yes, she came like a summer swallow. One misty laden morning she stood like a beacon in a storm, mysterious and ethereal with her brown hair flagging in the wind.”\nMemories that time does not swallow remain. I remember; I cannot forget. Coming out of the mist as she did appear, I could not utter a word, only stood and stared. But despite the jolt of joy in my heart, I felt a foreboding, something indistinct and darkened by distance, like something one sees out of the corner of the eye and is gone. As the days merged and she regained her strength, I felt a love different from the love I felt for the mountain, the pure air, and the wild ferns. Different from the love I had for you, dark raven.\n“Now you hate me for what your own hand has done”\nMy own hand; how could it be so, treacherous bird? When I asked you to tell my future, you told me my true love would die by own hand. I shouted and screamed at you until my anger bloomed. With my knife, I struck you down. Then the sky it did spin, as the ground seemed to startle and tremble. With horror, I saw on the grass not a dead raven but the lifeless body of my love with a wound so red. Now, I must be haunted forever more.\nI see them coming to get me. They think I have lost my mind and am a fool who shakes and shouts at black birds, but I know who you are and what you have done to me.",
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      "body": "One of my favorite places on the North Oregon coast, Cannon Beach. Most mornings are misty as fog and sometimes rain roll in from the Pacific ocean.\n\n![IMG_0256.JPG](https://cdn.steemitimages.com/DQmX94Vb4qyUncwBdqSnoGHQHj6uLF4CgKmHHkq9hdYc6ae/IMG_0256.JPG) \n\n![IMG_0258.JPG](https://cdn.steemitimages.com/DQmTDV7AGKjVjSM9Raog54qwe4GcUTyctmodkLcPhhSWBrm/IMG_0258.JPG)\n\nThe effects of light and shade is constantly transforming, especially if there is breeze along the beach or if shafts of early sunshine manage to break though the clouds.\n \nThe beach stretches for miles and I love taking a walk past the big random rocks that are shrouded in mist, giving them an almost mystical appearance.\n\n![IMG_0306.JPG](https://cdn.steemitimages.com/DQmedyq35nEmwH4aayDkVbdHK7TAX47FjqgqBZ8vGzZiqkU/IMG_0306.JPG)\n\nAgainst the backdrop of color changing clouds, shadowed sands, and sound of the waves breaking one mind cannot be calm, reflective and maybe spiritual.\n\n![IMG_0277.JPG](https://cdn.steemitimages.com/DQmPmHzHKP42GFEXmnu3unChDNBj9HVtZQ53woSHX8gUyJC/IMG_0277.JPG)\n\nOn a silent summer morning\nThe sky's alive with light\nBuilding in the distance\nSurrealistic sight\nOn ~~Echo~~ Cannon Beach\nWaves make the only sound\nThe only thing that helps pass the time away\nIs knowing I'll be back at ~~Echo~~ Cannon Beach some day\n(lyrics: Martha and the Muffins)",
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