Gorilla Keepers

In 1982 I was hired into the Ape House as a gorilla-keeper by then head-keeper Diana Frisch. It was the dream of a lifetime and I will forever be in her debt for taking a chance on me. Let me tell you a story about a gorilla that we both worked with.

Mac had a sweet nature, extremely laid back. His eyesight was a bit iffy and he had a tendency to glance at you from the side, peering as if trying to focus.  Early on I learned just how laid back he was. He was very particular in which order he received his food in the morning preferring his celery sticks before his lettuce. I made the huge mistake once of doing the opposite, giving him the lettuce first.  Mac grabbed my arm pulled it through the cage bars, held it while he looked intently at me and then let go. He could have easily inflicted a bite wound or broken my arm but he made his point and was satisfied. I never made that mistake again.

In 1984, during renovations of the existing Ape House, Mac was housed at the old zoo hospital. As we could transfer him from one cage to another (something we were not able to do in the Ape House, hence the renovation) we were able to give hay as bedding - which could be removed later during cleaning. One day Diana called me on the walkie-talkie asking me to come down to the hospital. As I entered she motioned for me to come closer but to remain quiet. Gorillas have a wide array of vocalizations to communicate with one another, in the past Mac did his usual greeting vocalization to us but rarely anything else. Diana had given Mac about a 1/3 of a bale of hay, he was so engrossed in making a nest that he was oblivious to us. As I drew closer to his cage I heard soft uninterrupted rumbling  vocalizations as if he were having a conversation with himself as he created a beautiful circular nest, with high walls and a cozy deep center. Every few minutes he would step into the nest as if to ascertain the shape and height, then step out and make adjustments, adding to, shaking out and fluffing up his hay - all the time talking to himself. He had not had bedding material since taken from the forests of west Africa 30 plus years prior. 

Mac was transformed, absorbed in the work at hand seemingly transported back to his African home. He was doing what all gorillas will do when given the proper materials, make a proper sleeping nest. By the time it was finished it was truly a masterpiece - perfect in every way. Both Diana and I  were humbled at having witnessed such a transformation as well as being a bit teary-eyed as we left Mac to his memories. 

Mac died a few years after the nest building episode. Diana passed away a little over a week ago. She was part of a 4-member keeper team at the Columbus Zoo in the 1980’s that forever changed the way we perceive gorillas, the way we house and treat them, the way we value them just for being the remarkable creatures that they are.  Diana, say hello to Mac for me when you see him …….

Imagination

My nieces spend a lot of time at my house. I don’t have an x-box, video games, or even now a computer as the desktop died recently. But we do have board games (Clue, Life, Monopoly), jigsaw puzzles, lots of decks of cards, books and movies. When the girls were 7 and 8 I bought a dollhouse kit and spent Christmas Eve putting it together for them. Since then I purchased a second larger one (already assembled) which is the one they have in their bedroom at my house. We use dogs and cats rather than dolls - we agreed that the dolls sort of creeped us out a bit. They are now 13 and 14 respectively and they still mess around with that doll house. I found them in there just the other day meticulously arranging the rooms to absolute perfection.(see photos to the right)

Yesterday I went to the doll house store to have a look-see.  They have a wide array of doll houses, both assembled as well as do -it-yourself kits, loads of teeny-tiny furniture, and all the other bits and pieces needed to create another universe. I started talking to a mother and her daughter while there, the daughter in the process of buying her very first doll house, She already creates little scenes using doll house furniture but as yet does not have an actual house. Got the impression she was doing the buying - good for her. As we were talking, I found out she’s a big reader and loves to bake - shades of me at that age. It was a treat talking to a kid who revels in using her imagination - and good for her Mom for supporting it.

Sometimes when my nieces have left to go back home, I walk by their room catch the doll house out of the corner of my eye in a somewhat disheveled state and am compelled to stop what I’m doing, grab a chair, sit myself down to rearrange a whole new world.

Dolphins in my Backyard

Standing at my kitchen sink doing the dishes, looking out over the Florida creek that is in essence our backyard I notice there are ripples in the water. That’s usually an indicator of 1.) a boat has just passed, 2.) a dolphin or group of dolphins have just passed or 3.)  manatees are nearby. No boat sounds but lots of turbulent water and kinetic splashing. I walk down to the dock to discover to my delight a group of 4 adult dolphins swimming under and around our dock. They are herding a school of fish against our sea wall, blocking their escape - easy pickings for dolphins when they work as a team like this.  It is a cloudy grey-black evening sky just getting ready to rain - the sky is reflected perfectly in the creek - turning it the same shades of grey. Standing on the dock I watch these 500 lb behemoths swim just below the surface turning on their sides to maneuver the fish more efficiently.  They gaze up at me as they pass by, so close I could touch them if I were to reach my hand down. Their light white-grey underbelly and darker slate-grey dorsal area allow them to blend so perfectly that they seem as if from a dream, ghost-like as they skim by. As I watch, two Roseate Spoonbills fly over, heading to their evening roosting site, bright pink against the darkening sky.  This morning I woke to two Red-bellied woodpeckers on the palm tree in the back yard near the Frangipani (AKA: Plumeria) which is in full bloom.  

Ireland

This last year has been a year of travel, some for pleasure, simple curiosity as well as for family events. The fantastic thing about traveling is the sense of discovery. Since starting to do photography several years ago, it has only heightened my pleasure of the travel experience. But often times it’s the smallest of things that have a lasting impact.  I’ve been to Ireland twice in the last year, the second time to take my nephew to see where his ancestors came from. I do know that there are some places on this planet that just feel right, comfortable, somehow familiar. It’s easy to romanticize a place through a visitor’s eyes but I’m old enough now, have traveled a bit and had lived in a European city for brief time in the 1980’s so I’m not so prone to idealizing a place. But Ireland felt different. Maybe it’s the cool overcast weather, the vast empty spaces, the history that continues to inform, the music that I’ve always been attracted to, or even more a sense of melancholy that has always been just below the surface for me in my daily life.

In Ireland I met a man in a Dublin Pub who had recently returned from living in New Zealand for 12 years.  He asked why I had come to Ireland in the unlikely month of February. I explained that I was a Callaghan on my mother’s side, that I was curious about where my great-great grandmother, Catherine, had come from. Bear in mind that I grew up with a houseful of brothers so being self -deprecating is the best defense (in regard to anything that really matters to you), easier to make fun of yourself than to have a brother throw in his often times caustic (albeit mostly droll) commentary.  As I’m telling him this, I’m rolling my eyes (before he can), self-conscience about being perceived as just another pseudo wanna-be Irish American looking for my roots. But here’s the amazing thing, he looks me straight in the eyes and says in a gentle voice, “Welcome home.” I‘m startled, trying to figure out is he making fun of me?  But nope, he’s dead serious, and I stop for a moment before saying “Thank you” in a quiet voice filled with gratitude.

November 2011 - Botswana & Zimbabwe

I have worked with captive wild animals for the last 30 years in some capacity, first as a gorilla keeper, then as the field conservation coordinator for the Columbus Zoo then the Brevard Zoo. The best part of working with animals is just being able to observe their behaviors - always fascinating. For the last week I have been in Africa, first in Zimbabwe and now Zambia. It is both surreal and magical to watch elephants come to drink, to hear lions at night, to watch a giraffe at full gallop. A repetitive theme in my life is the absolute astounding beauty of the natural world that surrounds us. There are miracles in the sensitive trunk of an elephant, in their ability to hear one another over long distances through vibrations they can "read" through their feet, in their highly complicated social lives. Miracles abound in the memory of an elephant matriarch who knows where to go to feed and for water during this long hot (and deadly) dry season. 

Elephants Observations: At a watering hole in Zimbabwe -near Hwange National Park: A small sub-group of 5 to 10 individuals would come to the water source, stay for a while drinking and cooling off.  After a bit, one of the members would break off to stand well away from the water, watching intensely in the distance from which they had come, she would become quite still, scanning the horizon, trunk in the air , then lift one of her front feet and appeared to be “listening”. Sure enough shortly thereafter another small sub-group of elephants would appear on the horizon - heading towards the watering hole. The sentinel would then return to her group and they would move off in the opposite direction - just passing through. I saw this countless times with each new group that came to drink.

Pauline Shuler Authenrieth

My grandparents met in a bar near Camden New Jersey. It was August 1942, my grandfather (an only child from Columbus Ohio, son of a school teacher, graduate from Ohio State University, with no clear religious affiliation) was up singing “Temptation” with the local band. Pop-pop had stopped in along with his fellow soldiers from a nearby army training camp. It was then that my grandmother fresh off her late shift at the RCA factory walked in. Pauline Shuler was one of eight girls, raised Catholic, daughter of Royden Lynn (I’m named for him, Lynn being my middle name) and his wife Sylvia Catherine (she’s our Irish connection, being a Callaghan),  a divorcee, and mother of an 8 year old girl (my mother). Six months later they were married just before Pop-pop was shipped off to Europe.  My grandfather raised my mother as if his own. My brothers and I were lucky to have such wonderful grandparents - Mom-mom adored us. She and Pop-pop taught us to love Big Band music. At Thanksgiving and Christmas gatherings they would dance to the beat of Artie Shaw or Glenn Miller, watching them dance together was a bit like magic. Pop-pop was a man of few words but had a great wry wit and probably was the most handsome man I’ve ever met.  My grandmother was the keeper of the stories and throughout my childhood I peppered her with endless questions about her family - her sisters (Ida, Sylvia, Nita, Ronnie, Boots, Fay, and Dru), what her parents were like, what it was like growing up in such a large family during the depression, where she was when she heard about Pearl Harbor, how she met my grandfather?

In 1989 I visited her in Florida taking along a cheap tape recorder. Every morning while having our coffee, I'd turn on the recorder and off we’d go - back to her childhood and beyond - further back in her family history. I have five tapes (now transferred to CD’s) of my grandmother’s voice - her laugh, her intonations, her slight Jersey accent on certain words, her funny way of saying “yeh” in a high-pitched voice in response to my “No kidding” when some family story surprised (or shocked) me.  The other day my niece and I were baking my Great Aunt Fay’s (my grandmother’s sister) cookies - while listening to these tapes. I love the fact that she can hear her great grandmother’s voice and unique laugh. These tapes are one of my most treasured possessions.  I’m in the process of transcribing the text and one day will present the tapes/CD’s and transcripts to each of Pauline Shuler Authenrieth’s great grandchildren - she would have liked that.

Southern Africa

After a brief hiatus, I’m back to my blog! Spent most of November in southern Africa - mainly Botswana and Zimbabwe, a bit in Namibia and Zambia - took loads of photos. I continue to be amazed and inspired by the lush as well as the stark beauty of this world.  I hope I was able to capture a bit of the diversity of wildlife and the stunning beauty of the people of Africa. On my last night in Africa, I sat out on our tent deck - the light attracting all shapes and sizes of insects. An especially loud insect flew past and as I turned to see what it was, I was startled to see a huge snowy white eagle owl sitting on the porch railing.  I think she was just as startled to see me as we both jumped a bit, we looked at one another for a brief second before she flew off as silently as she had appeared. It was my parting gift from Africa.