Dermochelys coriacea It is found thoroughout tropical and subtropical climates around the world, its migratory path plied widely about the Pacific and Atlantic oceans. The Atlantic subpopulation has been known to appear on the New Brunswick coast between October and June. It is the largest of all living sea turtles, and the world's fourth largest reptilian.
The Leatherback produces four to ten clutches of eggs during seasonal breeding, each clutch containing between fifty and seventy eggs. Eggs and hatchlings come quickly under assault, and very few mature. Adults are vulnerable to chemical pollution, and though human cultivation is irregular 1,500 mature females were accidentally caught each year from 1990 to 2000. Many die from the consumption of plastic bags, which they commonly mistake for jellyfish.
The New Brunswick government lists the Leatherback as endangered as of 1996.
Alcool NB Liquor is set to launch its own discounted brand of beer this spring to stay the flow of New Brunswickers into to Quebec in search of lower prices.
The New Brunswick government lost approximately $12 Million in liquor sales to Quebec in 2008, in addition to losses to the United States due to a strong Canadian dollar. The 12-can packs will be sold for $18.67, apparently the lowest possible price. A discounted 12-pack in Quebec can run as low as $10.82.
Fredericton has 30 days to voice opposition to construction of a Costco on the University of New Brunswick Woodlot.
In order to build on the site, the city must issue a bylaw rezoning UNB endowment conservation land to make it endowment development land. It must then be rezoned a second time to allow box store development.
The Daily Gleaner wrote that "the purpose of debuting the bylaw at a formal council meeting is to advise the public that it's now available at the city clerk's office at city hall for examination and written objections may be submitted within the next 30 days."
To voice your opposition to UNB Woodlot development write to the
Office of the City Clerk City Hall
397 Queen Street
Fredericton, NB E3B 4Y7
Phone: (506) 460-2127
Or email by following this link.
--
Corbett Brook. [here] magazine. December 7, 2006
On the paths around Corbett brook one can see the marsh hills through dry poplar branches and discern in the water the long reflection of the trees. Short hills lay low in the water, turning yellowed grasses to the wind, a pair of ducks bathing and calling in between. Leaves in puddle bottoms have assumed the tones of the wet clay path, broken cattails waver under a sudden drizzle. A mist loosens all definition. The grey shapes of the tree line are interrupted by an orange growth on a long dead birch, alike in colour to the department store signs that peer garishly upon the wetland.
Corbett brook, at the point nearest to the department store, reaches about the length of a soccer pitch. Both the store and brook stand on the University of New Brunswick woodlot, spreading east from the place upper Regent Street rounds out to highway 101. 50 percent of the woodlot’s 1,500-hectare surface has been marked for development since to the university decided to capitalize on the asset, and by 2050 the lot will abound with shops and restaurants. But the plan corresponds with the environmental assessment made in preparation for development, and the other 50 percent, comprised of waterways and old growth forests, will remain untouched.
The separation is a delicate one. A stone’s throw from Corbett brook is a catch pool, ringed with a wire fence, that divides the wetland from the parking lot. A paved lot is not environmentally innocuous; the parked cars it hosts leave patches of motor oil that are washed out with the rain.
“And it’s right up against the buffer,” said Geoff Harding, Development Manager of the local Ducks Unlimited branch. He was surprised by the proximity when he saw Corbett brook on a recent errand.
“There isn’t much space left between the parking lot and the brook. I know that the store and the university went through the processes to get the zoning permits. But in a situation like this there is going to be run-off from the parking lot, and it might not be easy to control the consequences.”
Corbett brook, once a fairly isolated waterway, is an essential part of an ecosystem, feeding forest growth and wildlife. 15 years ago, before the development began, Ducks Unlimited built a water control structure leading into the marsh, stabilizing and enabling changes to the amount of water it contained. The goal was to create a permanent wetland.
Harding said that with run-off the risk of pollution is paired with the potential impact of sedimentation, the distribution of earth and organic matter throughout waterways. If one tosses a stone into the catch-pool, the water that courses up in reply is a pale brown.
“With a paved lot you get a lot of quick runoff, with oil and stuff like that. It hits the buffer before it reaches the brook, but can eventually spill over,” he said.
“Sedimentation happens everywhere, because of forestry and agriculture and the disappearance of trees. When enough of this takes place you have the disappearance of wetlands, and the loss of natural habitats.”
Harding said that Wetlands are critical to wildlife survival and to the overall health of the watershed. Marshes like Corbett brook filter contaminants from our water systems that can detrimentally impact water quality over time. Sedimentation and pollution from run-off could eventually reduce the brook’s cleansing properties. Although New Brunswick has some of the strictest environmental protection laws in Atlantic Canada, the buffer required may not be enough to preserve the integrity of the brook. The proximity of the parking lot could be the first step toward its demise. As the rain continues over the parking lot and ripples the trees mirrored in the brook’s surface, one wonders what image the water will project 15 or 20 years from now.
“This is somewhat typical of how wetland loss happens,” said Harding.
“Not in big huge losses, by being drained, but in small pieces, one at a time. They get chipped away.”
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
A whir and rumbling in the tunnel, lights climbing round the walls. The airborne filth mists and pushes out, the train approaches. Few choices now, says the old Roger to the young nurse. A child in her lap. The peace of kinship, he thinks to himself, the simple and iconic beauty. Please don't leave me now. There's so much chaos here. The dirt of an age, gathering and gathering, and Old Roger the sentry with his broom, clearing it out again. Underground station 122, Hinton Square Park. One hundred and twenty-second home. Something in his beard catches his eye and he looks down. Yes, says the nurse. Nearly Ten o'clock. Another couple of runs. We're running late but really it's better that she sleeps now. I won't chance not getting her down at home. Too much on tomorrow. The Nurse straightens her cap, smiling. The little girl stirs in her lap. Ah, yes, says Roger, pretending to grasp the logic, and then continues, No place for a young one, of course. He forces a sandy chuckle and clears his throat. The nurse runs her fingers through the girl's hair, fixes her collar. Roger gives his push broom an artful swivel, showering soot. What day is today? Would it make much difference, if I were to know. I know all else that matters, thinks old Roger. He knows the times of the trains and every delay. He knows where the dogs will rupture greasy sacks of refuse. He knows where the water penetrates the ceiling. I needn't idle here. Am I alone here? No, no, I do not think I am alone at all. Transit stations are the locus of human freedom, no attachment but to one's self. The question is moot. This is the sort of power she dreams of, the nursemaid, wrapped up in a child's life. A vibration in his soles, creeping up into the laces of his boots. The last train's advance. Would you like to know why I have stayed here, he says to the nurse. She looks up, taking a hankerchief from her handbag and bringing it to the sleeping girl's lips. The name on her grey official's badge is Ginger. Certainly, but only another time. She look at him pityingly; he is nauseated; she whispers quickly to the child. Emily, is it? How I would like to speak to young Emily, little girl, sweet and pretty, Emily, Emily. Old Roger tasted the name, he let the name roil on his his tongue, bristling, whinnying. Such a darling name. Happy Christmas, said the nurse, standing. She brushed soot from her dress. Yes, and to you. And also you, little one, said roger. Emily, did not look up. They approached the paused train as he turned his back, his grey hands folding calused fingers into familiar grooves. He pushes the broom toward the wall. And waits. He listens. But they are gone when he turns back again.
Patel's has sounded a death knell with the announcement that their family recipe is up for sale.
The business was a Boyce Farmers' Market mainstay. The popularity of Patel's recipe led to competition in various incarnations, eventually fostering the successful Samosa Delight. The two competing businesses were jockeyed around the market by the complaints of other vendors during 2007's "samosa war", who imagined that the samosa draw decreased traffic in front of their stalls. When the Boyce Market requested that the samosa stands move to a hut outside, Patel's folded.
Saint John may boast the province's best samosas and Samosa Delight is easily less greasy, but Patel's remains firm in the memory of those who grew up with them, maintained through the promethean power of defining, first experiences.
Posted on Giraffecycle Forum: Last week I noticed my cat was limping and had air bubbles under his skin on his shoulder. The vet found bite marks and thought it was caused by a cat fight, which made sense to me. Today my next door neighbors beagle was attacked. She was found in a puddle of blood, not moving. They took her to the vet and they discovered hundreds of punctures (bites) all over her body, and the same air bubbles under her skin. My dad saw a massive mink a few days ago and we think this is what is attacking pets. If it is a mink, they are vicious and will attack animals larger than them even if they are not provoked, and this mink is big. If you live in the area of the French Village Road, please keep your pets in or watch them when they go out.
The 2006 Census of Agriculture by Statistics Canada listed the Mink population in New Brunswick at 46,825, a 74.8 per cent increase from 2001, likely the result of reduced trapping due to the prevalence of fur farms. The American Mink, Neovison Vison, are considered "truly domesticated animals" by the United States Fur Commission solely on the basis of their long-standing place in fur farms. Minks are nevertheless agressive and high-energy animals, and have been bred for size and not placidity.
The Sea Mink, Neovison macradon, was hunted to extinction in the nineteenth century. It lived among the coastal rocks of the North Atlantic, from Massachusetts to Nova Scotia, and possibly lower Newfoundland. The last known specimen was killed on Campobello Island, New Brunswick in 1894. It was preferred by trappers for its pelts, Auburn and naturally larger than its sister species. Eliminated before scientific analysis, subsequent speculation suggests it was nocturnal and solitary. Evidence of the Sea Mink found on the Maine Gulf Coast dates back 5100 years.
Zach, at 11:00 p.m. Atlantic time, CHSR F.M. 97.9 in Fredericton, and online, will play some special songs he wants to share with just you.
1. efterklang - swarming 2. broken social scene - anthems for a seventeen-year-old girl 3. the books - an animated description of mr. maps 4. art ensemble of chicago - old time religion 5. christian fennesz - the point of it all 6. efterklang - illuminant OR 7. efterklang - maison de réflexion 8. john antle - 2-1 9. the agony of leaves - heaven to the slaughter 10. the agony of leaves - when dogs outlive us... courtesy of mould cold 11. ghost bees - vampires of the west coast 12. patrick watson - weight of the world 13. ugly cassanova - diamonds on the face of evil 14. pele - leave word "cigarette paper" mix 15. do make say think - horns of a rabbit
+ maybe some hayden, mogwai, or Lonely Lonely, but surely new playbox stuff.
Radio Naked East is weekly occurence, and is repeated Mondays at 11pm.
Dim the lights, light a Panda, curl up and listen.
The New Brunswick government has announced that minimum wage will increase twice in 2009, for a cumulative growth of 50 cents. One increase on April fifteenth and another on September first will bring the base wage in New Brunswick to $8.25 per hour.
A View of the Plundering and Burning of Grimross, 1758, by Lt. Thomas Davies. Grimross, a French village of some 300 inhabitants on the site of present-day Gagetown, was sacked and burned to the ground by British forces in October 1758 during the Seven Years War between France and England. The British were led by Colonel Robert Monckton, who later lent his name to Moncton, New Brunswick's second-largest city. Credit National Gallery of Canada/No. 6270.
"Fredericton, NB – A group of students from St. Thomas University andthe University of New Brunswick are taking action on tuition fee and debt crisis in New Brunswick. Calling themselves the Coalition for Accessible and Affordable Education, they are organizing and promoting an upcoming educational forum on campus entitled the Slash Fees Forum, slated for next week.
'Look at other provinces like Newfoundland and Quebec, they have the lowest university tuition fees in the country, but they have more active student movements; we need that here in New Brunswick' stated Craig Mazerolle, second year St. Thomas Student and On-Campus Rep. 'We need to engage more students in a renewed effort to tackle the tuition fee crisis in this province.'"
A typhoon does not rage outside. It endures. In China, you have to wait. It has always been like this. I will wait for the rain to stop. I will wait to learn my last day of work. I will wait to leave.
The curtains closed, the lamp left on. I tend to regard my days off as over once I reach 4 p.m., because by that time I wouldn’t be working anymore anyway. It has always been like this. I see the clock at 3:45 and feel a loss.
I was watching a pirated spring blockbuster. I heard blue-white movie choir voices climbing the trees of a spectral CGI forest and remembered nights cleaning my old apartment. Bjork slipping over the wooden floor, licking candle flames, rising to the high white ceiling. It’s not up to you, it never really was. The watermelon scent of my environmentally-friendly spray cleaner -- I was never really convinced it was helping anything. The night’s supper, a salmon filet, sweet chili, rice, pushed around on a plate, bitten at once or twice, then fermenting in the overpriced black tin trash can (it has always been like this). A rare time, back then, in which I felt whole while alone. I rarely cleaned.
We grow nostalgic for old problems; in this moment I regret that that time and place will never be mine again. I have always been like this.
At long last, naked east print edition 4 will be released in the coming two weeks, at least before the very end of the month, I promise.
Tomorrow night, 11pm ATL, CHSR FM 97.7, naked east radio with Zach will possibly air (there are nonymous and Qwerty readings tomorrow, so brace for a rebroadcast).
Needless to say, the entire ordeal was over very shortly before it began.
Walking through the aisles of the Supermarket, the same solitary fortress of consumption as every other day, the lights seemed a little harsher than usual. It was then that I noticed they were shining especially bright on the produce section. I scanned the area quickly, seeing no other bodies nearby and approached them apprehensively. They glared back at me, the witch of a woman wrapped in a shawl as tightly as the apple in their plastic prison. I panicked at their accusatory gazes, damning my freedom, my ability to leave these horrid confines. I could not stand it any longer and I fell to the floor. I woke up some short time later with a man asking me if I was alright. I told him to leave me alone and bought as much produce that I could fit in my cart. Fresh carrots. Juicy plums. Those terrible turnips that never tasted like anything remotely pleasant. And I left there, quickly, heading back to my own house.
My daughter sat at the table in the darkness, staring at the telephone. "Dad called. Grandma finally died." She started to cry and I walked back to the car, grabbing all of the bags of produce at once and bringing them back into the house. The entire process took about 4 and a half minutes, all while my daughter sat wailing. I forced myself to say "It will be alright, your father knew it was coming, it will be okay." I gave her 20 dollars and told her to go buy herself some new accessories at Ardene's. She left.
That night I snuck out of bed while my daughter played terrible CDs in her bedroom, knowing she was probably stoned or passed out drunk by herself. I opened the fridge and knelt down in front of it, the beautiful, warm glow them lovelier than any embrace I have known. I watched the fruits, the vegetables, as they sat on their own. It took two shelves to hold them all. I plotted their escape, my mind turning circles over and over until I finally decided I would have to relocate them. They could only last in here for so long. My daughter would get suspicious. Yes, a new location. I would drive them out to our cabin an hour away by the lake, and put them in the large, empty fridge there for the time being. I would have to do so tomorrow night, when my daughter will be gone to see her father. Any other time, I would have to provide her an explanation.
It was then that I saw them glaring back at me again, desperate in their entrapment. I reached forward, tearing apart all the bags that contained them, placing the apples next to the bundles of carrots and the plums next to the cartons of strawberries. All of them free to breathe the air of their own company.
The next morning I woke up early for my morning jog and my daughter was sitting on the couch, watching TV. We caught each others eye for a short moment and I continued to the door, dressed in my new jogging suit I purchased for myself when I reached 120 pounds. My jog was fairly enjoyable but I felt myself getting tired too soon, but forced myself on. I ran into the nasty woman Natalie Baer in the park and was forced to feign sympathy for the death of my ex mother-in-law. I ran past those people doing the yearly Cancer run, speeding past them and refusing to acknowledge their presence. I ran around the entire town and it all took about two hours and I felt wonderful.
I returned home and entered the kitchen, and viewed the carnage that had taken place. My new in-table set out in the middle, with casseroles, applesauce, various fruit trays, cooked corn, cabbage rolls, pickled beets. All of my loves, carved and cut. Bled dry and burned. All of them. Taped on the table like an eviction notice, a note: Hey mom! A bunch of the girls and I decided to get a head start on food for the reception after the funeral. We're so lucky you had all this stuff bought already! Cooking is so therapeutic. You know what? I think you're right, Mom. Everything IS gonna be okay! --Sally
I ran forward, frantically screaming and I slammed the table down hard, causing the legs to fold as the top fell to the floor. I sat down quickly, staring at the corpses as I began to devour all of it, knee-deep in smashed and mutilated fruits and vegetables. I writhed in it, eating the fruit plates all at once, crunching carrots, chewing apples. Even those terrible turnips. My tears mixing with the mess on my face as I wailed like a child. And as it all stopped and my stomach was full of them and I looked around, once again, at the horror beneath me, I suddenly didn't feel so alone.
Citing an alleged editorial bias at the Saint John-based newpaper, Mayor Ivan Court is restricting interviews to the Telegraph-Journal until publisher Jamie Iriving agrees to debate issues with him publicly. He also canceled his subscription. Full story here: http://www.cbc.ca/canada/new-brunswick/story/2009/01/06/nb-court-irving.html Jamie Irving.
- The calculation of teenage pregnancies by the N.B. Dept of Health takes into account, for females 19 & under: registered live births, abortions performed in accredited N.B. hospitals, registered still births with at least 20 weeks gestation, including live births and stillbirths for N.B. residents which occurred outside of N.B. (resident out of province births or stillbirths not included for 2007), and covers females aged 15 to 19 years at the time of the pregnancy outcome (rather than conception). Abortions performed in clinics or outside of the province and spontaneous abortions or other fetal losses are not included. Posted by Panik on http://www.giraffecycle.com/forum/
Fredericton publishing house Goose Lane Editions launched a Passamaquoddy-Maliseet Dictionary on December 11, 2008. Maliseet is an indigenous New Brunswick language that has, like its sister Passamaquoddy, suffered severe decline since confederation. Conservative estimates put the number of fluent speakers around 300. The Dictionary
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