taxonomic bias, since humans generally favor attractive mammals with forward-facing eyes. “The more people who see hargilas as a bad omen, disease-carrier and pest,” Dr. Barman told me, “the more I am obsessed.”

towel-like textile — with transfixing speed and expertise.

Carla Rhodes is a wildlife conservation photographer who lives in the Catskills. You can follow her work on Instagram.

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His Plane Crashed in the Amazon. Then Came the Hard Part.

“I had to let go of my own standards to try to support myself through this tough period,” he said, noting the working conditions were very unsafe. “I would never fly for wildcat mining again.”

After this plane crashed, when it became clear help was not going to come from the sky, Mr. Sena, 36, started walking.

He turned on his dying phone one final time to launch a geolocation app and then, looking at the map, decided to head in the direction of the Paru River, some 60 miles away. It was the closest area he knew to be inhabited.

For days, Mr. Sena walked only in the morning, using the sun’s position to head eastward toward the river. After slogging through swamps and ducking under vines for hours, he would stop in the afternoon to set up a campsite, using palm trees and branches to shelter from the rain.

Mr. Sena knew that predators usually hunt near the water, where prey is abundant. So he slept on hills. But he was frequently besieged by packs of spider monkeys, which tried to destroy his precarious shelters.

“They are very territorial,” he said. “I never want to cross their path again.”

The monkeys, however, were a godsend: After watching them eat a small, bright pink fruit called breu, Mr. Sena assumed it was safe for human consumption, and it became his main source of sustenance. Besides that, he ate three small, blue eggs from inambu birds, and little else.

One afternoon about four weeks after the crash, when he gone three days without eating, a buzzing noise stopped him in his tracks. Chain saw!

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The Pandemic Work Diary of Margo Price, Nashville Rebel

Though Margo Price has long seen herself as a counterculturalist — especially within Nashville’s country scene — she has been spending the pandemic like many people: stuck at home and patiently waiting for it to be over.

“It’s kind of like the rug’s been pulled out from under me,” Ms. Price, 37, said in a recent phone interview. “I felt like this third album was going to be so fun to tour and play at festivals, and I had just taken so much time off after having a baby, too. I was really ready to get back to work.”

Her third studio album, “That’s How Rumors Get Started,” was released in July, but on May 28 she’ll get to perform it live for the first time, at an outdoor concert in Nashville.

Ms. Price is among many hopeful musicians who are collaborating with venues that allow space for social distancing.

Cash Cabin in Hendersonville. I’ve been working on two albums;being in the studio has given me a sense of purpose while I’m unable to play live shows.

11 a.m. Jeremy and I tune our guitars and do some vocal warm-ups. We play through a song a couple times to get a tempo and begin tracking it. We can overdub the rest of the band later.

1:15 p.m. We stop for lunch around the fire pit that’s burning here 24/7.

2 p.m. We track two more songs.

3 p.m. Jeremy leaves to pick up Judah. I stay to lay down guitar and vocals for another song.

5 p.m. I get home and take both children on a walk to the local church while my husband cooks dinner. (He does most of the cooking and is a phenomenal chef.)

5:30 p.m. We play hide-and-seek in an abandoned church. They don’t have services in here anymore, but our neighborhood pod is using it as a space to teach our children in.

6:30 p.m. We sit down to a home-cooked dinner. For the last five days, Jeremy was off recording his next album, so we’re celebrating him being home.

Frothy Monkey to grab some breakfast outside on the patio. I’m editing my memoir for the next few hours — I’m on the second draft and have to turn it in at the end of the month. (I’m on Page 30 of some 500.)

1 p.m. I take a Zoom interview with the “Poptarts” podcast for Bust Magazine.

2 p.m. I start editing the book again. Currently drinking my fourth cup of coffee.

Golden Hour Salon for my first haircut since the pandemic started.

Noon Back home drinking more coffee. I’ve been editing my book in a large walk-in closet that we converted to be a part-time office.

1:30 p.m. Jeremy took Ramona to the pediatrician to get immunizations.

2 p.m. I took advantage of the empty house and worked on a song. It’s so nice today, so I took a guitar outside to the swing and practiced finger picking while listening to the birds.

4 p.m. Everyone’s home, and we’re hanging out on the couch reading. Judah is whittling and sanding a stick he found — he wants to make a sword.

5 p.m. Jeremy and I pick up some suits from a place on Music Row called Any Old Iron. It’s owned by a local designer, Andrew Clancey, whose designs and beading are so psychedelic and artistic. I adore him. (He also makes great sequin and rhinestone masks.)

6:15 p.m. We pick up dinner from Superica, a great Tex-Mex restaurant, where I always order the shrimp tacos. They’re sinfully good.

7 p.m. My mom already put Ramona to bed since she missed her nap, so Jeremy and I are reading to Judah. It’s nice to give him extra attention when we can because the toddler demands so much.

8:30 p.m. I pour a tea and draw a bath.

9:30 p.m. Turned on the new “Unsolved Mysteries,” and I’m doing a little stretching and a free-weight workout. I used to go to the gym all the time, but since the pandemic, I’ve been forcing myself to work out at home.

Northern Americana. I made a playlist for International Women’s Day.

2:30 p.m. Ramona woke up from her nap, so we’re jumping on the trampoline.

6 p.m. My mom took the children on a long walk, but everyone’s back for dinner.

6:05 p.m. My daughter throws a huge tantrum (terrible twos are coming early here) so I spend some time calming her down. We take some deep breaths and sit in a quiet room.

6:20 p.m. I finally get her calmed and sit down to a cold plate of delicious food.

7 p.m. I give Ramona a bath and distract her with some washable bath crayons to paint on the bathtub while I sing and play guitar. Jeremy and Judah play Zelda in his bedroom.

7:30 p.m. The toilet overflows, Jeremy fixes it with a few choice four-letter words, I laugh.

8 p.m. We’re all reading books, kissing foreheads and saying good night.

10 p.m. We turn on “Judas and the Black Messiah.” The house is trashed, but I don’t care — I’ve cleaned all week, and I’m tired. We can worry about that tomorrow.

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His Game Made Beating a Pandemic Fun. Can He Do It for Climate Change?

The Earth’s average temperature unexpectedly leapt 0.4 degrees Celsius on Saturday afternoon, putting the planet on the brink of catastrophe. Within hours, millions of people would be displaced, crops would fail and sea levels would rise.

Until, that is, Matt Leacock realized that the four people playing Climate Crisis, a board game he is developing, had gotten the rules wrong.

“No, divide it by four!” he told the players, who were testing the game. They had been counting a pile of brown cubes, representing greenhouse gas emissions, to calculate how much the world’s temperature would increase. They’d just forgotten to divide the figure by the number of players.

The players — all experts from the Red Cross Red Crescent Climate Center, playing online and linked up via a video call — looked relieved. But it wasn’t all good news. “There might be some forest fires in China, and Europe and the United States soon,” Leacock said.

Elizabeth Hargrave, the creator of Wingspan, in which players compete to attract birds to nature reserves. “It’s hard to wrap my head around how to make a game about a real life — very dire — situation fun,” she added.

But, she said, “If anyone can do it, it’s Matt Leacock.”

Leacock first considered making a game about climate change in August 2019 after a British academic sent him an email suggesting that he tweak Pandemic to make it about that theme. Leacock dismissed the notion, he said, “but then another person reached out with that idea, then another person.”

Last March, he decided to give it a go. So as much of the world went into lockdown and looked for escapist entertainment, he began reading extensively on climate change.

“I immediately fell into a big trough of despair,” Leacock said. “Climate crisis books are a rough bunch, in that they all start with laying out the crisis, trying to make you realize the gravity of the situation.”

He dragged himself out of that hole, he said, only after he began collaborating with Matteo Menapace, an Italian game designer in London. Together, they investigated proposed solutions to the crisis, reading up on things like clean energy rollouts and geoengineering projects that remove carbon dioxide from the atmosphere.

Vital Lacerda, another game designer.

Lacerda made his own climate change game, called CO2, and its rule book stretched to 26 pages, he said. (The game’s audience was small, he added.)

Erin Coughlan de Perez, who was playing the United States, said the tumbling crises were “an excellent way of showing the feedback loops involved in climate change.”

Yet her smile as the disaster unfurled was a sign of something else: She was enjoying the game.

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Marianne Carus, Whose Cricket Magazine Reached Young Readers, Dies at 92

“They were aghast at what Dick and Jane had done to American reading,” John Grandits, Cricket’s first designer, said in a phone interview.

The Caruses tried a different approach a decade later with Cricket, starting with their advisory board, which they stacked with literary heavyweights, among them the children’s author Lloyd Alexander; Virginia Haviland, the founder of the Children’s Book Section at the Library of Congress; and the novelist Isaac Bashevis Singer. (A story by Mr. Singer, about a cricket who lived behind a stove, inspired the magazine’s name.) The board offered advice and helped the Caruses make inroads among the librarians and well-educated parents they would target as subscribers.

The couple also drew on the East Coast literary world to build their staff. Marcia Leonard, an editorial assistant and their first hire, was a recent graduate of the publishing course at Radcliffe College. They hired Clifton Fadiman, a former books editor at The New Yorker, to be Cricket’s senior editor. Mr. Fadiman’s regular radio and television appearances made him one of the few midcentury New York intellectuals to become a household name, and he used his extensive network of friends to stock the magazine’s pages: He got his friend Charles M. Schulz, the creator of “Peanuts,” to contribute to the first issue.

Alongside Mr. Schulz, the first few issues of Cricket featured new work by Mr. Singer and Nonny Hogrogian, a two-time winner of the Caldecott Medal for children’s literature, as well as reprints of work by T.S. Eliot and Astrid Lindgren, who created Pippi Longstocking.

Writers of both children’s and adult literature tried to get into the pages of Cricket; Ms. Carus once rejected a submission by the Pulitzer Prize-winning novelist William Saroyan. (He took it gracefully and sent in another story, which she accepted.)

Ms. Carus published several anthologies of Cricket stories, and in the early 1990s launched three more titles, aimed at different ages. She ran the magazine out of a book-filled warren of offices above a downtown bar, and later out of a repurposed clock factory. Around 2000 its headquarters, and its staff of about 100, moved to Chicago, though Ms. Carus, still the editor, decided to stay in LaSalle, with some of her top editors trekking back and forth every few days. The Caruses sold Cricket and its related titles in 2011; they are still being published.

Despite its fan base, Cricket never made much of a profit, a fact that did not seem to bother Ms. Carus.

“This is an idealistic undertaking,” she told The Baltimore Sun. “We’re not trying to make money. If we were, we’d be in comics and sex manuals.”

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This Endangered Bird Lost Its Song in Australia

Everyone else seems to know the song, except you.

Humans who sing karaoke know the feeling. So do birds, apparently, and it’s a big problem for one avian species in Australia.

As the population of the critically endangered regent honeyeater plummeted over the years, some young birds could no longer find older ones to teach them to sing, a new study reports. As a result, the birds have failed to learn the songs they need for courtship and other evolutionary business.

They try to compensate by mimicking songs from other types of birds. But because female regent honeyeaters aren’t easily moved by unfamiliar melodies, the courtship ritual is doomed to fail.

Proceedings of the Royal Society B. It analyzed sightings of wild regent honeyeaters from July 2015 to December 2019, and field recordings of them from the 1980s to the present.

The researchers found that 12 percent of male regent honeyeaters in the study failed to learn any songs specific to their own species. Straying from the “regional cultural norm” was associated with reduced reproductive success, and learning to sing other birds’ tunes did not help.

“It’s an exquisite piece of work that tells a terrible story,” David Watson, a professor of ecology at Charles Sturt University in Australia who was not involved in the research, said of the new study.

studied the songs of Hawaiian forest birds and was not involved in the Australia research.

“This study adds to a growing understanding that in many animals, like humans, the loss of cultural identity can have far-ranging effects on their ability to persist,” she added.

Regent honeyeaters are a social species that once traveled in large flocks, feeding in flowering eucalyptus and mistletoe trees across an area in Australia from roughly Melbourne to Brisbane. They sing to each other not only for mating, but to mark territory and relay tips on where to find food.

But as temperate woodlands across Australia were cleared in recent decades, the population fell — from about 1,500 birds in the late 1980s to about a fifth that many more than two decades later, according to government data. The species also began to lose turf battles with competitors like the noisy miner, a fellow honeyeater known for its aggressive behavior.

A century ago, “there were lots of regent honeyeaters to stand up to the noisy miners,” said Mick Roderick, a program manager at the advocacy group Birdlife Australia. “But now, because there’s literally just a pair here and a pair here — they are so rare — they’re just sitting ducks.”

A male regent honeyeater typically makes a “warbly noise” similar to that of a small turkey, and claps its beak while it sings, Mr. Crates said. But when young males can’t find mentors to learn from, they try to mimic the songs of other species instead, including one that sounds “metallic” and another that recalls a repetitive whistle.

Mr. Crates said a useful human analogy would be the Indigenous societies in Australia and the United States whose languages have been lost after populations grew too sparse to sustain them.

“It’s nice to be able to speak two languages,” he said, “but if it comes at the expense of speaking your first language and you can’t associate with your friends and family — or anyone you kind of want to maybe date — it comes at a cost.”

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Philadelphia calls for ‘lights out’ after skyscrapers cause hundreds of bird deaths

The lights of Philadelphia may not shine as bright in the coming weeks as a coalition in the City of Brotherly Love tries to prevent millions of migrating birds that pass through twice a year from slamming into skyscrapers and crashing to the sidewalk.

Bird Safe Philly on Thursday announced the Lights Out Philly initiative, a voluntary program in which many external and internal lights in buildings are turned off or dimmed at night during the spring and fall.

The problem of artificial lights attracting birds to their deaths in the city is not new. “We have specimens in the academy’s ornithology collection from a kill that happened when lights were first installed on Philadelphia’s city hall tower in 1896,” said Jason Weckstein, the associate curator of ornithology at Drexel University’s Academy of Natural Sciences.

The coalition, which includes Audubon Mid-Atlantic, the Academy of Natural Sciences of Drexel University, the Delaware Valley Ornithological Club and two local Audubon chapters, formed after the city’s largest mass-collision event in 70 years was reported last October. Hundreds of dead birds were found around the city.

“Conditions were perfect for a heavy migratory flight and imperfect given that there was a low ceiling of clouds and rain,” Weckstein said. “That in combination with Philly’s bright city lights was a disaster for many fall migrant birds winging their way south.”

Birds fly over trains along the Market-Frankford Line in Philadelphia. Photograph: Matt Rourke/AP

Birds navigate during migration using celestial cues and when they cannot see stars on a cloudy night they get confused by bright city lights, according to experts. Windows pose a problem, according to Weckstein, because birds might see a reflection of trees or the sky.

Scientists estimate between 365 million and 1 billion birds are killed by collisions with buildings or other outdoor structures in the US every year and those crashes are taking a toll on some species.

Common yellowthroats, white-throated sparrows, gray catbirds and ovenbirds are the most common victims in Philadelphia, experts said, and those species are also threatened by the climate crisis and other predators.

“The ovenbird and the black-throated blue warbler are among the hundreds of bird species that are now at an increased risk of extinction in North America because of climate change,“ said Keith Russell with Audubon Mid-Atlantic. “But many of these species also face the additional threat of colliding with buildings.”

Russell said the Philadelphia initiative had the added benefit of reducing energy consumption, potentially slowing the climate crisis.

The Lights Out Philly program runs from 1 April through 31 May and from 15 August to 15 November. Property managers and tenants are asked to voluntarily switch off lights between midnight and 6am, especially in a building’s upper levels, lobbies and atriums.

The Building Owners and Managers Association of Philadelphia, which represents more than 475 members who own or manage commercial properties or provide services to buildings, said the response has been “extremely robust”.

“We have some early adopters and the list is approaching 20 buildings, many of which are iconic and very recognizable members of the Philadelphia skyline,” said the group’s executive director, Kristine Kiphorn.

The National Audubon Society, along with partners, established the first Lights Out program in 1999 in Chicago. Philadelphia joins 33 other cities including New York, Boston, Atlanta and Washington DC.

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A Small Town and a Spray of Bullets in Myanmar

Until Thursday, Myaing, a small town in central Myanmar, was best known for its production of thanaka, a bark that is ground for use as a cooling cosmetic.

But in the late morning of March 11, the town, which can be traversed in 10 minutes, became synonymous with the brutality of the military that seized power last month. Myaing’s rain-slicked streets were mottled with blood as police officers shot into a cluster of unarmed civilians, killing at least eight people and injuring more than 20, according to witnesses and hospital officials.

U Myint Zaw Win was among the crowd that scattered with the bursts of live ammunition in the late morning, outside Myaing’s police station. When he looked back, he saw a body with half its head blown apart, on a street that he has walked all his life. He did not know whose body it was, but he said a mason and a bus driver were among the dead.

“They were shooting people like shooting birds,” Mr. Myint Zaw Win said of the police officers, some of whom he said he knows personally because Myaing is a small town where almost everyone knows each other.

70 people in Myanmar have been killed by security forces since the army staged its Feb. 1 coup, ousting a civilian leadership and returning the country to the nightmare of full military rule.

While the bulk of the deaths have been in big cities like Yangon and Mandalay, security forces have shot and killed people in at least 17 different towns across the country: Taungdwingyi, Myingyan, Salin, Kalay, Htee Lin and Pyapon, among others.

After analyzing more than 50 videos of such killings, Amnesty International concluded in a report published Thursday that the security forces were using battlefield weaponry on protesters. In some cases, commanders ordered extrajudicial killings, Amnesty International said, while in other instances bullets were sprayed indiscriminately.

worst attacks have been reserved for ethnic minorities, such as Rohingya Muslims whose persecution is being tried as genocide in international courts.

populace accustomed to massacres by the military. On Thursday, three people were shot dead in the cities of Yangon, Mandalay and Bago. Another person who had been shot on March 3 in the town of Myinchan succumbed to his injuries on Thursday as well.

Before the gunfire turned downtown Myaing into a battlefield on Thursday, residents had gathered daily, in hard hats and motorcycle helmets, to march against the military’s seizure of power last month. Its residents were just as determined as those in larger metropolises to speak out against the coup, during which dozens of elected politicians, including the civilian leader Daw Aung San Suu Kyi, were detained.

On Thursday, a military spokesman accused Ms. Aung San Suu Kyi of having illicitly received 25 pounds of gold and about $600,000. Ms. Aung San Suu Kyi heads the National League for Democracy, which won the last two elections by landslides. She has been charged with various other crimes that could see her imprisoned for years, including the obscure infraction of possessing foreign walkie-talkies without proper import licenses.

Two days after the putsch, Myaing’s residents began marching down its half-paved streets, demanding that Ms. Aung San Suu Kyi and other elected officials be returned to office. They have carried on every day since. On Thursday, at least two youth from a local monastery were arrested and a crowd gathered at the police station to find out why. They sat in quiet protest.

There was no warning that live ammunition was to come, witnesses said. The police refused to comment.

Around the same time, in Yangon, the nation’s largest city, security forces fired on a crowd in North Dagon township, striking Ko Chit Min Thu, a 25-year-old collector of recycled materials, in the head. He died almost immediately, his relatives and other protesters said.

Worried that security forces would seize the body — as has happened in recent days and in Mandalay on Thursday — other protesters carried Mr. Chit Min Thu away from the shooting zone.

By early afternoon, his body was back at home with mourners gathered around. A bandage obscured his fatal head wound. His widow, Ma Aye Chan Myint, keened, their two-year-old son by her side. She is pregnant, in her first trimester.

“Why didn’t they just shoot at the legs, why did they shoot at the head?” she asked. There was no answer.

Ms. Aye Chan Myint reached out to touch the feet and face of her husband, who went to protest each day with hopes that a surge of civilian strength could somehow dislodge the military from power.

“You said I should be proud,” she told her husband’s body. “I’m proud of you, my love.”

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In Australia, Hollywood Stars Have Found an Escape From the Virus. Who’s Jealous?

“It definitely feels like a time machine,” Ms. Portman, calling in from Sydney, told the late-night host Jimmy Kimmel in December. “It’s so different, all the animals are different, all the trees are different, I mean even the birds, like, there’s like multicolored parrots flying around like pigeons,” she added. “It’s wild.”

A spokeswoman said the government had helped 22 international productions inject hundreds of millions into the local economy. Paul Fletcher, the federal minister for communications, said, “There’s no doubt it’s a very significant spike on previous levels of activity.”

But even as celebrities preen and pose on social media, some Australians grumble that the country’s strategy for stamping out the virus has left tens of thousands of citizens stranded overseas. Several tennis players and 2021 Australian Open staff were allowed into the country for the tournament. And now, they say, Hollywood’s rich and famous are turning up during the pandemic, angering critics who see a clear bending of the rules for those with money and power.

“Everyone knows there’s a separate set of rules, it seems, for everyone that’s a celebrity or has money,” said Daniel Tusia, an Australian who was stuck overseas with his family for several months last year. “There are still plenty of people who haven’t been able to get home, who don’t fall into that category, who are still stranded,” he added.

In an emailed statement, the Australian Border Force said that travel exemptions for film and television productions were “considered where there is evidence of the economic benefit the production will bring to Australia and support from the relevant state authority.”

A year ago, Tom Hanks, Hollywood’s everyman, made all-too-real the threat of the pandemic when he and his wife, Rita Wilson, tested positive for the coronavirus in Queensland, Australia, while he was filming an unnamed Elvis biopic. Their illness made personal a threat whose seriousness was only beginning to become crystallized at the time.

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