Furrydoc, our dogs, and I went woodswalking yesterday. Given Furrydoc’s schedule with the vet clinic and her active, hyper-accomplishing family, we manage to do this only a couple times a year With all the recent forest closures, we had to go 10 miles out of town to DNR lands to find a great place to hike. We climbed a logging road for about a mile before picking up a well-marked equestrian trail that took us deeper into the woods. We’ve been here before but not for a couple of years. The trail we were looking for ends in a magical…
Category: Rural and small-town living
Life far from freeways, Starbucks, malls, and other benefits/distractions
I spotted these guys while out walking Ava this morning. Two were familiar faces. This one objected to our presence even though we were probably 30 yards away. I have no idea what this guy is. Do you? When I first saw the three from a long distance, I thought he (she?) was a blue heron; there’s one that hangs out in the vicinity. But this bird was small and graceless. It might be a heron, but only in its dreams. I didn’t actually get a good look while I was there. We were pretty far apart. Seems one of…
She didn’t learn from “basket of deplorables.” She didn’t learn from losing a freaking election for which she was supposedly already coronated. Now … “If you look at the map of the United States, there’s all that red in the middle where Trump won,” Clinton said. “I win the coast, I win, you know, Illinois and Minnesota, places like that.” Clinton suggested that the portion of the US she won represents portions of the country that are thriving economically. “But what the map doesn’t show you, is that I won the places that represent two-thirds of America’s gross domestic product,”…
I ate breakfast this morning on the screen porch. Fresh blueberries in Greek yogurt with honey from the dear Friends of the Blog at Molon Labe Apiary. (I used the honey their bees produced during last summer’s wildfires, which I hope they did end up calling Smoking Gun, per Ellendra’s suggestion.) It was only in the low 40s, but mild and pleasant. The screen porch looks out on the fern-covered hill that rises just 12 feet from the back wall. Between house and hill is a small gravel plain that will eventually be a patio. It’s a teeny, tiny view,…
This morning on the estuary. It was 33 degrees but placid and sunny, turning the simple understructure of the pier into something complex and eye-bending. I would have loved to stay there enjoying the beauty and avoiding work. But we had a freezing rain last night. Everything that wasn’t madly drippy was still crunchy. No sitting and relaxing; just walking. I should remember to bring a sheet of plastic to town on days like this so I can sit on the waterfront benches. Then again, days like today are so rare I don’t think about that. —– Since the Parkland…
This is the view this morning from my bedroom door into the screen porch and beyond. It’s not unusual to get snow here. It’s also not unusual to get none. It’s been nearly two years since our last, so this was sweet. It’s supposed to snow all morning, then resume in the afternoon after an brief period of rain. (A snow day! The little boys next door are gonna have a blast.) I love this room. I love this spot on this planet. I love ferns bowed down with snow and snow clinging to screens and stone walls. I love…
I mentioned to a friend that I could do with a few days silent retreat. He came right back with a link to the St. Nilus Skete. And I said, “Um. Wow. But um. No freakin’ way!” A skete is a religious community midway between a monastery and a hermitage. Monks or nuns (nuns, in the case of St. Nilus), largely live and work solo, avoiding the communal perils of cenobitic life. But they gather for religious observances and meals to avoid the emotional and intellectual perils of pure solitude. Far as I know there are only a handful of…
At least I think I did. Hope I did. It’s a very slow-moving bullet, however. It’s a government bullet, and it might still be out there waiting to strike. Not government as in feds battering down my front door. Just government as in bureaucrats at the county, the kind we all have to deal with now and then. It’s a dirty little tale. Literally. Involving a septic tank. My house, Ye Olde Wreck, shares a septic system with the house next door. An odd arrangement no modern bureaucrat would approve. But at the time (1970s, maybe earlier) it was an…