Home Again

"You can't get there from here." That's the problem with most trips we take.

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Four hours of driving gets us to the Albany airport, where Homeland Security, baggage checking, gate finding, rental car procurement and everything else most people associate with travel begins. Nine hours after leaving home, we arrive in Washington, D.C., only two hours sooner than if we had driven the entire distance.

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Unfortunately, winter traveled with us, but despite that, we had a wonderful few days.

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It was a trip filled with "firsts" for our grandson: first airplane flight, first zoo, first subway ride.

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We saw the cherry blossoms and hiked in Rock Creek Park; the Easter Bunny left some eggs in the yard. It was a chance for four generations to laugh, eat wonderful food and play together.

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On Sunday, we traveled the route in reverse. It was a good trip. We had a wonderful time, but it's good to be home.

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And Things That Go Bump in the Night...

My basement is a bit funky. There’s the usual cellar stuff: bags of potatoes; shelves of canned tomatoes, jam and such; two freezers; woodworking tools, extra plumbing and electrical supplies; an old mini-port-a-potty; a retired foozball game; the water pump; clay pots and potting soil; a washer and dryer and – this time of year – about six inches of water in the low end that was created by pouring a level concrete floor across the cellar's higher parts.

I don’t give the water situation down there much thought. Usually I pump it out, but if ignored, eventually the water seeps back through the cracks in the bedrock from whence it came, and things dry up. This is an owner-built-home, and we owners are pretty tolerant of its idiosyncrasies.

Last week I went down there to fetch a few potatoes for supper and was startled by the kerploosh of some fairly sizable critter doing a running swan dive into the deep end. "Holy shit. What the hell was that?!?" I wondered aloud. The red squirrel that’s been coming to the bird feeders crossed my mind, but as much as I scanned the water for waves or movement, nothing further happened. There is a sort of platform above much of this low area, and the mystery diver must have quickly found a good hiding place (or maybe - I hoped - an exit), so I took my potatoes upstairs and started dinner.

For the next several days, whenever I needed something from the depths of the cellar, I would quietly sneak down the stairs, hoping to get a glimpse of the invading creature, but no sightings rewarded my stealth. The furry Greg Louganis had apparently moved on, and I forgot about him.

Last night, tired and hoping for a good night’s sleep, I worked a crossword puzzle until my eyelids drooped, and then turned out the light. At that moment, all was peaceful and quiet.

Some little time later, I was startled wide-awake: there was an animal – a fairly large, gray animal – walking along the edge of my mattress!

Now you who read here often know that I like animals; I respect animals, but I don’t fear them. Even so, let me tell you that the unexpected presence of a critter about the size of a small beagle strolling along the edge of your mattress in the middle of the night is a pretty unsettling sight!

I grabbed the sheet with both hands, creating a sort of barrier between the critter and my bare hide. “Omigod!! Bob!! Turn on the light!! There’s an animal in the bed!!” I screamed.

Bob (never at his best upon awakening) eventually noted that something was amiss and mumbled, “Can’t you turn the lamp on?” to which I answered with the obvious – and high volume - reply: “I’ve got both hands on the goddam sheet!!!” Finally he managed to turn on a flashlight and then eventually an electric light, but by then there was nothing four-legged in sight. It was as gone as last week’s diver.

I reiterated that there WAS an animal “right there on the mattress beside me!" to which Bob asked (with a measure of concern appropriate to such a dire situation), “What kind of animal was it?” and I say (still a bit wide-eyed), “An armadillo!... then realizing how nuts this sounds, “...or something that LOOKED LIKE an armadillo. My husband, reasonable to a fault, asks, “You saw it in the dark?”

“Uh, hmmm, uh, gee, I don’t know... uh... good point...” and suddenly it dawned on me that I must have dreamed the whole thing. Nevertheless, remembering the basement diver, we did a thorough search under the bed, finding nothing.

Eventually the whole episode began to strike us very funny and soon we were laughing hysterically. It took another crossword puzzle and at least an hour before I was sleepy again.

All this "wholesome living" sometimes gets under your skin, I guess, but this is the life we chose...

Say goodnight, Gracie.


Scottish Prayer (traditional)

From ghoulies and ghosties
And long-leggedy beasties
And things that go bump in the night,
Good Lord, deliver us!
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Nature Got Attitude...

Opportunists (ferns find a toe-hold)




Co-existers (trillium and wild leeks)




Bully (raging spring torrent)




Adapter (yellow birch tip-toes over old foundry wall)




Peacemakers (hemlocks stand silently above the riverbed)


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Happy "All Fools Day!"

A year ago on this day, Husband and I had dinner at the home of our friends who operate a large dairy farm. On that day, their young Amish hired hands had dropped off a beautiful loaf of fresh-baked bread.

As we were about to sit down to dinner, our hostess cut into the bread...

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...and found this inside it! They may drive buggies and forego most modernity, but the Amish in our area have a great sense of humor.

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Happy April Fool's Day to all!

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Harrumph, said the Wizard...

As if I don't have enough to do today, another blogger - who shall remain NAMELESS (a state his EGO can barely tollerate) - has defiled and debased my hat and all it stands for: Dirty laundry, indeed!! (See "Comments" in my previous post).

Well, Mr. ----, lacking the time this morning to photograph the back end of my horse, I give YOU a brand new award: The Dirty Dirklet. The rules are simple:

1. If, and only if, you get tagged, write a post with links to 5 blogs explaining why you appear to be standing in a pile of steaming horse manure.

2. Link to the bestower of The Dirty Dirklet and apologize for your wanton disregard for the magnificence, intelligence and glorious content of his/her blog and all it stands for. (Include a kind word for the hat).

3. If you have any trouble doing steps 1 and 2, just dial 1-800-EATSHIT

And without further ado, I give you The Dirty Dirklet:

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Please click to enlarge this image - it begs to be seen clearly...

The Thinking Blogger

There are a lot of blogging awards floating around out there, some quite noteworthy because they come from sites that make it their business to peruse and evaluate blogs; others are often the work of pals bestowing compliments on pals. At the risk of pissing off those “noteworthy” evaluators (and forever squashing my chances of winning a “Blog of the Day Award”), let me say that the second category – pals bestowing compliments on pals – is the better kind to receive.

A few days ago I was honored to receive a “Thinking Blogger” award from Robin. She of course had been a prior recipient and was paying it forward. I have come to know Robin through her blog as a sensitive, passionate person, someone very concerned for the environment and the natural world. This is a woman who sleeps with her curtains drawn back so that she can see the stars, and her window open so she can hear the waves on Lake Michigan. I am proud to be in her company, and she does make me think about the things that really matter.

But here’s my problem. As a Thinking Blogger recipient, I’m now supposed to bestow that award upon five other appropriate bloggers, and as you might expect a Thinking Blogger to do, I’m really doing a lot of thinking about whom I should tap.

The basic instructions are these: If, and only if, you get tagged, you're supposed to write a post with links to 5 blogs that make you think. Tag blogs with real merits, i.e. relative content, and above all - blogs that really get you thinking! Optional: Proudly display the 'Thinking Blogger Award' with a link to the post that you wrote.

My blogging community contains many wise and thoughtful folks, but they’ve already been given the award. Okay, Dirk hasn’t gotten one, but is Dirk the embodiment of the Thinking Blogger? He’s funnier than hell, writes wonderfully, and is always interesting, but in the strictest sense, is someone wearing a flag top-hat appropriate? (Anyway, he has so many awards that I don’t think there’s any room left on his trophy shelf).

Whim already has one. Craig D is really funny and an all-around good guy, but all of those knock-off record label posts didn’t exactly elevate him to rocket scientist inspirational level. Crabby would describe herself as an anti-Mensa kind of gal, so that's not the place to hang up a Thinking Blogger banner (although she certainly is thinking of mischief all the time). And then there are all the artists: Lone Beader, Life at Star’s Rest, The Wild Inside, Foam... And there is my answer... I will choose not to continue the "Thinking Blogger" awards.

Instead, I would like to recognize five outstanding artists. Karan has told me that she is excited to get back to “work” because she’s overflowing with ideas and creative energy. Carmon at Star’s Rest works her knowledge and love of horses into beautiful silver pieces. On the other side of the country, The Lone Beader thinks up miniature masterpieces and creates them with thousands of tiny beads. Foam teaches art and inspires all of us to think about the things that give life its richness and flavor, to see things more clearly. Yes, these are the bloggers I will honor with my version of the Thinking Blogger award.

These, and one other. I invite you to visit my secret site, the place where I try to enhance the wonderful poetry of Shaman with an occasional photo or two. She is also an artist (a sculptor), but this blog is dedicated to her poems. She is not seeking a blogging community, and I very much doubt that she would want a Thinking Blogger award, but she definitely gets me thinking and inspires me. And that makes five.

I'm betting that this isn't what the originator of The Thinking Blogger had in mind, so let's call it

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The Wizard's Hat Award.

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These five women interest and inspire me, and I know that their creative energies are helped by the booster rockets of wisdom and thought. Hats off to Foam, Beader, Wild Inside, Carmon and Shaman! And ladies, you don't have to pay this forward unless the spirit moves you to do so (because it's awfully hard to single out just five of your friends while passing over the others).
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Woodcock...

Meet the bird that says beeeep.

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Woodcocks have evolved to blend in with their surroundings, so that's what they do when danger (a human) approaches: stay very still, imitating leaves and twigs. Many years ago my daughter and her grandpa almost stepped on a woodcock, but that's the only other close encounter I can think of during all the years we've lived here, although I've sometimes seen one flying at dusk (recognizable by its distinctive, round shape) calling its Bronx-cheer-like beeeep.

This bird's body is about six inches in length; his/her beak is about three inches long. For some reason, he was in the middle of a road when I spotted him, perhaps sunning himself, but by the time I had the camera out and ready he had disappeared. I searched quietly and finally spied him about ten feet into the woods. He tolerated two clicks of the shutter and then began to

retreat.

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I was thrilled to be able to take these photos! Please click on them to have a closer look at this beautiful and seldom-seen bird.

Ten Years
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WizenedEye.com photo
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Ten years: forever in a child’s mind, a fraction of an augenblick in Time's continuum. Sometimes these past ten years feel like both extremes.

My mother died ten years ago today.

She was an amazing woman, the best mother any child could have been blessed with, and trying to encapsulate all that was remarkable about her in this post is more than I am capable of, so I refer you to the Heavens on the evening of Sunday, March 23, 1997...
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Each night after helping my mother into bed, I would kiss her forehead, smile and say goodnight, then slip into my parka and step out into the cold night. Sometimes I would cry. Other times I would just take in a slow deep breath of the clear winter air, exhaling the sigh of a weary daughter.

The comet had been gracing the evening sky for weeks. Our canopy is dark and star-lit on a cloudless night, and as I'd walk through the snow on the quiet road home, Hale-Bopp would come into view above the outline of the trees to the northwest.

On that night in March when I kissed her cooling forehead and made my final walk home, there was something else happening in the heavens, something not as rare as the spectacular comet, but extraordinary in combination with it: to the south, juxtaposed with Hale-Bopp, the full moon was in total eclipse, the sky bearing witness in a double tribute to the amazing woman whose soul was leaving this earth. She deserved no less.
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In memory of Evelyn Grace Andrus, 12/9/12 - 3/23/97
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Lost

The afternoon was gray and getting grayer as I stepped into my skis. The wind was blowing up a gentle roar in the tree-tops, spitting a few tiny snowflakes and bumping at me from first one side and then the other as a hyperactive child might do. I had intended to get out earlier, but one thing and another had kept me indoors until Time screamed “now or never” and shook me loose from my keyboard. I put a piece of beech in the woodstove, slipped my cell-phone into a jacket pocket, decided to leave the weight of the camera behind for a change, and stepped outdoors.

Skiing was easy. A week ago it had taken a strenuous effort to break trail, but following two balmy days, this snow was only about eight inches deep and fairly compressed, allowing me to glide across it rather than high-step. I went up the trail to the small meadow, crossed it, and entered the woods via “the main road.” I was pushing myself, deciding to get the most bang for my cardio buck, when I saw the tracks.

There are several members of the weasel family, the largest one in our neck of the woods being Pekquam, the fisher. Picture a big otter or a huge mink with very dark brown beautiful fur, and a ferocity that makes him the only successful predator of old Unk Wunk, the porcupine.

Pekquam’s paw prints were beautifully clear, and I could easily see which way his three-foot leaps were taking him. These were very fresh tracks, and without a second’s hesitation I veered west off the trail and followed them into the woods.

He led me up hill and down dale through low-lying hemlock woods, circling and back-tracking on a couple of occasions, and although I felt that at any moment I might crest a small rise and see him, the tracks remained empty of feet.

From the beginning I had noted that this isn’t a part of our woods I have spent time in, and as the thrill of the chase began to lessen I realized that none of my surroundings looked in any way familiar. I looked up, but the sky was such a dark gray that it gave no hint of the sun’s location. On a quiet day, you occasionally hear the hum of a truck off to the north on the main road and can take your direction from it, but today the roar of the wind was doing a deft – and deafening – imitation of ocean surf. I could hear nothing else, and aside from being a wild and wonderful soundtrack, it was blowing snow over my ski tracks. It would soon be impossible to follow them back to the woods road. It would also soon be dark.

Bringing the cell phone instead of the camera now seemed like a stroke of brilliance... assuming it might get reception. I imagined the call: “Hi Bob, it’s me. Say, if I don’t greet you at the door tonight wrapped in cellophane and offering wine, you might want to go looking for me in the woods west of ‘Raymond’s Road’.”

No, I wouldn’t call yet. My old phone might only give me one chance before its battery died, and so I’d better save it. Anyway, why cause a commotion when in fact I wasn’t HOPELESSLY lost. Next I considered that the snow was of a good consistency for building a shelter if I had to spend the night outside. I looked around me and marveled that we have so many hemlock trees.

There was comfort in knowing that I was surrounded by a familiar network of woods roads. Going in a straight line in any direction would cause me to intersect with one of them, and from there I could find my way home even on the darkest of nights (which this one was promising to be).

For reasons not known, a person lost in the woods circles. They don’t mean to, but they do, and I was well aware of that. Continuing west would probably be the shortest route, so I struck out in what my best educated guess told me was that direction, trying to go "straight," but ten minutes later there was no road in sight. I climbed to a high spot, hoping to perhaps see some daylight in the distance that would indicate an open area such as a road or maybe the big beaver pond, and from this slight rise I could in fact make out a strip of snow in the distance. I headed for it.

As I approached the white area, I knew I was “found.” It was in fact a road, and to my astonishment, it was the road I had veered off when I began following Pekquam’s tracks in the first place. I re-entered it only about thirty feet from where I had left it an hour earlier - I had made a complete circle!

I resumed my original route, stopping several times to rest as I got closer to home. Pekquam had led me on a merry chase, an adventure in solitude and something few people in this world are fortunate enough to enjoy. I have only one regret: that I never did see the dark, furry rascal who took me there. Well, that and the fact that I’d left my compass back with my camera.
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Note: The animal names used here were taken from a "Glossary of Indian Names" found in William J. Long's book, School of the Woods, Ginn and Company, 1902. They are credited to the Milicete Indians of eastern Canada. Long was my father's hero and mentor, and after perusing his well-worn copy of School of the Woods, I am delighted to discover it on line. (This may take some time to load).

The Importance of a Positive Attitude...

Oh shucks. Here it comes again.

Some days it's just hard to put on a happy face.



Let's talk over our options...


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Hey, I've got an idea! Let's catch snowflakes on our tongues!



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Got one!

See? Winter isn't so bad! And if you click on my picture, you can see the wizard in my eye...

This post is inspired by Carmon at Star's Rest. Go visit her and bring her rain.
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