Lilies before The Cottage, Moose River, New York, June 25, 2019.
Sunday, June 30, 2019
Saturday, June 29, 2019
Her, Him, Them And All
 |
Her
|
 |
Him
|
 |
Them
|
Friday, June 28, 2019
Sunday, June 16, 2019
Saturday, June 15, 2019
Friday, June 14, 2019
Don't Get Me Wrong (A Fable)
It's the week of the fawns, that time of year when a doe will pause momentarily from her carefree life of card-playing, gossiping, and general patyourselfonthebackitude to have a child or two or (uncommon up here if it's normal anywhere) three.
I'm not sure about the birth of fawns because I've never seen it firsthand and I trust no one's experience except my own in recalling and retelling such events. But from what I can piece together from sources reliable in most other cases involving fascinating things, the doe will take a couple of minutes, have the child or children, clean them up, and move the newly-minted troupe along. A friend of mine once stopped his car in the middle of the road, having happened upon the scene, and waited the requisite three or four minutes until everyone was up and out of harm's way. I don't envy him that moment but it would not break my heart if I were there when a similar one arrived.
It hasn't happened yet and may never occur, but this did:
On a cold, rainy day a couple Junes ago I was in camp, hanging next to the woodstove and trying to attain some semblance of proper human body temperature and even one dry sock (after all, one's better than none; something about redundancy of use or some guy who had no depth perception yet became king or something like all that anyway). I looked out and saw the scene that caused me to grab the camera and make the shaky, loud, blurry video which follows.
Moral: there's no one way to meet perfection.
-MJ
Wednesday, June 12, 2019
Tuesday, June 11, 2019
Monday, June 10, 2019
Cameron (Five Years On)
I wanted to write about this guy in detail. Right now? Nope.
I can say these things, though:
He was one of three orphans I met near a woodshed in 2000. He was in the room in Palmyra, NY, when Mom and Dad and I assured each other that we couldn't keep him or his siblings. He, after hearing that, climbed my shoulders to the top of my head, sat down, and fell asleep.
He knew better. He knew he was home. They all knew.
We did, too.
-MJ
Sunday, June 9, 2019
Saturday, June 8, 2019
New Kids In Town
 |
| After 20 years of more or less diligent searches for bog flowers, these first-timers showed up by the thousands this year. Bog Violets, Moose River, New York, June 1, 2019. |
Friday, June 7, 2019
Something Blurry But Real
Fourteen seconds of bad video of deer hurrying through Moose River, New York, on December 22, 2006.
I found this a few days ago and cherish it, not only for the deer but for the fleeting glimpse at Owen's Pl. (pronounced like it's spelled), the long-gone (burned in early 2008, I think) home of our neighbor Owen. He rebuilt (spent a North Country winter in a camper while doing so) and stayed on another several years. We were neighbors for about 14 years and my sum total of communication was a few dozen waves. Dad talked with him once or twice.
Time goes on. Owen passed a few years ago and his new camp is now someone else's. But his original place is always his, and I'm not knocking people or change when I say I am grateful for that...
...and for the deer. And the woods. And late 2006. It's great to see them all.
-MJ
Four Days From Saginaw
 |
| Baby's robin looks out at the rest of America. Moose River, New York, June 3, 2019. |
Thursday, June 6, 2019
Kids
Several Novembers ago a man trekked into the North Country of New York. He thought his job was to move and stack three cords of firewood. In a sense he was correct. In another sense he was wrong.
The true task was to meet six kittens.
I am that man. These are those kittens. This is part of our story.
It seems like it happened yesterday. I'm sure it always will. -MJ
Sunday, June 2, 2019
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)