Feeling The Need For Seed

Wilson At Work. Moose River, New York, July 23, 2020.

The Red Baron In Oh-So-Slight Repose

Reddy, Moose River, New York, August 22, 2020.

The Red Baron

Reddy on the job. Moose River, New York. August 23, 2020.

 

The View From Lilo's Bridge

As many times as I have stood on this little plot of land, and as much as I THINK I'm thinking about things, the joint never fails to startle me when I note (which I do, sometimes) my cluelessness.

This water, or the water that you see here finding its way downhill, begins its trip away pretty much within the confines of this video. Raindrops fall and springs rise and gather until something compels them to move. I suppose it's gravity, but who am I to say for sure?

The collected drops gather and slide downhill, passing from the Bog under Lilo's Bridge to join the Fen. And here's where things seem to look stable; where it seems the water has settled. But Nooooo!, as John Belushi would admonish; it doesn't stay long--not all of it anyway--but continues back past property lines and other imagined boundaries. Somewhere back behind any place I've ever been it gathers and becomes Fall Brook. Then it gains friends on the further slide downhill to the Black River. Upon arrival at that meeting spot it moves west in relative calm for a while, but not for long; the whole bunch soon meets with forces even its incalculable tries at straight-ahead haven't managed and turns north. It rolls through (sometimes roars through; sometimes floods out--to the occasional unhappiness of the unexpecting and not-yet-appreciative) the valley that bears its name. It moves north, skirting the western edge of Tug Hill...meanwhile picking up untold gallons of hopeful momentum on the way. At Lyons Falls the Black and Moose rivers do the confluence thing, offering a great example of teamwork. (When they join, it is a SCENE, man!) They continue north for a while, mostly at an easy pace in the eyes and minds of anyone who's never had to stop the travel, which is almost everyone so it's cool. And near the end of the narrower part of the water's ride it turns left for a bit and heads out toward Lake Ontario, where it joins all the Great Lakes water awaiting its arrival before and heads east again up the St. Lawrence River, east and a whole big bunch of north as it goes past the top of New England and finds the Atlantic Ocean, wherein each droplet you see in this video, barring evaporation or sipping along the way, could conceivably end up a whole lot of places I lack the skill to consider. 

It blows my mind. I like that. 

But here's some more fun: about fifty feet from the farthest vantage point at the beginning of this video is something like a ridge. And one inch past the edge of that edge, raindrops will drain directly into the Moose River, head to Lyons Falls on the express route, and cut a bunch of miles off of their journeys.

I realize that none of this information really matters; it's not like considering it changes anything in some material manner. But thinking about it is pretty cool if you ask me. I never, until maybe twenty minutes before I started typing this, thought about the Black/Moose Divide. That seems impossible and yet it is absolutely true.

The world can get you down, but sometimes you just have to love it.     -MJ

The Kid In The Rain

                                       Moose River. June 25, 2017.

Dance With Who Brung Ya (No Worries)

Robins' eggs and nest. Moose River, USA. May 30, 2020.

The Front Comes Through

Moose River, New York, May 29, 2020. And yes: the rain added light to the scene.

It Won't Be Long

The last several years I have become all too accustomed to having Winter be non-camp time. I've gotten into the routine of NOT going up late Friday night in a snowstorm, digging my way in, starting a fire, and sitting on the couch waiting to warm up.

I usually had a few beers (yeah: a few) and some Johnny Cash or other suitable tunes with me as I played the latest edition of the running game I made: see how long it takes for breaths to disappear.

It usually takes (or took) an hour or so for the condensation to disappear even an inch or two from the ceiling. It was OK, though, because I knew once it started to move to three, four, five inches from the ceiling that we were in business: an hour later, tops, the place would be 80 degrees, minimum. There is nothing better than knowing that. Not to say it wasn't all cool with me anyway; I was dressed warmly and I had Johnny or his friends blasting on the boombox I've had since 1990 (and still do), and a few beers or so. And besides, cold or hot, I'd traveled in the night to my favorite place in the world. You cannot beat that; things which seem like impediments become longed-for badges of honor in those circumstances. I wouldn't trade a second of that time for an hour anywhere else.

This video doesn't begin to explain those times. It was taken in April 2019, a cold rainy day by most standards but not those of Moose River. I've spent colder, rainier days there in July. But the fire is in the stove, it was great, and I look forward to building another fire in that same stove very soon. -MJ

The Cottage. Moose River, New York, April 26, 2019.

Will It Go Round In Circles?

East woodpile. The Cottage. Moose River, NY, October 5, 2019.                                                                              

A Veery Story: Part Pain

I'm not sure it sounds like the narrator is teary-eyed and afraid at the prospects but I can assure you of one thing: he was scared as hell. It was a very long hour for more than one of the principles. A little birdie claims this all ends well, though, so hang in there.

A Veery Story In...Some Order: Act One

A veery (THE veery) makes an appearance near the fire pit several moments before the story begins. The Cottage. Moose River, New York, May 11, 2019.

A Veery Story: Act 3

 

Hard to hold a camera steady when you're shocked and thrilled and crying.

"I Met A Girl Who Sang The Blues..."

Alice. Moose River, New York, August 25, 2014.

'Tis Of Thee

Mt. Wilson and environs. Moose River, New York, June 11, 2016.

The Light Line

   
I try not to offer advice, not so much because nobody wants it as because nobody wants it. Which is, actually, liberating and great. You'd (which means I'd) think it would make life easier, as if you got off the hook, as if the dreams and thoughts you wanted to share disappeared the second you claimed you forgot to share them.

They don't. Pains and foolish or at least misguided certitudes hop forward (though "hop" is too much action and "forward" seems obvious so forget that last little bunch. But whatever; life is life and we notice what we notice and we love or hate or don't notice.)

Three choices seem enough: Love. Hate. Ignorance. Any variance adds up to some collective confusion of those words or the thoughts we attempt to express with them.

This must be confusing even to anyone who understands it all (and those people-if any-both scare and energize me) as it confuses me letter by letter. But that's no reason to give up. Hell; it's not even a reason to pretend to quit anything. Right now it glows as quite the opposite.

And so: here's a phoebe perch waiting through this fall and impending winter and most likely a bunch of spring, surrounded by its neighborhood (perhaps friendly; maybe otherwise) and unmarked by clawstrikes for months now. The stick in the middle, the light line, is the thing here. Which is odd, and not just because it mostly isn't.

MJ

Almost Eight Seconds Of New

After twenty-plus years noticing things in Moose River, I never saw a chipmunk (OK; HAS to be a Wilson by attitude and fortitude and gumption and/or something) drink from the wheelbarrow. But now I have. And now you can too.   Behind The Cottage, Moose River, New York, October 19, 2019.

Back On My Star

The Cottage, Moose River, New York, June 19, 2017.

Late-night Central Doings

The Cottage. Moose River, New York, June 1, 2017.

Connections

Cameron floats just above The Cottage floor. Moose River, New York, May 31, 2010.

Friends for sure. Moose River, New York, October 12, 2019.