Feeling The Need For Seed

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

Will It Go Round In Circles?

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

The Scene As Seen From Base Camp

From the foothills of Mt. Wilson. Moose River, New York, July 27, 2015.                              

And It Stoned Me To My Soul

Edmund's descendant contemplates the universe. Moose River, New York, May 3, 2019.                                 

'Tis Of Thee

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

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.

Across The River

Behind The Cottage, Moose River, New York, August 20, 2018.

Wilsonia

A friend works through the immediate troubles of life in 64 seconds or less.

Moose River, New York, September 20, 2017.

Sheila

Sheila, this weekend's only Wilson. Moose River, New York, September 2, 2019.

A Tradition Like No Other

Moose River, New York, June 23, 2019.

Grosbeak and Friend

The first Cottage appearance of a rose-breasted grosbeak in several years,

and the first sighting of a chipmunk in several seconds.

Moose River, New York, May 18, 2019.

North Country Patriot

Just someone in the right place at the right time. Moose River, New York, May 17, 2019.

Winter Beater #1

A Wilson bellies up to the bar. Moose River, New York, August 17, 2015.

 


Back when I was about...three years younger than I am now, pretty much, there was a phrase my friends would throw around like dynamite when one of us got a really rotten set of wheels: nice winter beater!

No matter that I almost never bought a winter beater, much preferring for most of my life to drive year-round "beaters", the words from the past have stuck in my head to such an extent that they make me smile rather than cringe. Nice to have some distance between now and what seems from today's vantage point to have been foolishness. And yes; I said "seems". But you get the point.

I have nothing much to talk about regarding actual day-to-day goings on at The Settlement because like many winters lately (too many) I have not been there for months.  Early to mid-November was as long as work and weather allowed me to be there. And please tell me you understand I've only been away in a physical sense; my heart and mind and soul are from that place and seek return at all times, by any method of travel.

And now, unless we have a monster late-March blizzard (which happens infrequently but often and forcefully enough to make qualifications of timing not only relevant but necessary), the opening of my Moose River year (again; the physical presence type of opening) is within four weeks. Less than 30 days.

But I can feel the longing for the place building in me.  It's quiet-ish right now and doesn't drive my thoughts quite to the levels they will be driven to soon. After all, the weather hasn't been bad but it hasn't been overly cooperative with my inner hope of a long-term trend which will warm things up enough so that four weeks turns into two or one or a week ago. And since I now and for two decades have measured winter by when Moose River is accessible, that means it is still winter inside me as well as out. The warmth is not here yet, but it's coming.

And so, I offer winter beaters.  This one, anyway.  I suspect there will be more.


-MJ

The Days Of Miracle And Wonder

The thing about all of this, about all of us, about you as well as us or I, is that we think we have too much going on in our focused dust-stuffed corners of the world to give any more.

My mom has written four acclaimed books about Moose River. She has (and believe me, she welcomed but did not expect to) done millions of things with her thoughts and their written output...

She has made at least hundreds of people notice and think about Moose River; she made a girl in a picture from the 1930s show up here, alive, cool and in control of the uncontrollable.

She makes men in sports cars say, "I'm your stalker!" by ways of greetings before they ask her the way to the Old Stone House. Which she does. And they go, and take snapshots through the dusty windows and pass them on to her and tell her things like, YOU'RE RIGHT! HERE'S A PICTURE!

(They are always great pictures; only great moments would cause them, so they'd have to be.)

Here's where whatever keeps Moose River afloat in anyone's (living or dead) mind trembles or stutters, because here's where I say I think this part of it's my job.

So, in lieu of work stories or sleep, here's a picture of a chipmunk. A Wilson, for sure.