Walking Man, Near Dark

Red-spotted newt, Moose River, New York, July 1, 2020.

Home! Home! Finally Home!

Great Crested Flycatcher, Moose River, New York. June 1, 2020.

The only thing tougher than going home right now is leaving home.

Ten minutes earlier heading back into the world of whatever isn't home is, and I don't see this kid and friends. And they don't see me either. 

I hope they're smarter than I and hang a while. I'll be back soon if I can and look forward to possibilities. Almost fifteen years pass between friends like forever. But there we were, some of us. 

And I'm not kidding: ten minutes later and none of this happens.

And it did happen. 

I believe in miracles.

Mirrors Everywhere

Moose River, New York, July 3, 2016.                                                                                    

Back On My Star

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

The Light

Moose River, New York, June 8, 2019.

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

Ma Cat Grabs The Near Six O'Clock

The Clear-eyed Daredevil

Lilo on one of her diversions from the trail. Moose River, New York, September 26, 2015.

Raven

Moose River, New York, June 21, 2019.

Moose River, New York, June 20, 2017.

A Tradition Like No Other

Moose River, New York, June 23, 2019.

Bee And Buttercup

Moose River, New York, June 21, 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

Swampy In The Rain

Turkey hen in the grove. Moose River, New York, June 5, 2019.

State Of The Settlement

Lilo presiding. Moose River, New York, June 3, 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

South Branch, Moose River

First Try