Light the Fire

First, we fired up the chiminea and reduced a season's worth of twigs and other droppings to ash (while watching the sunlight slide down the back yard tree trunks. Then, when the cold crept in, we moved into the breezeway, where the pilot light was ignited and the little fake woodturning stove was turned on—the first time since March. Now that it's on, the pilot will stay that way until next March, gently warming the little room in which it sits and making a bigger fire available at a moment's notice. To every thing there is a season. Freeze warning tonight.

Last harvest from the Neglected Garden.

And, some aspens on the prairie's edge.

 A comment based on NYT columnist Tim Egan's most recent column:

So, this "Tea Party Republican woke up, turned on the lights (powered by the TVA), washed up (with water regulated by the EPA), had breakfast (with food approved by the FDA and the USDA), checked his bank account on-line (using the internet invented by the Department of Defense) to be sure his Social Security had been deposited in his bank account (insured by the FDIC), checked his stock account (regulated by the SEC), then drove to town (on a highway built with federal grants and in a car that had passed safety and emission standards) to go to the post office to mail his check to support the candidate who promised to "get the government out of our lives."

Fabulous Fall Farm Field Trip

With Maddie

Windy but warming, and by the time we were at the farm, jackets were unnecessary. We went on a hayride, selected pumpkins (everyone has to carry her own), met the animals, had lunch in a greenhouse, and attended a storybook theatre presentation about the smart chicken who figured out how economic activity is circular.

Bring In the Rosemary

The average first day of frost here in southern Wisconsin is October 15. Last night we came close—I actually thought I saw some frostiness on the roof of the community center in the park as Pax and I were taking an early walk, but, back home, the stuff on the top of my truck was wet and not white. Tonight could be different. And tomorrow night almost certainly. Time to cover anything tender if an extended season is desired.

Down to Geneva today to help Sue (a little bit) with the setup of Janye's new apartment in Holmstad. Roads there and back packed solid no matter which way you turned.

Black Willow Twig...

...apples. Small, dense, tart, tangy, and tasty.

City Market, Tuesdays from 3 to 7, in the downtown park by Cravath Lake. A new thing in town, started last July. But well done. Many vendors and a great variety of products, including meats, much produce, baguettes, and of course, kimchi. Also food carts selling Mexican, hot soup, coffee, and wood-fired pizza. A large cistern of cold spring water for the taking. Bike stands and waste baskets. Very nice, with a real French feel.  I bought a bag of Black Willow Twig, and boy, are they good. Good going Whitewater.

My right rear tire had a hole in it the size of a pencil—like it had been shot by a 22. Totally shot in other words. But the local Chevy dealer was extremely accommodating and I now have a new tire and a revised tire pressure system that knows which wheel is which. Good going Whitewater.

Long Day

Aunt Janet and I got a good start this morning, about 9, on our trip to Manitowoc. About 10:15 we stopped at Bywater Lane, Fox Point, for a visit, and a cup of coffee. Then on our way—headed for a a very tasty lunch at Maretti’s Deli, near St. Vinny’s in Manitowoc. Along the route plenty of lively conversation, although we did listen to two podcasts: Wait, Wait, Don’t Tell Me, and RadioLab.

So, with Aunt Janet back home, I turn and head to Whitewater. I decide to wander, knowing that Sue will be spending the night at the convent in Aurora, not exactly a novitiate—just crashing at Collette’s place while in town working on relocating Jayne. Larking about, I get off the highway at Lake Church and dogleg my way down the lakeshore, staying as close to the water as possible, to and through Port Washington.

Back on the interstate, picking up speed to beat the rush through Milwaukee, I notice a low tire pressure warning on my right front wheel—33 pounds and dropping—within seconds, 24, 16, 9, 3, 2, and 0. I make it to the narrow shoulder in heavy, thundering traffic and ask Pax if he has any ideas, but al he’s thinking about are the hock waves shaking the vehicle as transports roar past. I fish through the glove box to find the number of roadside assistance that was part of my purchase package.

The folks on the other end, somewhere in Georgia are very pleasant and say help will be on the way promptly…with an estimated wait time of one hour and fifteen minutes. That’s when I turn to Siri. “Siri,” I say, “call the closest police station.” And she does, instantly. Fifteen minutes later a police officer (from Mequon) pulls up behind me, lights flashing, and says he is here to help. And he does too. Not only does he give me the confidence to actually get out of the truck without being turned into bug-splatter, he serves as page turner for my owner’s manual. Because of liability issues he can’t really provide any physical help, but it is very windy so by holding the manual he really helps move the project along. 

(I interrupt here to suggest: whenever you buy a new car, and well before you go on any long drives, park the vehicle in the driveway and PRACTICE changing a tire.)

So, with the officer holding the manual and pointing out various illustrations, I figure out how to remove the jack and tools from storage, lower the spare from its nest under the bed, disconnect the unbelievably heavy wheel from its suspension wire, drag the gigantic thing out from under the truck, and find the spot on the axle that doesn’t mind being jacked up. It’s the right, rear tire, not the front as indicated by my tire pressure system.

Then I swing into action. (If I remember correctly, way back in the distant past I had all my eighth grade computer science students build a Hypercard stack that showed, step-by-step (with illustrations) how to change a tire.

This officer has to be impressed seeing an old, one-armed paper hanger proceed with such fluid efficiency.  He does help me lift the big old wheel onto the bed of the truck, and I’m thankful for that because otherwise it would have been left in the weeds.

Finally, back on the road, for a mile or two when traffic comes to an abrupt halt, and I sit still for half an hour, forcibly keeping myself in calm and patient, as I have been instructed. When an exit inches into reachability I peel off I and wander slowly through Wauwatosa, or wherever.

When “civilization” finally recedes in the background I notice, looking up, a dirty yellow sky. “This doesn’t look good,” I say to Pax. (Of course, he has earlier come to the same conclusion.) Then we hit violent winds and spitting rain. The phone rings and it’s the guy with the tow truck telling me he is on his way and it won’t be long. But, by now, we know where we are, the spare tire seems to be holding up, and we roll into Whitewater well before the University carillon starts chiming seven p.m.

Postponement?

Interesting but somewhat trying day. Tonight's blog postponed until tomorrow morning.

Totally Midieval...

...the wedding, that is.

And here is the toast written and presented by the father of the bride (thanks for letting me post this,  Chris):

We hereby propose a feudal attempt to capture the middle ages.
Not unlike this mead, love has been brewing, as Katrina Anne has been grooming squire Dan for joust this moment in time.
Together they will cross the drawbridge to their middle ages, and on to their days of old.
Please join me in a medieval toast to Squire Dan and Lady Anne.
May they grow together whatever my happen.
May their honeymoon be filled with knights in amour.
May hartsong fill their castle however re-moat, and warm their hearth.

AJ Here

Afternoon trip to Manitowoc to pick up Aunt Janet, in anticipation of tomorrow's event. Another perfect fall day.

Nice Day for a Bike Ride

...and after morning errands I got in two, one with Pax to and around the prairie, and then later, a higher speed 5 mile loop. Morning overcast clearing by evening. Warm in the sun, cool in the shade.

Iceboats on the Move

Nite Number 165 (Solstice) and Nite Number 10 (Wombat) were moved out of the Whitewater garage (where they were hogging almost all the space) and down to Lou's place in Fontana. Lou and Bob are going to be working on various projects—the objective of which is two beautiful boats on a decent trailer when the ice is first sailable.

Earlier in the day Pax and I did our first big loop in a long time, and we were sweating well before the finish line. Brief rain this evening, with cooler temperatures coming, I do believe. The rain had no effect on firing up the Green Egg.

Re-stowing

Local Whitewater organic garden farmer, showing off. Puts me to shame.

Stowing paint, imported from Canada so it won't freeze. Stowing leftover groceries, still very palatable. Stowing tools. Straightening the garage. Getting everything back in proper, and comfortable, order. Sue off to Aurora to help Jayne.

There are drawback to being back in Whitewater—drawbacks such as lack of shoreline, and lack of boats, along with much higher levels of noise and traffic. But there are benefits: electricity that seldom goes out, city water, central heat, a variety of restaurants, convenient shopping, fast internet, live TV (although this probably should go in the "drawback" column), nice walking and biking loops, and, of course, proximity to the "important" people.

So, I can live with it.

Shorter Days, Longer Nights

Back home it Whitewater, after a stop in Fox Point for dinner. Settling in for the fall and winter season.

On The Road

Saint Ignace

Cottage shutdown completed (success to be determined next spring) and to the motel in Saint Ignace by 6:15.  

Last Full Day on the Island

This packing up and shutting down business is the pits. And it seems like May 1, when we arrived, was yesterday. One of the drawbacks of having a split lifestyle (half here, half there) is that giant chunks of time disappear in an instant—tick, tock.

But as the poet said:  if winter’s here, can spring be far behind?

Saw this bit, below, online. A new organization, AOBS, I plan to join: .

WASHINGTON (The Borowitz Report) – Americans who are opposed to being shot, a constituency that has historically failed to find representation in Washington, are making a new effort to make its controversial ideas heard in the nation’s capital.

“When you bring up the idea of not wanting to be shot with members of Congress, there’s always been pushback,” Carol Foyler, founder of the lobbying group Americans Opposed to Being Shot, said. “Their reaction has been, basically, ‘Not being shot: who’s going to support something like that?’”

Foyler, however, believes that the right to not be shot, much like women’s right to vote, the right to same-sex marriage, and other rights that were deemed controversial in their day, may be an idea whose time has finally come.

“For years, we’ve been talking about the right to not be shot and people have been looking at us like we’re out of our minds,” she said. “But recent polls show that a vast majority of Americans, in fact, do not want to be shot.”

While Foyler and other anti-being-shot activists believe that Washington may finally be receptive to their radical ideas, Wayne LaPierre, the executive vice-president of the National Rifle Association, is doubtful. “People who don’t want to be shot are a very narrow interest group,” he said.

Packing Up, Closing Down

Long list of tasks, from cleaning the fridge, to wrapping the porch. Certainly, this is the down side of cottaging—unpleasant, but doable...........and it only happens once a year. 

Adding insult, the wind continues. We are now into day five of unrelenting near-gale-force north-east winds. I've read that the the unceasing winds out on the western prairies drove early settlers nuts. I understand. One can hope conditions change by Monday morning when it will be time to pull the waterline, during which operation the dingy is sometimes required. The past five days, nothing resembling a boat has been launch able.

I feel sorry for any late season boaters who need to get somewhere, because they're not.

Low fire in the stove all day. It is cold outside.

The Answer, My Friend...

...is blowing in the wind. Unfortunately, it is so far south of here that there's no retrieving it. So windy today (NNE) that it has blown all the sap out of the sarsaparilla, and most of the bark off the balsams. Yet we endure, though thankful to have all boats on dry land.

Slowly, but steadily the withdrawal and retraction continues. In the spring it is open up, set it out; in the fall it is bring it in, close it down. The days are numbered; just two more before we clear out and head south.

Relentless Wind

Thrashing trees, roaring surf. Not the marvelous quiet we know so well—but still brisk and bright, and invigorating, especially an outside shower just after sun-up. Wolf and Patrick helped us haul the Windrider this morning, and this afternoon she was  stripped and cleaned and prepped for her winter nap. There's woodsmoke in the air, but, sadly, almost all of it is heading quickly south.

To Little Current for errands, including coffee and a blueberry muffin, a drive by Low Island and Spider Bay, and a steep drive up McLean’s Mtn. Also, a stop at the Outpost to pick up a check of $37.50 (my half the price) for the one photo (out of 12) sold since the display of my stuff went up approximately two months ago. Not exactly hotcakes, although the Outpost management wants to keep the display, saying it looks very nice on their wall and generates a lot of interest (and very remotely I would say, might result in future sales).

Finished ditching our stretch of the Lane. Cool and crisp, with a strong north wind. The day fading ever so early, and now a fire in the grate

A Change of Pattern

Rain in the night. Cool north wind. Thoughts of a fire in the stove.

Looking through a folder of old Heliotrope papers I came across the checklist Unkie gave us prior to departure on our 1978 sailing trip.

Colloquy of Crows

Michael working on the second of his three boulders, all of which have a deadline of this Friday.

They are not the earliest risers, but well after sunup the flock of crows that roost here wake up and begin discussing matters. First one, then another, and then everybody all at once, and it is quite raucous. No point in trying to sleep past that.

The forecast today was clouds, rain, and cooler temperatures, so we began road work, clearing  and deepening the uphill ditch along our section of the lane so that the spring runoff will not run off across the road and erode it away. About halfway through the project we realized that it was sunny, dry and hot so we switched activities.

Sue got in two swims, which is not bad for September 28 (after cutting the grass and chipping some paths). I got in a bike ride, a sail, and a Pax ride. 

This evening, sitting on the deck, we watched our dozen or so crows come sailing in for their roosting rendezvous. Quite a lot of chatter as they decided on the perfect roost, but nothing like the morning colloquy. I suppose, working off on their own all day, they get starved for conversation.