Great towering puffballs, floating lazily by, and then unloading countless tons of water over a very limited area. Mostly sunny and nice, with two cloudbursts (in this particular area).
Today's plan focused primarily on boating, but other chores and projects somehow intervened, and no boats were boated. One can avoid going to the dump only so long.
From Gore Bay to Kagawong. Mark as crew again. Jib and mizzen, with a strong south-west wind. Big rollers out in the Channel, maybe 5 feet. Strong gusts coming down Mudge Bay.
A new experience for Mark who seeks every opportunity to learn to sail. We can just hope that various bouts of heaving over the rail will not dampen his enthusiasm.
Three or more hours of steady, moderate rain in the early morning hours.
I know because, for some reason, Pax came in to hide between bunks in my room instead of staying in Mimi's room where he always gets precipitation support. Kept me awake, he did, which is why I am glad Sue normally deals with his phobia.
A metal roof is a marvelous rain gauge (even if it disturbs Pax). Most rains, according to this gauge, are infinitely variable—the pitch, caused by drops on steel with a sound like a xylophone or marimba, is never steady; it changes by the second. But this morning's three-or-more-hour rain never varied by a wavelength. One invarying drum roll.
Then in late morning...a cloudburst, filling the swales and causing erosion on the driveway. And, thus, all my worst drought worries have been banished.
In celebration, to Mum's (better than Dad's auto sales, don't you know), and then to JD greenhouse for four coreopsis for the front deck, as per usual.
Now, for dinner—buttered beets, Sue's potato salad, and Burt Farm smokies.
Holy paterfamilias! is all I can say.
Or almost all day. Light but continuous. Good for grass, garden, and forest. Also perfect for leisurely breakfast, reading, writing, sewing, and napping. But then by late afternoon a rapid clearing to sunny and steamy. Must have been a warm front.
Almost finished lean-to.
It is anemone time, though in some instances these delicate flowers have to compete with the more assertive daisys.
Heliotrope back in the water.
Foggy, foggy morning, giving way to sun and humidity, and no wind. Hoping for wind tomordrow.
Sue finished up prepping Heliotrope while I helped Kerry with the framework of the garage-side lean-to. We all (Pax included) heard occasional loud rumbles, in spite of the clear sky.
At times like this it is important to remember how far sound travels over water, and/or the power of the Great Manitou.
Morning spent finishing Heliotrope's pre-launch checklist. (All systems appear to be operational.)
Afternoon spent stepping the mast on Windrider, and then dropping her back into her element.
Perfect day (if you don't mind sun). Loud surf early, about dawn, with the wind from the northwest. Then about nine an abrupt shift 180 degrees. Loud surf now with the wind ESE.
Sue on Heliotrope, me on Windrider. Hot work becasue of intense sun, but now launches are immanent.
Pine pollen paint.
Took a little time off boat work to train the binos on a Tamiasciurus, who was chittering now and again while working through the ash trees off the front deck. Although it was not immediately obvious, s(he) appeared to be pulling leaves that had a curled edge. Then she would hold those leaves with both hands and scrape them with her lower teeth—like a human eating an artichoke. A bit of detective work later, I came to think that she was eating eggs, the eggs of some flying insect that lays them on the underside of ash leaves. Not the emerald ash borer I'm pretty sure. Eventually, I found a number of leaves having circular masses of little yellow eggs on their underside, but still not certain if Tamia likes them sunny side up or over easy. Either way, these eggs must be a stopgap food source until the pine, spruce, balsam, and cedar start producing seeds.
...which is fun if you like it and have unlimited time. Busy all day but still no shortage of things for tomorrow.
Cloudy, damp morning giving way to sunny, hot, and humid afternoon. The horseflies have made their appearance.
A big red blob on the radar racing across northern Wisconsin, where it knocked the power out in the Minocqua/Tomahawk area where the Janowiec family were renting a cabin and boating, over a long weekend. Dark clouds to the west in the American Soo, where, oddly enough, the power was also out. Then, although we drove fast, lightning and raindrops somewhere around Bruce Mines. Back over our stern quarter, towering cliffs of blue-black cloud. And then, wending along the lovely Mississagi River just west of Blind River, blinded by horizontal rain and flying tree shrapnel. From there to Espanola it was heavy weather. But we made it.
"One can never complain about rain" has long been my refrain, so I won't start now.
Lovely cool temperature this evening (upper 50s.)
Catching minnows? in the fire pit.
Paradox.
Summertime party.
Lots of fun, mostly outside, but also some "Coding" and some microscopy. Delicious brisket prepared on the Green Egg. Very warm and very windy.
The garden, such as it is, has been restored to something close to civilized. Piles of galinsoga have been removed, but some still lurks (as I can see in this photo). Given decent precipitation (plus an additional weeding and some thinning) we may have an ample beet crop this fall.
But we did so anyway, to the post office and then back along the big loop. By the time we, Pax and I, got home we were panting.
Another remnant of the big storm.
Most of the rest of the afternoon was spent in air conditioning, which was turned on today for the first time this year.
And, while everything is still greenly lush, we have, with alacrity, gone from soaked to dry. It felt it prudent to water the beets and tomatoes.
On the last day of school, while waiting for Katy to get home. Will will now be K5 and Katy 2nd grade.
Summery day, starting cool but warming fast.
With Sue off on her southern errands, Pax and I had the day to ourselves—for walking, bike riding...and reading.
Reading The Evolution of Calpurnia Tate, by Jacqueline Kelly. Nominally a young adult novel, it is actually a marvelous piece of literature, and I am a bit abashed at not having known of it previously. No werewolves or vampires here, instead lots of good science woven into a coming of age story. As the title suggests, the great Mr. Darwin contributes subtly to the story, which is set in the year 1899, in Fentress, Texas.
Brilliant writing by an author who is also a lawyer and a practicing physician.
Oh, to be a polymath.
Big softshell soaking up the sun on the bank of Whitewater creek.
With Whitewater neighbors.
Prairie thistle.
Wild indigo.
Long-time friends, sailing buddies, iceboat aficionados—whom we have not seen for years.
The early June prairie, coming into its own after the spring burn.
Lovely day with a fine wind.
The daddy-daughter way.
...or rather Amalia's, in Oconomowoc, a favorite place, with the Nies clan.
Then a morning of fun on Victoria Lane while we waited out the thunderstorms.
This evening, the first real taste of what summer can be—hot and humid, with everything growing like mad.
And, let it be known that Maddie has a loose tooth!
...from the movie Moana.
Katy's performance, of the above song, at school (very well done), then lunch with her and Will at our favorite little restaurant in Whitefish Bay, and then an afternoon of summer fun.
Here, while Katy and I are playing 'hangman,' Will has decided I desperately need a haircut.
In Whitewater.
Long drive. Pleasant hour's stopover in Manitowoc to visit with Aunt Janet. Big traffic backup just north of Milwaukee causing us to exit the interstate and zig-zag home.
The Whitewater yard green and lush. Rosemary bush looking good. One of the new blueberry plants uprooted and gone—who would do that? Garden pretty much a mess with galinsoga still present. Surprisingly, no mosquitoes.