Redwing Blackbirds...
...and maple syrup on the driveway. And, a nice bike ride. Spring is in the air.
Blackbirds here (at least a few) even though most non-flowing water is still frozen.
Here, ice is on the move.
That’s It For This Season
Bri lost his protest, but the verdict was rendered by a kangaroo court and will be appealed. As a newly elected member of the INCA Board he plans to work on professionalizing protest procedures.
Shortly after noon, all boats, trailers, and then people, were off the ice, and not a moment too soon.
And, of course, earlier in the day, there was Tony’s adventure—a faultily installed pin fell out of his steering mechanism during one high speed race, leaving him with no way to steer and thus no way to stop. He had to climb out of the cockpit and, as a human sea-anchor, drag behind the boat to bring it under control.
Everyone’s looking forward to next year. What a sport.
~~~~~~~
In remembrance of poet W.S. Merwin:
Variation on a Theme
W.S Merwin
Thank you my life long afternoon
late in this spring that has no age
my window above the river
for the woman you led me to
when it was time at last the words
coming to me out of mid-air
that carried me through the clear day
and come even now to find me
for old friends and echoes of them
those mistakes only I could make
homesickness that guides the plovers
from somewhere they had loved before
they knew they loved it to somewhere
they had loved before they saw it
thank you good body hand and eye
and the places and moments known
only to me revisiting
once more complete just as they are
and the morning stars I have seen
and the dogs who are guiding me
A Day to Remember, or A Day of Infamy
Jumping Jehoshaphat. Race two of the Nite Nationals and Bri t-boned another boat and pretty much cut it in half. Everyone okay. Mr. T-bone protested Bri, and then Bri protested him back. Bri will win.
With his boat out of service (significant but not major damage) Bri drove to Whitewater to retrieve Nite #300 so that he would have a boat to sail on Sunday. And, as he was pulling into the launch site back at Lake Kegonsa,, the axel on that boat’s trailer broke. And, at the big dinner tonight, Bri is being elected to the position of Secretary of the International Nite Class Association (which is then followed by the positions of vice-commodore, and commodore).
Meanwhile Katy’s dance troupe won Platinum at a major competition, while Will visited here—keeping Mimi and me busy most of the day.
High Hopes
The Nite Nationals have been called on, on Lake Kegonsa, just south of Madison. Early start tomorrow, so many boats arriving and setting up this afternoon. But conditions are bad. Ice pure slush, at least near shore, and the on-ramp very tenuous—and, of course, the on-ramp is also the off ramp.
With the help of other would-be sailors Bri and I pushed the tandem trailer onto what could be called ice and set up 351 and 165. I decided against launching 300. For me, discretion became the better part of valor.
Thirty boats, or more, have signed up, so it could be chaos at the ramp early tomorrow. I’m good with not being part of it, though I am looking forward to stopping by to see how things go. While hoping for the best, my prediction is one slow first race and then unsailable stickiness ever after. And, of course, three races need to be sailed to complete a regatta.
Sometimes it’s good to be older, and possibly (though not necessarily) wiser.
Two Boats
Soft water and hard water. The dinghy got its bottom painted, and the iceboat came out of cold storage because, surprisingly, the Nite Nationals have been called on. (Note: I plan to be involved but not to race. I could sail one or two races; but three, four, or more are more than I can handle, and if you don’t race all the races you end up at the bottom of the standings, and that is not exactly where you want to be.)
Above, the flood continues. Knee deep at the skate park.
Above, bottom painted. Below, iceboat getting ready.
I had the iceboat opened up and airing out in the balmy sunshine until the rain came and a little thunder thundered. The mini storm was the advance edge of the strong cold front—and it is once again windy and cold. (But that could be good for the regatta.)
I Heard a Robin
Yesterday, too, but I didn’t want to jump a claim. Today for sure, but no visual yet. It seems early, but with all the melting, patches of bare ground are beginning to appear.
A little rain overnight, and continued warmth, leading to lots of runoff. The creekside path is flooded out, looking more than ankle deep in places.
Big Melt
Hardly anything more interesting than watching water. Minor topographic divides, and within inches the flow can move in opposite directions, but always finding a way down. Good fun, trying to think like water.
Dinner out and then Sequence in with across-the-street neighbors, now that Jane is home form the hospital and doing well. Guys won three of five.
Ten Million Silver Lizards...
...requiring creepers on the morning walk but only boots on the afternoon hike.
The last job on the dink prior to painting. Time, perhaps, to think about oars.
I know I’ve posted this before, but at this time of year I can’t help it.
Hillside Thaw
Robert Frost
To think to know the country and now know
The hillside on the day the sun lets go
Ten million silver lizards out of snow!
As often as I've seen it done before
I can't pretend to tell the way it's done.
It looks as if some magic of the sun
Lifted the rug that bred them on the floor
And the light breaking on them made them run.
But if I though to stop the wet stampede,
And caught one silver lizard by the tail,
And put my foot on one without avail,
And threw myself wet-elbowed and wet-kneed
In front of twenty others' wriggling speed,-
In the confusion of them all aglitter,
And birds that joined in the excited fun
By doubling and redoubling song and twitter,
I have no doubt I'd end by holding none.
It takes the moon for this. The sun's a wizard
By all I tell; but so's the moon a witch.
From the high west she makes a gentle cast
And suddenly, without a jerk or twitch,
She has her spell on every single lizard.
I fancied when I looked at six o'clock
The swarm still ran and scuttled just as fast.
The moon was waiting for her chill effect.
I looked at nine: the swarm was turned to rock
In every lifelike posture of the swarm,
Transfixed on mountain slopes almost erect.
Across each other and side by side they lay.
The spell that so could hold them as they were
Was wrought through trees without a breath of storm
To make a leaf, if there had been one, stir.
One lizard at the end of every ray.
The thought of my attempting such a stay!
Lots of Light...
...and by afternoon enough sun and warmth to melt the slick and slush.
Below, Katy helping to shape a template for the skeg. She is good with tools, and a whiz at clamps.
Yesterday’s rain scoured a thick crust of salt off the truck; almost looks as if it went through a carwash. Less praiseworthy, the gutter extensions that run under the sidewalk on the south side of the garage remain frozen, and therefore roof runoff fritzles out the joint between the downspout and the extension. This ice clog is caused, of course, by the shoveling of snow off the sidewalk, thus allowing cold to penetrate deep enough to freeze the extension.
Have to admit, the extra light is creating a touch of spring fever, aggravated by a rather serious case of oyster deficiency anemia.
Dogged
Sole possession of three dogs all day. A coterie of canines forever underfoot.
Rain, sometimes substantial, and nowhere for the water to go.
Perfect day for watching some basketball.
The Iron Grip...Released
Quite amazing how fine forty feels.
And we have a little melt at last.
Of course, this wintry winter is not a release from global warming (it’s been warm elsewhere), but more of a symptom. Perhaps, as this article argues, it would be beneficial to think of climate change as aliens threatening invasion of Planet Earth.
One of Those Days...
...when not much of import besides grocery shopping. On the plus side, the wind has subsided and the temperature has risen almost to the point where melting might be a possibility—a few damp spots in evidence where salt lingers. Sue to Fox Point for a bit, and me to the basement when not out with Pax.
And, now there are three—Buddy and Pip have joined us for two days.
Tricky Bits...
...on both ongoing projects.
The stern seat—multiple compound angles. How do you keep it square and level both for-and-aft, and athwartship?
The wall hanging—quarter-inch seams that match—as it is sewn together (bottom 2/3s done, upper 1/3 waiting for the needle).
Here’s an article I rather like, on the Good Enough Life.
Like Being Stabbed By Icicles
Relentless wind; dog walking not pleasant.
Closing in on boat work. Interesting seat concept—rower can easily change position when a passenger occupies the stern seat (not yet installed).
Enough Already
Nine below last night and nine above today, with a wicked wind. We are into March, for heavens sake, and we have paid our dues. But then, look at Manitoulin where they are sending bulldozers into the woods to break trails as part of Operation Deer Save. (Kagawong photos courtesy of Don Lloyd, who snowshoed in.)
Should we grill out tonight?
Let’s go sailing.
On the way to and from Oconomowoc (where I went to take Maddie to gymnastics) I listened to an hour’s length interview with presidential candidate Pete Buttigieg. Whoa, and holy-moly. Here is a candidate I had immediately dismissed—but one I shouldn’t have. Pete is intelligent, knowledgeable, affable, funny, and engaging. He’s a fan and student of Bernie, but he far surpasses the master. His ideas, original ideas, on how to bring our country back make great sense to me. I’ve moved him up to the top of my list.
You can listen to the interview here: Pod Save America.
Dance Recital...
...in preparation for some competitive competition.
Katy front and center.
And, after the finale.
Big Ice...
...but not sailable.
Lake Geneva from Fontana
If no snow there would be 100 iceboats in this photo. We made do with lunch at Gordy’s.
Still dinking around—but getting close to finishing. A bit more optional trim, seats, the skeg, paint, and that’s it.
Very strong and very light. Thinking about a trans-Atlantic crossing.
Every so often I come across a poem I like. Here’s one:
High Dangerous
Catherine Pierce
High Dangerous
is what my sons call the flowers—
purple, white, electric blue—
pom-pomming bushes all along
the beach town streets.
I can’t correct them into
hydrangeas, or I won’t.
Bees ricochet in and out
of the clustered petals,
and my sons panic and dash
and I tell them about good
insects, pollination, but the truth is
I want their fear-box full of bees.
This morning the radio
said tender age shelters.
This morning the glaciers
are retreating. How long now
until the space-print backpack
becomes district-policy clear?
We’re almost to the beach,
and High dangerous! my sons
yell again, their joy in having
spotted something beautiful,
and called it what it is.
Any Color But White
How about tulip red or hyacinth grape or redbud pink?
But, anyway, we rose above the freezing point for a while, and the sky was only partially cloudy. (I don’t think I will mention that snow is in the forecast for tonight, and then another deep plunge into below zero territory.)
The squirrels seem to have had it too. They’ve resorted to nipping the tips of the back yard red pine (I assume for the buds). (Tamia does her harvesting in the fall…assuming there is food to harvest.)
And, what’s this? Hint—the back yard is rather full of it, and it’s the end result of squirrel metabolism.
Science Fair
With some pre-fair entertainment.
Video by Mimi
Seventy Degrees and Sunny...
...in the UK. But not here. The sunny part, yes, but not the seventy part—more like the middle teens, with a biting breeze. Walking tricky, too, in that creepers are not necessary 98.7 percent of the way.
Watched a few minutes of the House Michael Cohen hearing. Quite something to hear Republican members working to discredit Cohen and defend Trump. What sick and twisted thinking (if you can call it that).