It Was Saturation…

…to the tune of “Fascination”

IMAGE.JPG

Just enough time before the rains came for two shorter dog walks and a longish (though chilly) bike ride, toward the end of which a stop at Sweet Spot for a cappuccino, and after that half an hour workin’ on the railroad, or at least observing railroad work, in this case the installation of the rail section prepped previously (as noted in the blog of April 23). Fascinating. This crew was good and moving fast (presumably because the next freight due before too long). Highly skilled and very quick heavy equipment operation, and then coordinated proficient use of saws, sledges, jacks, picks, shovels, pikes, welders, and other tools I couldn’t name. So far, no word of any derailment.

IMAGE.JPG

“It was saturation turned…to…flood.” (Best sung out loud.)

Wet Aplenty

I have to remember this next dry spell when I start complaining. And in the forecast, what appears to be more. At least the iceboat is in the barn, drying out.

Another kind of downfall

Another kind of downfall

The Fish
Elizabeth Bishop

I caught a tremendous fish
and held him beside the boat
half out of water, with my hook
fast in a corner of his mouth.
He didn’t fight.
He hadn’t fought at all.
He hung a grunting weight,
battered and venerable
and homely. Here and there
his brown skin hung in strips
like ancient wallpaper,
and its pattern of darker brown
was like wallpaper:
shapes like full-blown roses
stained and lost through age
He was speckled with barnacles,
fine rosettes of lime,
and infested
with tiny white sea-lice,
and underneath two or three
rags of green weed hung down.
While his gills were breathing in
the terrible oxygen
—the frightening gills,
fresh and crisp with blood,
that can cut so badly—
I thought of the coarse white flesh
packed in like feathers,
the big bones and the little bones,
the dramatic reds and blacks
of his shiny entrails,
and the pink swim-bladder
like a big peony.
I looked into his eyes
which were far larger than mine
but shallower, and yellowed,
the irises backed and packed
with tarnished tinfoil
seen through the lenses
of old scratched isinglass.
They shifted a little, but not
to return my stare.
—It was more like the tipping
of an object toward the light.
I admired his sullen face
the mechanism of his jaw,and then I saw
that from his lower lip
—if you could call it a lip—
grim, wet, and weaponlike,
hung five old pieces of fish-line,
or four and a wire leader
with the swivel still attached,
with all their five big hooks
grown firmly in his mouth.
A green line, frayed at the end
where he broke it, two heavier lines,
and a fine black thread
still crimped from the strain and snap
when it broke and he got away.
Like medals with their ribbons
frayed and wavering,
a five-haired beard of wisdom
trailing from his aching jaw.
I stared and stared
and victory filled up
the little rented boat,
from the pool of bilge
where oil had spread a rainbow
around the rusted engine
to the bailer rusted orange,
the sun-cracked thwarts,
the oarlocks on their strings,
the gunnels—until everything
was rainbow, rainbow, rainbow!
And I let the fish go.

Trickle Down Weather-nomics

As the sun came up the snow melted down. (Continued below the fold.)

IMAGE.JPG

‘Round about 10 a.m., as the sun rose in the sky, the east-side downspouts got to trickling. Then sometime after noon (long after the east-siders toned it down) the west-side downspouts took up the refrain. Then, by six bells, all was quiet—and last night’s snow was a distant memory.

IMAGE.JPG

Meanwhile, the new trailer (replacement for the one that broke an axel during the Nite nationals) got its final fitting out—including chocks, screw-eyes, and carpet—and, with #300 on board is pulling and straining towards Roger’s barn.

IMAGE.JPG

So, as we head into summer, all iceboats (351 completely restored after the collision) and their trailers are ready for next year, which promises to be much better than this year, in a number of ways.

Not Again, Again

But yes, more snow. The winter storm warning has been downgraded to a couple of inches, and though nothing of substance until 5 p.m., it’s coming down hard now. Good for the recently sown grass seed.

IMAGE.JPG

And, in other good news, we have received word that the ice went off Mudge Bay last night!

Bail The Dinghy

Left outside last night, keel down, it collected several gallons of water.

And now everything is growing and greening at an accelerated rate. With unlimited sun after a few remnant morning clouds, it’s actually quite entertaining to sit outside and watch the grass grow.

Good day, too, for two wheels—both bike and motor-bike.

IMAGE.JPG

On our walk this morning Pax and I found a long section of unconnected new track (rails and ties) lying on the grass parallel to the existing line. After considerable discussion, and just as a 4-engine freight came rumbling and whistling towards us, we figured out why it was there and where it was going..

IMAGE.JPG

Turning The Compost

From bin 2 to bin 3, and then the contents of bin 1 to bin 2. Heaps and piles in—garden residue, leaves, kitchen scraps—and surprisingly little out.

FullSizeRender.jpg

It takes three years for the voluminous material thrown into bin 1 to end up as a wee pile of black gold in bin three, and all I have to do is shovel, once a year, from one bin to another.

Summer Is Icumen In

Warm and sunny. Let’s just hope some of it gets up Manitoulin way, where according to Environment Canada the ice in the North Channel is still thick and solid.

FullSizeRender.jpg

What would the world be, once bereft 
Of wet and of wildness? Let them be left, 
O let them be left, wildness and wet; 
Long live the weeds and the wilderness yet.

…from Inversnaid by Gerard Manly Hopkins

Pax Day

Tax day is Pax day. His actual date of birth and birthday are unknown, so he was, long ago, assigned April 15 as his anniversaire, and 2009 as his inaugural year.

And that means that today is his birthday, and that he is 10 years old! Happy birthday Pax. We should have clapped for you along with the other celebrants at Saturday’s big party.

When people ask me what kind of dog Pax is I like to answer that “he is a good dog,” It’s an accurate description. I would have loved to have met his parents and any siblings.

IMAGE.JPG

Today quite different from yesterday. Very pleasant sitting out on the back patio, late morning, in the sun, listening to snow melting.

IMAGE.JPG

Not Again?

Yes, more snow.  

White is the new green

White is the new green

Snow boat

Snow boat

IMG_3236.JPG

Above, Serendipity Lane, photo taken this afternoon, looking beyond #166 towards the supposed two-week-from-now destination.

IMG_3237.JPG

And here is Mudge bay (photo also shot this afternoon) from right about the water filtration plant ,looking toward Gooseberry.

Thanks to Therese for the (wintery) Kagawong shots.

Green Manure...

 ...beginning to show its face. Plenty of moisture and perhaps just enough warmth. (Continued below the photo.)

IMAGE.JPG

This manure is a mix of field peas, oats, and hairy vetch, mostly legumes, which fix nitrogen in the soil. Also, supposedly good for “weed suppression.”

The idea here is to grow this cover crop until it is somewhere between “knee high to a grasshopper” and “almost as high as an elephant’s eye.“ Then mow and till into the soil, probably in mid June. Then plant beets (we are down to our last pickled jar) and squash—crops that can do without tending. This approach is the latest in recent thinking about the galinsoga weed problem, which for the past several years has negated the possibility of growing beets.

No Coffee?

Yes, no coffee. You can’t cook coffee without electricity (unless you have gas), and electricity is what we didn’t, at reveille, have. Too much wind from the east (and an east wind seldom blows good). So, going with the flow, and adapting rapidly to changing circumstances, we went to Milton for breakfast. Either by plan or chance, hydro was back when we got home.

IMAGE.JPG

Once home, preparations for Saturday’s Easter gathering commenced, with Mimi in maximum planning mode. Eight baskets, each with exactly the same number of eggs, inside of which various things of interest, exactly and precisely apportioned. (And some for the adults too. ) This Easter egg hunt will have precise equality down to the third decimal. (And, it will be fun.)

IMAGE.JPG