Back In Whitewter...
...after a brief stop in Fox Point for a little dancing, basketball, and pizza.
From what could be seen in the fading light, the yard looks pretty good.
So Windy...
...all the electrons have been blown out of the house. (Another unscheduled power failure, in other words.)
The Purvis fish tug coming in out of the blow
And with the high wind, high water. The Kagawong small boat harbor is pretty much overwhelmed.
Most of the day spent working on the boat. Grubby and sore and looking forward to a nice warm shower, except, no, no hydro and therefore no shower. But we can warm our pizza on the outdoor griddle. (See below)
Low of 3 forecast for tonight, with a chance of frost.
(This blog made possible by LTE.)
Actually decided on a wood-stove-warmed pie.
The Big Hum
Midges. A thousand thousand (thousand thousand) small creatures, all with rapid wing beats, all along the shore. Each sound infinitesimal, but all together—loud. D above middle C, I believe, but occasionally an instantaneous rise and drop in pitch. How does that happen? Is there a conductor?
Also in the noise department, a robin, noisy, over by Tysons. This must be an industrious robin because getting here from points south means quite a trip, with a good long stretch over water. And, additionally, a bull frog, chug-a-rumming down in the marsh grass of the swale.
Today was also Heliotrope day. (More below the photos.)
Shrink wrap off, hull and deck power-washed, hull wiped down with magic hull cleaner, etc. Lots of awkward, damp, and moderately annoying chores. But just when you start to get cranky, you realize that what you are doing is boat-work, and there is almost nothing better than boat-work, and you remember all the many past years of boat-work, and you can visualize the boat looking fancy as she splashes back into her element. That’s when you know you would rather do almost nothing else.
Crazy High Water
Pier sections and landings moved up as high as they will go, and still getting soaked. Ninebark bushes wading up to their ankles. For us, sitting on the porch, or on the deck, and watching the waves roll in, it’s easy to start imagining that our feet might get wet. Record high water for this time in May. A big Nor’easter could do some real damage.
To Gore Bay in the morning to work on Heliotrope. But, just as we arrived and were starting to cut away the shrink-wrap, a dark cloud passed over and some rain came down. We debated waiting it out, and then headed home for lunch and a nap.
Schnitzel and Spaetzle...
...and lemon meringue tort...and Sequence. Gaiser’s and Lloyds for dinner. Lots of prep work, but worth it.
Turnover...
...of the garden.
The blacker stuff on top of the soil is fumier de mouton
Gardening, though work, is fun. A swarm of blackflies in your face diminishes it some. Nonetheless, tomatoes, radishes and peas were planted in the thoroughly turned and weeded plot. Radishes never seem to do well here, and peas have a habit of net getting harvested, but beans are going in soon, and they seem to prosper.
Some Days, Accomplishments,
some days, not so much.
The old-timer Mindemoya farmer who gave us our iris does well with tulips too
Grocery shopping in Mindemoya took up the fore-noon.The afternoon’s big accomplishment was a trip to the dump. (Of course, both took much longer than necessary due to road construction.)
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The present-day and the close-at-hand, the private, small scale wild places, are as astonishing as the long-gone and the far-afield. —Robert McFarlane
As you sit on the hillside, or lie prone under the trees of the forest, or sprawl wet-legged by a mountain stream, the great door, that does not look like a door, opens. —Stephen Graham
Baby Beech
Out of many favorite trees, the beech is perhaps the most.
I remember being awestruck as a kid by the beeches of western Michigan, around Saugatuck. Huge trees, with smooth, gray skin and muscular limbs. And then there is the very old weeping beech in Mt. Horeb, Wisconsin, that knocks my socks off whenever I see it, every year or two.
This little tyke (photo above) was trying to establish itself in an inauspicious spot down along the Lane, and I thought that maybe it would enjoy trying out a better place that both of us would appreciate. It’s an experiment, with hope that the transplantation was done successfully, and that the new location will be felicitous. Some beeches live 500 years. Wouldn’t that be nice.
Trade Fair
To Little Current for a looksee. On a beautiful warm and sunny day. Seems we know quite a few of the exhibitors, but then perhaps we should, as we’ve been summer Islanders now for quite some time.
Cruise ship hogging a large part of the Little Current waterfront
My favorite exhibit at the trade fair was a wood-fired outdoor oven. The sample I got of rustic-crust pizza with duck sausage, Split Rail beer, jalapeños, and blueberries was indescribably delicious.
Over To The South Side
Dinner at Therese’s. She and Marc and two other couples. Delicious lamb dinner finished up with Sue’s lemon meringue pie—two pies, actually, and both plates scraped clean enough to need no dishwashing.
Flooded fields all across the Island. Here’s the Mindemoya River shouldering is way into Providence Bay—not the gentle wading place we are used to. Slow ride home, wending our way through deer and fog.
Porch Time
Warm enough and buggy enough—with black flies getting pesky. (Also, first use of outdoor shower!)
Fine day for a row.
And, the water is high. Norm is going to need a floating travel-lift.
From Thunderstorm To...
Blackflies. Thunderstorm at 5 A.M. Chilling morning fog and mist. But then, after noon, sun!
Of course, once the sun was out, the blackflies were too. Even paradise must have a few imperfections.
Recreational Mode
Theoretically switching to it. Deck spindles all repainted, sandbox topped up (meaning driveway cleared). Which is about it in the heavy lifting department. For this year. (If you exclude chopping and splitting lots of wood.)
The biggest impediment to recreation, at present, however, is the weather—cold, showery, with a strong east wind.
New style masking tape
And, here comes the easterly, building, by the hour
The Overstory
Erudite, skillfully written, emotionally wrenching. Very much worth reading. (Regular daily blog down below.)
Quotes from the text:
There are no individuals. There aren't even separate species. Everything in he forrest is the forest. Competition is not separable from endless flavors of cooperation. Trees fight no more than do the leaves on a single tree. It seems most of nature isn't red in tooth and claw, after all. For one, those species at the base of the living pyramid have neither teeth nor talons. But if trees share their storehouses, then every drop of red must float on a sea of green.
Something marvelous is happening underground, something we're just learning how to see. Mats of mycorrhizal cabling link trees into gigantic, smart communities spread across hundreds of acres. Together, they form vast trading networks of goods, services, and information ....
There are no individuals in a forest, no separable events. The bird and the branch it sits on are a joint thing. A third or more of the food a big tree makes may go to feed other organisms. Even different kinds of trees form partnerships. Cut down a birch, and a nearby Douglas-fir may suffer ....
In the great forests of the East, oaks and hickories synchronize their nut production to baffle the animals that feed on them. Word goes out, and the trees of a given species whether they stand in sun or shade, wet or dry—bear heavily or not at all, together, as a community ....
Fungi mine stone to supply their trees with minerals. They hunt spring tails, which they feed to to their hosts. Trees, for their part, store.extra sugar in their fungi's synapses, to dole out to the sick and shaded and wounded. A forest takes care of itself, even as it builds the local climate it needs to survive.
Before it dies, a Douglas-fir, half a millennium old, will send its storehouse of chemicals back down into its roots and out through its fungal partners, donating its riches to the community pool in a last will and testament. We might well call these ancient benefactors giving trees.
You and the tree in your backyard come from.a common ancestor. A billion and a-half years ago the two of you parted ways. But even now, after an immense journey in separate directions, that tree and you still share a quarter of your genes.
What can be owned and who can do the owning? What conveys a right, and why should humans alone on all the planet, have them?
The best and easiest way to get a forest to return to any plot of cleared land is to do nothing—nothing al all, and do it for less time than you might think.
What you make from a tree should be at least as miraculous as what you cut down.
Life has a way of talking to the future. It’s called memory.
The best arguments in the world won’t change a person’s mind. The only thing that can do that is a good story.
All Quiet
Bright, sunny, warm, calm and quiet. No noise apart from two merlins.
Also, no fire all day. Windows and porch open. Almost feels like summer.
Along The Boardwalk
All the old slabs and other miscellaneous pieces of scrap lumber ripped off the underlying cedar logs, and then replaced with 2x6 cedar boards. One hundred of them. Under the old boardwalk we found, not the Drifters, but half a dozen beautiful little black and red salamanders. Not so much need now to “Watch Your Step!”
To Perivale and Back
Gallery seasonal opening, and to meet up with Therese.
Shore erosion, high water and north-east wind
Extra ramps needed for floating docks in Gore Bay
What better to do on a cold and very rainy day?
Time To Break Furniture For Firewood?
Not quite, but we have been decimating the woodpile.
Cold, with another big rain event forecast.
I had planned to do a review of Richard Powers’ novel Overstory, but an hour’s worth of wrangling with recalcitrant scanning software has made that a tomorrow project.
Anyway, the sandbox is ready to be moved into position and filled with...sand.
Burt Farm “Smokies” for dinner.
Greening Up...
...all except the ashes, which are slow.
New sandbox under construction, actually almost done. Also, about 20 of the 55 8-foot cedar 2x6s destined for the boardwalk cut down to size. And Pax to the vet for some minor surgery. He’s kind of out of it at the moment, and so is our WiFi. Therefore a brief blog posted by LTE.
Come and Go
Cold and rain, rain and cold. But no matter.
Ready for use, but no use yet
First to Tekummah and JD Gardens to pick up a coreopsis, as a gift, then, after noon, to a “Come and Go” in Gore Bay in honor of the 60th wedding anniversary of Don and Joan Lloyd.
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…and here is a little thing from FLOW (Traverse City, MI)
Being a Good Ancestor
It’s not often that we think about what it means to be a good ancestor. But our close friend and elder, Frank Ettawageshik from the Little Traverse Band, recently challenged us and others to ponder this fundamental question in his keynote speech at the annual Northern Michigan Environmental Action Council Environmentalist of the Year award gathering. And I thank him for this opportunity to consider the legacy that we leave behind to our children and generations to come.
Being a good ancestor is a big responsibility. It can feel overwhelming, so I first focus on what I can do as an individual. Living as intentionally as I can is the best way I know to take responsibility for my personal actions. Globalization of our economy often makes individual lifestyle choices complex, so I try to eat, shop, and live as locally as possible.
Collectively, being a good ancestor means that when we create things, we need to consider the full life cycle from cradle to grave. If we did take this responsibility seriously, toxic and persistent chemicals like PFAS would not exist. It’s the unprecedented and cumulative impact of all our human actions that is accelerating the extinction of up to one million plant and animal species according to the UN’s latest report.
Being a good ancestor means being deeply respectful and connected to nature. Maintaining a healthy Great Lakes ecosystem is not only good for us to assure clean, safe drinking water, but also for all animals, plants, and life that depend on these life-giving and sustaining waters. This ancestral reverence echoes in The Water Song, which states: "Water, we love you. We thank you. We respect you."