Nearly perfect day for boat work—almost cool, mostly cloudy, and a bit breezy. Sue took the upper half, I the lower. While I finished my part not too long after lunchtime and after lunch came home, Sue carried on.

Back home, after a brief recuperation, I treated myself to a bit of fun, and with lopper and chainsaw (used little), made a walking path along the ice-age ridge from our place to Tyson's. This being necessitated by the higher water which makes the usual shore trail a boots only affair.

What's fun is that at the outset it is a vast, impenetrable tangle. Cedar limbs are curling down and actively trying to snag the passer-by, while dead balsam branches are stabbing at anything that moves. Heavy fallen poplar limbs also block anything that resembles a path.

But, in general, it is an exercise in rot. Almost everything blocking the walkway has been down for centuries, and you know this when the most effective tool you are using is your glove, scooping cedar logs to the side with nothing else.

An hour of scooping, lopping, and (every once in a while) a bit of sawing, and behold, a path, looking exactly like what the original inhabitants walked, right here, a few thousand years ago.