Chilly This Morning

There has been no artificial heating or cooling here at Whitewater house for many months, and this morning it was sweatshirt weather—indoors. So I checked to see if the furnace might work after its long enforced idleness, knowing full well that for the past three years it has always failed to start first time in the fall. This time it turned out that a minute chip of something in the squirrel cage prevented ignition. But, though the furnace now works, our objective is to not work it until the last possible moment. Solar energy, storm windows, and sweatshirts are all good in the fall. (Note to self: time to put up storm windows.)

Kagawong paint has been squirreled away in the Whitewater basement safe from freezing, the tools have been unloaded and stowed in accessible places, and the water softener has been plugged in and reprogrammed to local time (no more nice soft Lake Huron in the pipes.). The last thing is to set up some kind of TV service, but while talking to AT&T (our phone and internet provider) the phone line went dead. OK, so.

Kettle Moraine forest

Whitewater Lake

Lace of Anne the queen, ready to spread the word

The ever-flowing well, south of town—source of coffee water.  Imagine something like this in California.

There and Back

Apparently lots of water up north. Puddles in Espanola. The Serpent River running strong. The Mississagi running wide and high. The St. Mary's at the Sault summersaulting down the rapids. And fields all along the UP full of standing water. 

Which leads me to think that if next year is anything like last year we could have a high water problem instead of a vanishing water problem. Incredibly unbelievable, though just a symptom of the whole climate mess.  

We are back in Whitewater now, for the season, and in one sense it feels good to settle into a single spot, for a time. For the winter time. So, let it snow. NO/WRONG/CANCEL THAT. Let water freeze and make sailable ice.

Sunrise in St. Ignace

Sunset in Whitewater

Heading Home

Five hours to pull the pipes, winterize, and shut down. Made it to St. Ignace well before dark, well in time for a harbor walk and dinner. Today's drive through a crayola landscape with Eric Sloane skies.

All Wrapped Up

So that's it for this year—May 1 to October 7. We are packed and loaded. Coreopisis heeled into what used to be the garden (remaining semi-green tomatoes to Murray and Elaine). Kayak and outdoor furniture moved inside. Garlic and oak acorns planted. Toilets cleaned. Engines winterized.  Etcetera. Etcetera. Tomorrow all we have to do is pull the water, disconnect everything, blow out the lines, antifreeze the appliances. Etcetera.

The plan is to be on the road to St. Ignace by noon. And then look forward to the next six months between now and the first of May, 2015.

Powerless...

...but, even when there is no power there can always be a picnic. So, a few cheeses, a variety of crackers, several apples, two bottles of water were thrown into a backpack. The camera was snagged, and off we went into the full richness of autumnal weather—headed to the south shore.

Not that long after our return (and naps), the hydro came back on—a few minutes before its appointed four o'clock hour.

So, although the wood-stove worked fine all day while we were gone, staving of the chilly damp and never needing a single electron, we once again have light, wi-fi, and leftovers (warming on the electric range). Back in the lap of luxury so to speak, but rather missing the blackoput.

Pinebox Mobile pulled out down the Lane shortly after nine this morning, southward bound.  Like the sandhills...

Hundreds and hundreds of cranes, all over the Island, flocking up for their long trip south.

Quite an electrifying day, capped off by a rainbow far across Mudge Bay.

Faint, it is true, but still there, with pots of gold at both ends.

Make Way for Mushrooms

One of those days when it never quite stopped raining. Mist, then a shower, then a cloudburst—repeated. Every once in a while the sun breaking through, lighting up the landscape with a rain-washed brilliance. "There's a certain slant of light on autumn afternoons," —to borrow (inaccurately) from Emily.

Continued, methodical cottage shutdown regimen. But it is fun to do the shutdown slowly and methodically, especially since it gives the false assurance that nothing will be forgotten. J&ME are pulling out (with the travel trailer) tomorrow, which is a good idea in as much as tomorrow is another of those uniquely Manitoulin days without power—no hydro 9 to 4. 

So this evening it is a final supper, aka harvest dinner, here at 196 Serendipity, aka FoamHome. J&ME and Murray and Elaine, coming over for home grown munificence—four nearly red tomatoes, two medium beets, half a dozen radishes—plus squash and peppers from Whitewater. (Plus a few other "locally sourced" items.

And, such magnificent moisture has proveded a bumper crop of fungi, some of which are edible, but none of which has been included on tonight's menu. 

Extreme Weather

So windy it blew most of the leaves off the trees. And then not satisfied, blew down a lot of trees. The forest was a hazardous place today, one poplar coming down a few feet from  John and ME's travel trailer, and an ash coming down in Murray and Elaine's driveway just about where they were standing a few minutes previous.

And, the extreme south wind pushed much of Lake Huron up this way, seiche-like, so that the water level reached heights none of us had previously seen, and the big rollers took the boardwalk for what we hope is its final ride of the season. It is now snugged up parallel to the shore and tied down, fore and aft.

We did manage to get the Windrider hauled and unrigged before the worst of the fury, and later in the day when things had calmed at bit, got the bottom power-washed.  

We are now well into end of the season tasks. Just a few more days on the Island—this year. 

Fried Green Tomatoes

"If life gives you green tomatoes, make 'em fried," I believe is how the saying goes.

This is just about all the Kagawong gardern could do this year.

With chipotle mayo and a little feta. Photos taken at Pinebox.

Cool and gray. The heavy rain predicted early has so far not arrived, so we got out a bit, and Pax had his run to the beach and back. 

Gray Day

Gray and chilly. Leaves falling, even as I look out the window. In fact, most ash leaves fallen.

We finished winterizing the boat—striking and stowing the jib, anti-freezing the head and water system, charging the bateries, taping plastic over the ports in case the shrink-wrap leaks. So, see you in May, Heliotrope. Enjoy your long winter sleep. Dream of sun, blue skies, and sparkling water—like me.

An apple crisp is crisping in the oven, and the woodburning stove has a few coals glowing. Like some of the leaves around here: 

A Walk in the Dark

The three of us just back from a short evening constitutional, after a delicious dinner of chicken soup with dumplings (in order to stike back at the cold I somehow picked up in Wisconsin), and it was dark, although only 8 p.m. What's the world coming to? Cold and cloudy almost all day, with a 30 minute break for some sun.

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“There may be nothing more important than human cooperation. Whenever more pressing concerns seem to arise—like the threat of a deadly pandemic, an asteroid impact, or some other global catastrophe—human cooperation is the only remedy (if a remedy exists). Cooperation is the stuff of which meaningful human lives and viable societies are made. Consequently, few topics will be more relevant to a maturing science of human well-being.

Open a newspaper, today or any day for the rest of your life, and you will witness failures of human cooperation, great and small, announced from every corner of the world. The results of these failures are no less tragic for being utterly commonplace: deception, theft, violence, and their associated miseries arise in a continuous flux of misspent human energy. When one considers the proportion of our limited time and resources that must be squandered merely to guard against theft and violence (to say nothing of addressing their effects), the problem of human cooperation seems almost the only problem worth thinking about.1 “Ethics” and “morality” (I use these terms interchangeably) are the names we give to our deliberate thinking on these matters. Clearly, few subjects have greater bearing upon the question of human well-being.”

Excerpt From: Harris, Sam. “The Moral Landscape.”