Sunday, June 28, 2015
Summer starts this time of year, and this is when the joy of warmth turns a corner toward the oppression of stifling heat. There's still plenty of water coming down the mountain and in the front yard, quite a bit of stored, uncut lawn. It's a point of pride that I don't mow the lawn much more than a few times a year, and this is one of the best reasons that it's practical as well as fun to be a wee bit lazy.
Tuesday, June 23, 2015
As the nights go from long toward shorter, there's lots to do in order to get ready for the long nights ahead.
The fish and plants are growing and making good on their intentions for summer, and I got the engine back from the mechanic who did the replacement for me- that's a busted-up piston head, right down to the ring. No wonder it hasn't ever run very well since...
And thanks to much saving and a kind gift from Nana and Papa, we're getting the 'electricity to the cabin project' going. Man, this is a bunch of work, and I don't even have to set the poles by hand or much of this heavy work, anyway...
Sunday, June 21, 2015
Thursday, June 18, 2015
Sunday, June 14, 2015
A Celebration of Sorts
Sometimes, when days seem the same old song,
look to the time signature and change the rhythm-
it’s good to add a fold or a new color, or borrow some spice from a neighbor down the lane.
Connections, like synapses, naturally clamor for more, or else turn ashen
and then turn absently to daydreams or commercials for notions-
but the great machine is a terrible winnower of truth and fit In the sweeping turn
from peak to peak, from flashing sun to flushing moon past factories, museums, shipyards, and schools.
Like a pass through otherwise impenetrable heights, though,
home is the finest fertile seedbed for the familiar
because without milk, absent grains, stripped of every other staff,
behind every consumer is the secretly consumed, a center beaten and stirred to hesitant recollection,
loosely connected within octaves chordant like luminous spectrums and hands full of plush, crumbling loam-
and before this regenerated ground lies constancy and folds of neglected color
while beneath, new roots move in soil coaxed from a previously stagnant, darting gloom.
And again we sing from the selfsame gut we forgot since so very young,
when last the deep dread of loss yet crowded sweet dreams;
It’s good to remember that like undated cream past its prime will bloat and be tossed whole into the landfill,
plenty can quickly pass from good to gone.
Feeling those old fears turn to fertile ground, sing and plant anew,
and straight rows make next to accidental orchards pruned just in time; growth by slow accrual.
After all else is said. it’s a miracle just to be loved.
The boy is a fan of the swing, and besides that, he'll do most anything to get outside the house. When fortune smiles and he can do both, he feels like a fat cat and doesn't mind gloating a little. Fun little chap, he is.
We've a tradition around this time of year of going to a certain place outside of town where the fireflies gambol and flash their wee, pheromone induced bioluminescent butts for all to marvel at.
Something else to look forward to!
Monday, June 8, 2015
It was a good May/June birthday season this year. We seemed to have struck a good balance between cake, ice-cream and pie between Tor's, Jess', and Drie's birthdays, and no one in the house is sick from all of the sugar.
The sunsets are great this year, and as we head toward the solstice, the late spring rains are good medicine for the long days.
On a stroll up the mountain yesterday, we encountered mud and water. High water has come and gone, I fear, and this might be as good as it's gonna be this summer for the valley. We're much better than we might have been without a strong spring and it's always a literal crap shoot for water here, but it's nice to see the water running down the mountain like this even if it's headed for Delta...
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