Winter Arrives Early

Regardless of the timing, winter brings a change in prominence of the locals.  The non-snow birds disappear, leaving others behind to be better noticed.  In particular, as long as all the water is not completely transformed to a solid, a variety of interesting critters provide entertainment.

There are plenty of scrumptious weeds under the moving water.
The geese are more welcome at this time of year
because they are not keen on defecating everywhere one walks.

The male hooded merganser also likes the water.
A bit skittish, he has yet to provide the photo op desired,
where individual feathers are on display.

Unlike the chickadees, who are paid models.

For a few black oil sunflower seeds,
they're more than happy to pose.

And to provide motion studies.

The herd heard there was food next door.

This charm of goldfinches did not need to go that far.

What should you call beavers without flat tails?
You oughtta call them otters.

Backlit and in the shade,
he provides a fine silhouette,
but the subtleties are lost in the shadows.

But he doesn't care.
He's having fun.
Otters always look like they're having a good time.

Sharp-eyed Mary spies a large bird in the treetops.
Who could this be?

Correct!
The American Bald Eagle watches from the treetops.
Come closer!

Oh yeah!
A visit to the water's edge
provides a more detailed pose.

The wind and driven snow are giving someone a bad feather day.

No matter.
The regal pose is recovered.

Now where did I put my cell phone?

Regal once again,
even if the talons don't penetrate the ice or granite.
(And there were no messages.)

Arriving At Point B

It had been a fine morning of coffee and catching up on this and that, but not the other thing.  Then off to the Frog Pond for a frittata of note, and to admire the Ramon Santiago originals decorating the place.  But more importantly, we were meeting with seldom-seen friends who happened to be in town for a wedding.

Do frogs enjoy a good breakfast
after a night out?

The waitress was kind and the place was not at capacity, so there was no compulsion to leave immediately after the bill was paid.  If not so full from our late breakfast, the time in residence could have also included lunch.  How wonderful to speak for hours without noticing how much time has passed.

At least one gem made it to the little book.  "If you're just a little bit ahead of the curve, they call you a genius.  But if you're way out in front, you're a crazy man."  Unmentioned are those of us spending most of our time trying to locate the curve.

As with all good things, the end or our conversations arrived, so we took the selfie, bid our adieus, and headed in opposite directions.  But not before promising to visit!

Maybe we shouldn't have been looking directly into the sun,

but it really highlights the blonde hair, don't you think?

Back home, we took care of the other thing, grabbed the dog, and were quickly on our way to the Adirondacks.  The drive was not bad.  Only 2 "WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING? incidents, and 4 proclamations of "LEARN TO DRIVE!"

We pulled in late in the afternoon.  How nice to have a welcoming committee.

Here is the committee.
As with most such organizations,
they can't agree on where they're headed.

A tad chilly the previous evening.
The sun does not reach through the hemlocks well enough
to remove the dusting.

Summer may be over.

The routine upon arrival is to unload and scurry around furiously making sure that all is in place for relaxing.  Hurry up and relax!

Worried that a harder freeze was coming, I took the time to dig up the parsley, sage, rosemary and chives from the garden.  Snug underground, the potatoes can wait 'til tomorrow.  Too late for the tomatoes.   

And you thought the comment was figurative.

Latter day potatoes.

Shortly before the sun called it a day, a hardy neighbor paddled by.  Not sure how much fun he was having since the cold wind was rising out of the west, his homeward direction.

The lone hardy kayaker paddles toward the setting sun.
Gloves and hat and parka-like life-vest required.

A little later, a touch of red graces the clouds.
Water level down for the winter, the true channel shows itself.

Darkness came, and we settled into point B.  But in rank-ordering the personal points in the world, one must wonder if this is really Point B anymore.

Oh Dear!

We have to take the garbage and recyclables to the transfer station on a regular basis if we don’t want the overflow to stink up the garage or attract bears, or both.  So into the Ford Expedition I never should have allowed my father to buy goes flattened cardboard, as a base and absorbent layer, followed by the questionably bagged refuse and recyclables.  The Stratford Town Supervisor says garbage costs the town $53 per ton while recycled stuff is only $12 so I try to be a good citizen and keep my taxes down.

But wait, there's more!

Slam the tailgate, fire up the tunes, and git on down the road.  Stink factor was only 4 on the 10 point scale, and it’s chilly, so the windows stay rolled up.  The stretch from our place to just below the dam is full of twists and turns, so one’s speed is naturally regulated by inertia and proximity to trees.  Nonetheless, a doe and fawn cause a momentary reduction.

The deer have been everywhere this year.  Particularly on Stewarts Landing Road, we see them almost every time we drive or walk.  Often, they stand and stare at us as we approach.  Doe-eyed, of course.

This is a deer.
Not a great shot, but definitely a deer.

This is also a deer.
Don't see the bucks very often.

It’s a good policy to slow down a bit and be cautious.  So down the road I fly, every bit as oblivious as usual, particularly when the sound system is blaring a good tune.

Past the zig and the zag where I once saw a pickup on its side below the roadbed, miraculously wedged between trees, it’s time to pick up to the proper speed for passing intersecting Bliss road.  What is beyond bliss?  A long downhill where one can coast for over 2 miles with the Expedition in neutral.  Heavenly!

I’m helping Tori Kelly cover “Don’t you worry ‘bout a thing” when another doe flashes across in front of the hood.  Her fawn follows as I slam on the brakes.

Do you see the deer?
Neither did I.

What the deer saw.

My eyes enlarge as my foot goes farther than expected.  A tad of deceleration is all I get before the brake pedal goes to the metal.  But there is just enough reduction in speed for the quick brown fawn to jump over the lazy log at the side of the road and disappear into the woods.  Good for the critter. Good for the lack of repair bills.

Not the two in question, but a similar duo.
Surprisingly, the camera was not in hand during the event.

But I’m still moving, even if at a slightly slower pace.  I pump the pedal again and again, disbelieving.  Before my leg gets too sore, I realize it’s time for the emergency brake.  Looking around, I finally remember it’s the old-fashioned foot brake type.  Trees are rushing past.

Sleepily (“Where’s the clutch?”), lefty leaves the floor and rises up to push the trusty mechanical backup into action.  Bringing him down with all the force an old soccer player can muster, the emergency brake is engaged.  Trees continue to rush past at the same rate.

“Push harder,” I think, but I’m already practically standing on the thing.  I consider the ditch, but think better of that method in favor of low gear deceleration.  Second does nothing, but first gear’s the charm.  Trees slow and then stop. No wonder this thing gets such lousy mileage.  If the engine has that much inertia, a good percentage of the energy generated has to be used just to move the pistons.  Thank goodness I wasn’t on the big downhill stretch with a good head of steam when escaping brake fluid coated the engine compartment.  OK, steam was not involved in propulsion, but you know what I mean.

Finally stopped, I exhale and relax as another whitetail bobs along in the woods off to the north.

Now what?  Though equipped for cellular telephony, the coverage on the road is spotty at best.  I could try a first gear ride down to the main road where a connection is likely, but a first gear downhill journey did not promise to be much fun, and had a great deal of potential to be dangerous.  This would be the time there’d be a stubborn and seldom seen moose in the road.  

Being over 2 miles from home, though the thought of leaving the mechanical beast and getting some exercise was not daunting, it would take the better part of an hour to walk. My mood and formal transfer station dress (it’s quite the social scene) did not favor a run.   And the car would be left sitting there on the side of the road in either case.

First gear and reverse, gingerly alternated, can execute a brakeless 9-point (9 more than the deer) turn without going into the roadside ditch, even without prior practice.  Flashers on, I headed up the slight rise and twisting road back home at 4 miles per hour.  Only a little better than a walking pace, but at least the car wouldn’t be left to deal with abandonment issues.

Attractive analog metering in the 2004 Ford Expedition.
First time I ever used #1.
Yes, again, not an action photo since the camera was not in hand at the moment.

Safely home without further deer sightings, I announced that the garbage would be rising to at least a #6 stink factor.  Calls to AAA and repair shop ensued.  Refuse was removed from the vehicle as a kind gesture to the mechanics.

But no cursing bad luck.  It’s much better that the mishap occurred at low speed on a back road than on the interstate at 70-odd miles per hour when some idiot coming out of a service area decides that he can’t wait 15 seconds to allow the higher speed vehicle to get past the truck he loathes to follow.

Thank you, deer!

Oh Dear, What's That?

It was the 4th of July, and although the weather was not fully cooperating, we were appreciating our freedom on the recently doctored dock.  As my maternal Grandfather would say, the whole "Fam Damily" was there.  While hanging out and enjoying the fresh air, David looked upstream and said, "What's that?"

Wanna see a duck?

"Maybe a duck," I countered, seeing a distant brown object moving atop the water.  I picked up the binoculars that are always at the ready for closer inspection of birds in the trees, and took a peek at the duck on the water.  Smiling, I handed the optics off.  "Here, Dave, check it out."

"That's not a duck," he said.  "It's a deer!"

Clearly not a duck.

"Really?" came the chorus of incredulity.  The binoculars were handed around to each in turn so all could have a look.  We soon found them to be unnecessary, since instead of crossing the channel as expected, the deer swam right past the dock within skilled spitting distance.  

No, the water is not green.
However, water is highly reflective,
and shows the tones of the evergreens on the far side of the channel.

It continued down the center of the channel even though the shallows and then dry land were only a few "deer-paddles" away.

"Look at the spots on the back!  It's a faun."

Not being a leopard, this one is expected to change spots.

"I wonder where Mom is?" asked Kate as the deer passed us and continued swimming straight down the channel.

"Well Kate," I replied knowingly, "I believe that this is the exact day that every doe makes it plain to her fauns that it's time to leave maternal care and go out on their own."

"How do you know that?" asked the skeptic.

"Isn't it obvious?  It's Independence Day!"