Someone came to our house and admired my husband's wall of paintings. "Huh," he said incredulously, "so you're a farmer and an artist, never heard of that!" Well, there's always a first, I thought, and why does it have to be either/or? Isn't and a better option? A farmer and an artist!
I appreciate that you took the time to read this. Thank you!
You know the old saying, “A picture is worth a thousand words”?
But what about the thousand words?
What is beyond, behind, beside, within this snapshot?
I happened upon this old boat at Cape Vincent, up in the corner of New York State where the Saint Lawrence and Lake Ontario meet. I took this photo during the first summer of the seemingly eternal Pandemic. My husband and I rented a cottage along Lake Ontario, not far from Fort Drum, where my daughter and her family were stationed. During that summer, soldiers and their families living on Fort Drum were not allowed to travel very far from the base. Since our daughter couldn’t come to see us, we went and spent time near her. That’s part of our story.
During our stay, we took a day trip and stopped at The Coal Docks Restaurant along the St Lawrence Seaway, and we ate outside on the patio, which is how I happened to notice this beautiful old weathered boat, pulled up from the water, and lit by the setting sun. So there was another story going on behind the photographer and that was of the scene across the street of a restaurant, and an owner who was trying to stay afloat, to adapt to a Pandemic by providing outside seating, and a lovely waitress, and delicious food, and some moments of normalcy in crazy times.
What you can’t see in the photo is a little mink that kept popping up along the shoreline. I couldn’t capture the mink and the boat at the same time. But he or she was there just out of sight of the photo, and I wonder what was their story? Age? Family? Adventures? Misadventures?
There is also the old boat itself. How many hundreds of stories does it hold? Where? What? Why? Who? How? When? I wish I knew even one of them, but I don’t. Its past, its life, so to speak, is a mystery to me. Maybe that’s why I liked it so much.
What is in this photo then?
It’s a mystery boat with untold hidden stories. In sum, it’s a treasure.
I'm walking dogs these days, one through the streets of my childhood: a Beagle named Amy and I traipse up Maple, left down Putnam, around Courthouse Square with it's red and blue lit statue, in the predawn quiet as lights come on and the papergirl glides by on her bike no matter the weather, Amy, her nose to the ground. And Mattie at home, my border collie friend, up the road, past the barn, through the woods, off leash, sitting still when trucks go by. She never tires of chasing sticks, racing birds, running through the cornfield stubble. How I love walking dogs!
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I was on a walk with my best canine friend last November when I came upon this old milkweed pod, up beyond the fields and just at the front edge of the little piece of woods which the coyotes claim as their own, proclaiming it loudly on clear, moonlit nights.
Anyway I liked the looks of this forlorn little pod, and I took a couple of photos and walked on. After I had passed it, I turned around and saw the milkweed framed by the distant hills and fields and the silvery pink and blue sky, and somehow it took on a glorious aspect. I loved it from that perspective.
Things that are old and past their prime can be the most beautiful of all when looked at from the right perspective, don’t you think?
And am I now talking about an old dried up milkweed pod or is this a metaphor? As I climb the great hill of life, back where I started seems so far away, and I seem to be looking for symbols and greater meanings in everything these days.
Ok, so maybe I’m making too much of it? It’s just a pretty old weed blowing in the wind.
Or not.
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What’s green and yellow and read all over?
And grey?
And what’s a word known by most everyone that’s not even in the dictionary? (At least it’s not in any brick and mortar dictionary…yet.)
You know it!
My daughter encouraged me to try Wordle a few weeks ago. I looked at it. Fergetabout it! It was confusing. I couldn’t remember what the green meant versus the yellow versus grey. I love words, but I don’t like manipulating letters. I gave it a half-hearted try and gave up.
The first day.
A couple of days passed. Everyone was talking about it and comparing their scores, and I felt like I did in high school when everyone was talking about Charlie’s Angels, and I didn’t even know what they were talking about because we didn’t have a TV.
So one morning I gave Wordle another shot, and I put a little more effort into it this time. . .
and now it’s the first thing I do to warm up my brain every morning, even before my stretching exercises, meditation moments, and oatmeal.
Wordle: I love everything about it.
Except when it makes me anxious when I get to the fourth line and still have no idea.
Wordle 241 4/6
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Thanks for reading this!
Damn! I have not written anything for my blog since Jan 1st. So I am going to try something different this week: I will challenge myself to a short blog entry every day this week. And double damn, it’s Monday, so I’m already a day behind. But not if we are going with the French calendar, in which the week starts on Monday, so let’s go with that.
Here’s a photo for this Valentine’s Day, a serene place nearby, a view that gave me peace last year as I headed to school with a head full of worries. I hope you receive it in the spirit that I am sending it, as a little gift on this day dedicated to love.
Thank you for reading this!
I'm watching the Rose Bowl Parade on this 1st of January, 2022, After a couple of miserable, harrowing days when almost everyone who came to our party got sick with a nasty stomach bug! I’m pretty sure I didn’t accidentally poison them; none-the-less… “Dream, Believe, Achieve” is the theme this year of The Rose Bowl Parade, and 30 years and an hour ago I was giving birth to a lovely baby who turned into a wonderful man— husband, father, soldier, son, and always a farmer at heart. Where did the years go? Back to the parade First LeAnn Rimes belted out her song, “Throw My Arms Around The World”, and The Power of Dreams float just floated by. Gotta love those sentiments! I’m seeing some of my favorite things- horses, flowers, and marching bands. Usually I’m too busy to sit and watch the parade, cooking and cleaning and other have-to’s that really aren’t. So this year instead I’m sitting quietly watching, just enjoying and reflecting— hopeful in this moment.
Peace to you in 2022!
My father fixed cows For a living And horses, Sheep, Pigs, And goats, But mostly cows— And I know this because We went with him, My siblings and I— We drove the Back roads As we listened to Kenny and Dolly, The Oak Ridge Boys; We carried the pail Of hot sudsy water And trudged To the truck To get the drugs That he needed To treat Ketosis, Mastitis, Milk Fever And listened To stories, Gossip, Counseling That He shared with His clients, His friends. 12, 14 hours A day, 7 days a week— He worked like a mule Or a farmer. And now, Decades later, The farmers are All but gone From our Neck of the woods, And It is our mission now, My siblings and I, Our mission and Privilege To care for Our old country vet.
For some reason, I’m always looking for metaphors like some people search for four-leaf clovers.
In August there was a bad storm, and lightning struck the steeple of a church in a town just down the road. The church caught fire, and despite the valiant efforts of several volunteer fire companies, it was a total loss.
I drove by the charred carcass a couple of days later and was dismayed to see the ruins. It seems extra sad when a church is destroyed, for whatever reason. There was, however, an incongruity that I couldn’t quite place until the second time that I drove by.
They had suffered the flames, the heat, the smoke, the intensive fire-hose drenching, all that onslaught on that terrible night, and yet the black-eyed Susans, the pink hibiscus, the lilies, the geraniums, and the dusty millers that some caring person had planted in the spring right in front of the church…
well, they had survived and they were thriving.
I’ll leave it to you to fill in your own metaphor here, and I thank you for reading this.
I should be mowing the lawn, I should be raking leaves, I should be weeding. For goodness’ sake, I need to bring in the groceries that I abandoned in the car…
Instead, I find myself taking pictures.
Blame it on Autumn!
Thank you for reading this.
Dandelion Parachutes 