...and chilled, and soaked. (Scroll down, s’il vous plait.)
Tyson’s creek
Pinebox swale
High water surf
The significant rainfall forecast proved to be accurate. Tyson’s creek is running hard, and our up-side road ditch is working at nearly maximum capacity in its effort to prevent erosion.
In spite of all the moisture we got a few things done, and the new grass seed has had plenty of opportunity to imbibe.
Cottage living, countless tasks. (See below.)
Incoming beaver. When he saw Pax he slapped his tail.
Lane is bare in the maple stretch.
And those countless cottage living tasks usually involve transferring heavy objects to either a different elevation or a different location. Lots of heavy lifting. But hey, we signed up for this regimen.
Part of today’s heavy lift was getting ready for tomorrow, which has a special weather statement—significant rainfall. Just so you know, we did get ready—rain all day tomorrow will not slow us down in the least, though we might take a few minutes out to read books or listen to music (or take a rainy day nap).
...water, and no leaks. Fire in the stove all day, and house warming up nicely. Everything unloaded and most things stored properly. Larder stocked with an adequate supply of groceries. Even a short dog walk, around through Tysons (the creek is running merrily). (All this frequently interrupted by conversations with friends met along the way, which is why we are behind schedule.)
It was right about 3 a.m. last night that I found the Guzzler pump, and it was exactly where I left it last year when I finished fixing it.—in the garage lean-to. And darned if it wasn’t in exactly the same spot this morning when I took a look. However, (and this is revolutionary) I didn’t need it.
Shop-vacs can rattle around the sub-conscious only so long before they demand real world trial and testing. So, this morning, a shop-vac was schlepped down to the pump house, a shop-vac plugged in, a s-v hose duct-taped to waterline intake—and then, behold, in less than a minute, 100 feet of 1.25 inch black poly totally filled, and water dribbling out around the jet pump. This, let me say, is significancy better than the way things were back in the day (e.g. last year, and the year before that and, and, and…) It used to be that the normal, necessary routine was to kneel before the Guzzler pump, in gurgling mud, and pump strenuously, for 20, 30 minutes.
Do fish think? Yes, but not fast enough!
Thamks to Don Lloyd for mentioning the shop vac idea.
almost settled in. All systems functioning except for water. We got the 100-foot intake line deployed, with the foot-valve out nice and deep, but could not find the guzzler pump needed to draw water up to the jet pump. I vaguely remember taking the guzzler home for repairs.
So tonight we are roughing it easy—after a delicious dinner at the Lloyds, at which Murray and Elaine were also guests. Good to be back on the Island.
Made to St. Ignace, but the trip seemed unusual. Perhaps because it was Sunday and many people out. Perhaps because of sun and warmth (apart from one intense shower) No ice, no snow (except for scraps in deeply shaded hollows), no runoff. It felt, somehow, that we had leapfrogged spring.
Pax, of course, who has been itching for a swim since New Years, dove in at Menominee and again at Manistique, and again at Ignace.
All told, seven plus hours of high speed driving and we made it part way around Lake Michigan.
Sunny, very warm, and Saturday. (Continued below.)
All the many ball fields fully utilized. Playgrounds spilling over. Lawn mowers mowing lawns. Dog walkers walking dogs.
Hot-rods and motorcycles, using noise to let all the world know how powerful they are. Pickups squealing tires.
And, superseding all that, the annual Spring Alcohol Consumption Festival! Lawn parties at every frat house and flop house. Throngs of erstwhile scholars roaming the parkways and cutting through back yards. Alpha males bellowing (is it residual bullfrog or howler monkey DNA?)
So, time to head for quieter pastures. Of course, we will be leaving lush green lawn, tulip and saskatoon, redbuds and rhubarb…in exchange for drab, bare forest, and isolated piles of snow.
Actually, however, looking forward to it.
The rosemary has moved outdoors too. Good luck in the wild, noble herb.
...in Oconomowoc. Mimi helping out while Renee away. Then me too, in the afternoon, including a bike ride with the girls.
...and it’s making him anxious. He’s become a Klingon, always at the side or under foot. I can tell that all week long he’s had Canada on the mind. He can sense the time of year.
Yet, we pack. I had to move the truck halfway into the garage in order to keep the multitude of objects (mostly tools and such) safe from the unending rain.
Starting to pack up, but a quick afternoon trip to Fox Point to see everyone, including Will’s soccer practice/scrimmage (2 goals), Katy in outfit heading off to dance practice, and then Will doing a little two-step with Pax.
…to the tune of “Fascination”
Just enough time before the rains came for two shorter dog walks and a longish (though chilly) bike ride, toward the end of which a stop at Sweet Spot for a cappuccino, and after that half an hour workin’ on the railroad, or at least observing railroad work, in this case the installation of the rail section prepped previously (as noted in the blog of April 23). Fascinating. This crew was good and moving fast (presumably because the next freight due before too long). Highly skilled and very quick heavy equipment operation, and then coordinated proficient use of saws, sledges, jacks, picks, shovels, pikes, welders, and other tools I couldn’t name. So far, no word of any derailment.
“It was saturation turned…to…flood.” (Best sung out loud.)
I have to remember this next dry spell when I start complaining. And in the forecast, what appears to be more. At least the iceboat is in the barn, drying out.
Another kind of downfall
I caught a tremendous fish
and held him beside the boat
half out of water, with my hook
fast in a corner of his mouth.
He didn’t fight.
He hadn’t fought at all.
He hung a grunting weight,
battered and venerable
and homely. Here and there
his brown skin hung in strips
like ancient wallpaper,
and its pattern of darker brown
was like wallpaper:
shapes like full-blown roses
stained and lost through age
He was speckled with barnacles,
fine rosettes of lime,
and infested
with tiny white sea-lice,
and underneath two or three
rags of green weed hung down.
While his gills were breathing in
the terrible oxygen
—the frightening gills,
fresh and crisp with blood,
that can cut so badly—
I thought of the coarse white flesh
packed in like feathers,
the big bones and the little bones,
the dramatic reds and blacks
of his shiny entrails,
and the pink swim-bladder
like a big peony.
I looked into his eyes
which were far larger than mine
but shallower, and yellowed,
the irises backed and packed
with tarnished tinfoil
seen through the lenses
of old scratched isinglass.
They shifted a little, but not
to return my stare.
—It was more like the tipping
of an object toward the light.
I admired his sullen face
the mechanism of his jaw,and then I saw
that from his lower lip
—if you could call it a lip—
grim, wet, and weaponlike,
hung five old pieces of fish-line,
or four and a wire leader
with the swivel still attached,
with all their five big hooks
grown firmly in his mouth.
A green line, frayed at the end
where he broke it, two heavier lines,
and a fine black thread
still crimped from the strain and snap
when it broke and he got away.
Like medals with their ribbons
frayed and wavering,
a five-haired beard of wisdom
trailing from his aching jaw.
I stared and stared
and victory filled up
the little rented boat,
from the pool of bilge
where oil had spread a rainbow
around the rusted engine
to the bailer rusted orange,
the sun-cracked thwarts,
the oarlocks on their strings,
the gunnels—until everything
was rainbow, rainbow, rainbow!
And I let the fish go.
As the sun came up the snow melted down. (Continued below the fold.)
‘Round about 10 a.m., as the sun rose in the sky, the east-side downspouts got to trickling. Then sometime after noon (long after the east-siders toned it down) the west-side downspouts took up the refrain. Then, by six bells, all was quiet—and last night’s snow was a distant memory.
Meanwhile, the new trailer (replacement for the one that broke an axel during the Nite nationals) got its final fitting out—including chocks, screw-eyes, and carpet—and, with #300 on board is pulling and straining towards Roger’s barn.
So, as we head into summer, all iceboats (351 completely restored after the collision) and their trailers are ready for next year, which promises to be much better than this year, in a number of ways.
But yes, more snow. The winter storm warning has been downgraded to a couple of inches, and though nothing of substance until 5 p.m., it’s coming down hard now. Good for the recently sown grass seed.
And, in other good news, we have received word that the ice went off Mudge Bay last night!
Perfect for fertilizing the blueberries, mowing the back yard, and giving Pax his spring trim.
Fish and Sequence with the neighbors in the evening.
...until a late afternoon front—windy but dry.
Heat off for days; house comfortable thanks to thermal lag. Changed the oil and sharpened the lawnmower’s blade—being in the enviable position of doing the first mow of the season, and the last.
Oops, wrong about the dry front.
Over the past few days—lilac, viburnum, serviceberry, maple, and apple. So far no oak or locust.
And here is a magnificent magnolia just coming into bloom.
Left outside last night, keel down, it collected several gallons of water.
And now everything is growing and greening at an accelerated rate. With unlimited sun after a few remnant morning clouds, it’s actually quite entertaining to sit outside and watch the grass grow.
Good day, too, for two wheels—both bike and motor-bike.
On our walk this morning Pax and I found a long section of unconnected new track (rails and ties) lying on the grass parallel to the existing line. After considerable discussion, and just as a 4-engine freight came rumbling and whistling towards us, we figured out why it was there and where it was going..
Warm enough, and Pax thinks so. So…
…he beelines to whatever water is along our path, be it stream or pond, both quite different from his North Channel splashpad—and that necessitates a good hose-down when we make it home.
Not long now, Pax, not long.
...to green grass and mid eighties—after Easter baskets, morning rows, lemon pancakes, and birthday cake.
...and rows both forwards and backwards.
