Wind Day
Blowing a gale.
Clafoutis. Yes, clafoutis, a baked French fruit desert, somewhat custardy. Also somewhat scrumptiously. Made by Mary Ellen a day or two ago from hand-picked Wisconsin cherries.
Cafloutis, plated.
Pale Blue Dot
New image of Earth from Nasa's Deep Space Climate Observatory—from one million miles up.
Look again at that dot. That's here. That's home. That's us. On it everyone you love, everyone you know, everyone you ever heard of, every human being who ever was, lived out their lives. The aggregate of our joy and suffering, thousands of confident religions, ideologies, and economic doctrines, every hunter and forager, every hero and coward, every creator and destroyer of civilization, every king and peasant, every young couple in love, every mother and father, hopeful child, inventor and explorer, every teacher of morals, every corrupt politician, every "superstar," every "supreme leader," every saint and sinner in the history of our species lived there--on a mote of dust suspended in a sunbeam. —Carl Sagan, Pale Blue Dot
Sweet Perfume
Picture perfect day, with a strong wind. Walk anywhere near the shore where the wind can waft inland but the breeze can linger, and you will enveloped in ambrosia, the sweet perfume of a multitude of milkweeds. Rather like being in the poppy fields of Oz.
And here is reindeer moss, which grows everywhere nothing can possibly grow. The sandy lands by Sandy beach are covered with it, and, with the lack of rain, it is now desiccated. Step on in and it will crunch, crisper than Pringles. But, give it a little moisture, and it becomes a sponge. It's actually a lichen, and yes, we do need rain.
And here is a passage, regarding land ownership and property improvement that I find expresses my ideas exactly:
"On the other hand, I am going to shape this small corner of nature into a vision of what I believe will best glorify its inherent qualities, a sculpturing of the land—heresy to some who would leave nature to her own devices—gardening on a large scale, subjective landscaping for beauty's sake. And, as I like to see as far as my eyes allow, I remove what is diseased, repetitious, or ugly: catfaced, topless, rachitic, stunted, and otherwise suppressed trees that compete with specimens that would otherwise grow strong and relatively straight. To offset this inclination to prune, I plant five times as many trees as I remove, so that one day, unless I go broke in the process, no matter where I stand I will see only what pleases me. When I want ugly I'll drive into town."
—Guy de la Valdene, Quail Farm
A topic on which I plan to have more to say.
Ghost Ship
The "Grand Heron" cruise ship out of little Current was in Kagawong today, offering two (morning and evening) "ghost tours" around Mudge Bay—to the Dodge Lodge where Danny Dodge injured himself the day after his wedding by playing with dynamite which lead to his being lost overboard en route by boat to the hospital in Little Current; then out to the reef on the west side of the Clapperton channel where the speed boat, the prow of which is now the pulpit in the church by the marina, broke up with the loss of several lives. The "Heron" returned to Kagawong dock safely both times with all passengers present and accounted for.
Tour boat on its way to ghostly destinations.
Wild mondara growing near Sandy Beach.
Sue doing her daily morning meditation: she crawls and scoots around the driveway, pulling weeds, while the day is cool and quiet. After that it's time for coffee.
Warm and windy day. Great day for Windriding, and Sue and I had the boat screaming.
Salty Dog
Actually, the Great Lakes are salt-free, shark-free, and jellyfish-free, so Pax might better be described as a soggy dog even though he seldom ventures out over his head. A warm day here, with a variety of weathers. A lively breeze from the south suggested an afternoon sail—but once we got out of the harbor that wind went flat. We sat for a while, finally deciding to head back in, when a new breeze come up out of the north-west. That air brought us across the bay at a jaunty 6 knots—before it collapsed. We then rode errant zephyrs and the iron jenny back to the slip.
Note the new self-tailing winches. They are the berries. Of course, Pax is not overly impressed, being self-tailing himself.
Back at the cottage conditions appeared perfect for a swim. And they were.
The Lure of the Liquid
Lazy, langurous day, with drizzle and fog. Sometime after noon, while the ladies were off on an art tour, John and I took Heliotrope out for test drive, trying out the new self-tailing winches and making sure the bilge pump pumped as purposed. Just jib and mizzen in a gentle breeze—tranquil and relaxing.
Later, prior to dinner, I sat in the Zen spot and listened to a long line of little waves lap along the shore. I could look far, select a wave while it was still well out, and then watch it roll along, sometimes for nearly a minute, until it lapped the littoral, plashing along the regoliths. Lazy and languorous. Relaxing.
Sedges Have Edges
Odd plant. Likes living in water. Has a triangular stem and a little growth about a third of the way down from the tip which is the flower/seed apparatus. Thrives along our shore.
Met Norm at the dock at 8:30 for the installation of the new water heater. It only took a few minutes to determine that the new heater was half an inch too big in every direction to fit down the hatch, or into its assigned space under the cockpit. Once that factoid was absorbed I traded the brand new heater to Norm—for a discount, in the future, on something that might fit, if there is something.
Norm, while squatting down in the port hatch, connected the hoses which had been unconnected from the previous heater—and that gave us a functioning engine and running water at both sinks (though cold only). Anxious to get Heliotrope back sailing, Sue and I decided on an afternoon (shakedown) cruise, and one of the first things we always do when we clear harbor and are out on the bounding main is to blow the bilge. True to form this year, however, no blow—a hum from the pump but no discharge from the drain.
At this point I was about ready to throw in the towel. But, thinking some some fun might be kinda fun, we re-docked the big boat and took the Windrider out for a perfectly enjoyable, brisk-wind kind of a sail...and nothing went wrong! So, getting back to the marina somewhat later on, and with no casualties and all equipment functioning properly, and feeling slightly empowered and minutely invincible, I enlisted Andrew's help in attacking the Heliotrope bilge pump problem. It turns out that a big-old oil rag got into the bilge somehow and wrapped itself around the pump. Once Andrew pulled the oily scumbag out, the pump worked perfectly. There is a mural: one must not throw in the towel.
And, I think, it might finally be time to go sailing.
Lose Strife
Yellow loosestrife, not invasive like its purple cousin.
Abbreviated blog yesterday due to lack of internet connection. Worn out router, apparently. (I so love how things keep failing and falling apart.) The new router, picked up in Gore Bay today, apparently works, but somewhere in it or the rest of this goofy system slowness grabs with sticky fingers. Anyway, yesterday we arrived in a big blow with surf roaring. Tonight all is calm. Evidence on screens and walls suggests that last night was a major shadily event, but if so, it was really bad timing, for it it hard for poor flyers like shad flies to hook up when being blasted ashore by a gale.
Tomorrow, boat repairs—toilet and water heater. And please let that be it for a while. Time to relax a bit, sit back and smell the loosestrife (though it is non-aromatic).
The Red Wheelbarrow
The Red Wheelbarrow
so much depends
upon
a red wheel
barrow
glazed with rain
water
beside the white
chickens.
—William Carlos Williams
(This is quite a famous and intensely studied poem. I am intensely studying it myself, trying to figure out why.)
Wrapping up and packing up for tomorrow's trip. Last night's thunderstorm did nothing to relieve the heat and humidity, and it has been downright unpleasant outside.
On our morning walk Pax and I startled a dove off her nest. At first I thought she was injured, but then realized we were being played for fools as she flopped across the grass with an obviously broken wing. As we moved well away from the nest she quickly recovered. I don't think what we saw is learned behavior but rather instinctual, and that raises the interesting question of how such things evolve.