On Friday morning, two days ago plus mind you, I foraged in the Botanist’s garden for green beans (this is still the summer of 2011 and I was in southern Michigan…), a green pepper, checked the cucumber plant that’s bearing, and went down to the raspberry patch. The mosquitos found me within about four minutes, and they were the worst in the berry patch. I picked maybe 30 berries before running (true) for the house.

I’m still itching, yes. And look like a freak.

Zancudos are mosquitos—at least in southern Mexico, although mosquito is Spanish for small fly. Language—it’s a guessing game; cognates and logic do not always rule.

Super-fab dining tonight, out of the neighbor-garden. I understand the crows are waiting for the corncobs and other compost to arrive for their delectation.

I motored along, up the spine of Michigan, across the bridge, then west on US2 (construction west of Naubinway). I made good time, and, whew, as I glad to reach my destination!

UPDATES:

The FisherDude’s iPhone dried out and functions perfectly.

The FisherDude and the Guru repaired the stand for the last section of the dock and replaced it.

The Gardener got through cataract surgery #2 just fine.

Sad to say, but I’m almost glad the raspberries mostly aren’t ripe yet, since the mosquitoes are so vicious and populous.

Three limbs came down—I think the one that’s still attached brought down the two that are on the ground.

Ah, more chores.

And this happened sometime after 4:30PM, when we had little wind and bright sunshine. Perhaps a flock of heavy birds stopped by? Curious.

You’ve heard of wine-dark seas? Around here we have some coffee-stained creeks and rivers. Although usually the water is described as tea-colored. It seems more like coffee tones to me….

Up above the riffles where the path has no guardrail, I took my sandals off and waded on a non-slippery rock, enjoying the rushing cold on my ankles and calves. More, however, I enjoyed the low roar of the falling water behind me and the sparkle of the sun on the roiling waters.

We strolled half the length of Curtis’s main drag (and that’s the only street except for a small grid on the west end of town) to check out the denizens of Portage Creek: yes, there are mallards and small feeshies—the fin kind.

The Fisherdude among our newly arrived visitors happily fished for little pike hiding in the protection of the downed tree, standing on the end of the dock. Which was less solid than he thought. Here, he’s telling how the support separated from the deck and pitched him into the water. He somersaulted, and the biggest casualty was his iPhone. He let the fish go—too small.

…or maybe just curious.

I walked quite close to this pair and even cracked a stick underfoot before they flipped their famous white tails and took off.

I will tell our Hunter-Horticulturalist neighbor to look for this young flesh next autumn.

My Mowing Man got chased indoors by a cloudburst, and when it passed the sky silhouetted the orchard, and looked far more interesting than this photo showed.