Friday, 14 August 2026
There’re two things about deep in the earth that I read today, perhaps three, depending on how you count them.
Two volcanoes are active…Etna, now, and Kīlauea (Halema‘uma‘u vents), until late yesterday.
Also, and this blew me away, scientists who study the deep biosphere argue that 10–50 % of the earth’s biomass is there—deep, deep, miles deep—where there’s no photosynthesis. Wow.
Sunday, 9 August 2026
Somebody knows we’re leaving, and his new perch is going with us….
Just after I took this bee picture, and smiling, friendly older fellow in a dashing panama who was stretching his legs nearby invited me to do a few samba steps. It may sound like it could have been creepy, but it wasn’t at all. He gave a little bow and a thank you afterwards. I thanked him back.
We crossed a few rivers—this is over the Hudson—
…and passed through many states (New England proportions, not Midwest and Western). Yawn.
Thursday, 6 August 2026
Ignore that the photo is out of focus; instead, ponder with me whether black and orange are good colors to indicate danger-danger to high-speed drivers.
We decided this was Angry Moose, and ready to upset your wee sedan.
After passing through Smiths Falls, Newbliss, and Tincap, we reached the mighty St Lawrence River at Brockville, and right away spotted this “big boat,” I overheard a child’s voice observe. Probably a “big ship,” but close enough.
We headed downriver. Then, after seeing all the wheat and maize fields, it’s no surprise to see a large transfer facility right on the river.
We took this bridge back to the US of A, a two-lane version of the Big Mac, no?
We had a short wait for a one-lane area undergoing repainting, and this was my view. By the way, when we lined up to go through Customs, just one lane was open (of five), and we only had to wait for this semi ahead of us. So quick and painless….
Yeah, you can’t see the sun-ball, but you still know it’s an impressive sunset.
Tuesday, 4 August 2026
6:13am. Sun’s coming.
11am. This is the same section of the beach as yesterday’s photo. Windy, not calm at all.
Meanwhile, turn 180° and watch the wind making the grass dance.
3:40pm. This tree has among the first pink apples in the orchard. Also, there’s a deer trail straight to this branch, with all grass below flattened by deer-dancing (aka hind-leg ballet feeding).
And, not far away along the trail, milkweeds with pods, and a monarch ghost.
Monday, 3 August 2026
I don’t know how the water develops scallop patterns on the beach, and here’s a pair that perhaps are circling in opposite directions? Maybe that’s not possible: illusion!
Back from the beach, I found these chokecherries (or something else; my guess is chokecherries), well into autumnal mode.
Sunday, 2 August 2026
I’m “battling” the deer for the black raspberries. The empty socket is one that I scored. Yum.
I especially enjoyed the sixty-one afternoon minutes I spent chatting with a far-away friend, watching the lake and gulls and clouds while listening and conversing. And I’m not much of a phone-talker.
Saturday, 1 August 2026
A drippy overnight rain left diamonds on my mesh basil deer-protector.
Late morning, we visited Art on the Lake…saw beautiful artisanal pieces, heard some music in passing, and bought nothing, not even an elephant ear. Our parking place was kinda-sorta under this giant maple.
Tuesday, 28 July 2026
The sun appears.
Sometime later, I watched a busy bee.
I took a beach walk, and ventured beyond the point.
On my return and strolling the beach, I heard squawking above, looked up and saw no branches and caught the sound of departing birds. When my head was tipped back, I heard a plop at my feet. Looking down, I saw this critter scramble into the water, swim a meter or so away from me, then pause, I assumed to catch his/her breath, or whatever frogs do. After a moment, the critter kicked twice to reach the shallows, shown here. Did I startle the bird enough that it dropped the frog? That’s my hypothesis.
Monday, 27 July 2026
The morning began with foggy overcast, if we can use that phrase.
By late morning, the overcast lifted a bit, yet remained.
A very light rain chased (not really, just a more poetic phrasing) me off the beach. Later, it cleared and got sunny. Then, it rained again. Now, it’s overcast again. The plants really need the precipitation, so I’m okay with it.
Sunday, 26 July 2026
On our morning visit to the beach, all was quiet. Very quiet. Pleasantly quiet.
Late in the afternoon, we visited A Big Lake (aka Superior). It was quiet, too, although there was plenty of evidence of the hustle-bustle of kid-fun plus adult activities.
Meanwhile, back in the pines behind the beach, we watched a turkey hen usher her brood through the brush…what I’m sure is a nightly feeding tradition.