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.
Monday, 20 July 2026
My plant app indicates this is in the family Microstegium, native across Asia and invasive here. It’s sure invasive in our backyard. Deer don’t eat it, and therefore promote it by gnawing the native species. No deer in this yard, though.
Thursday, 16 July 2026
Desirable AQI, that is: Air Quality Index, is under 50, but conditionally okay up to 100. Guaranteed terrible for everyone is greater than 300. At the cottage, it’s been 500 for over 24 hours (this capture is from this morning), and 500 is the maximum on the scale. Color-wise, red, purple, and maroon are of escalating intensity, starting at 151. You can tell where the Canadian fires are, in the northwest of this map. If your northern North America geography is sketchy, that water in the north, and east of FireCentral, is Hudson Bay.
Friday, 10 July 2026
Returning to Georgia, we avoided a traffic blockage on I-75 by taking the old road for a stretch, including passing by Lake Allatoona. Long ago, I spent months finding and recording sites on the land around the lake. Eons ago….
Our traipsing later took us by this urban art. I found the multiple figures influenced by a diversity of styles and subjects quite interesting, especially in their juxtapostion. From left, I see an unfinished face? with goat horns?, somewhat bulbous words/letters, a cat with a crown, a looming serpent, a prehispanic central Mexican-ish figure in profile, a step pyramid, a long-haired woman, and a scythe.
Thursday, 9 July 2026
The low-angle light was especially pretty this morning.
Then, taaah-daaah, we got on the road (OTR). The “marine” layer was thick-ish at The Bridge, and, also, we understand from others who treked north, along Lake Superior at Grand Marais. Since it was present through mid-day, and the sun had long been out, I’d say that’s a persistent layer.
We drove in and out of rain zones….
We even saw a rainbow. Apologies for the snap, but you know they don’t last. I tried to get another shot, and the color had become almost imperceptible.
Ohio has upgraded rest areas along I-75 to have almost lounge areas and museum displays in them.. Outside, there’re signs about native plants, mostly trees, but this is a showy not-tree I don’t remember seeing before (my ignorance is vast). Also, there’s a loop to stroll with many signs to study, I think part of Dolly Parton’s books-for-kids-under-five outreach program somehow (didn’t take the time to walk it—next time?).
Tuesday, 7 July 2026
I’ve been watching the development of this distinctive large plant that’s next to the trail to the compost pretty much since we arrived. I was certain I had a shot looking down at it when it was all curled together at our arrival, but: nope. This was 15 June. Deep red flowers
By 21 June, it was far more unfurled. I have no recollection of ever seeing this species before, here or elsewhere.
Here it is today, mostly shifted to developing-seed mode from flower mode.
Looking this plant up online, it’s common name is houndstongue, and it’s native to Europe and considered one of the worst invasive plants in this state. Geeze. I guess I should whack it tomorrow before the seeds are viable.
I already did some biomass management this morning, clipping the flowers off the hogweed plants in the swamp north of us about 3/4 of a mile. I didn’t have the energy to dig up the plants, which might really get rid of them, but that removal should halt new-plant generation.
Aha. Found it. This was 6 June.
Monday, 6 July 2026
Swans and the old fire tower, closed to the public the last time I walked by it several years ago.
Reflections on still water….
Sunday, 5 July 2026
I hypothesize that these are the same two fawns we saw yesterday, here visiting in the early afternoon. And I saw them again several hours later in the same spot.
We’ve been seeing these distinctive footprints on the beach by the dozen…finally figured out they’re made by wild turkeys…which I have neither seen nor heard around the property.
Saturday, 4 July 2026
I was up early, and decided the moon needed to be captured, in that digital way we do these days. If you can see an irregularity to the left of the trail above the grass, it is a deer, ears and face peeking through the tallest stems.
To accompany my “moon shot,” I walked around the other side of the cottage and caught the sky-color to the NNE. This was moments after 6am.
I went back around the cottage, and my grass-obscured amigo/amiga had come out to meet/greet me….
Okay, enough tall tales of moon-above and inquisitive deer, here’s the beach at 9am, all glistening in the early-day sun.
We closed out our holiday with a lovely potluck, great food and fabulous socializing. Once again, odds are I won’t stay awake for the fireworks to start (approaching 10pm?).
A sidenote: while we were chatting with a loooooong-time friend ensconced in a National Forest in Oregon at the end of a trail (but high enough to have cell service) about 7:45pm, two spotted fawns and a doe wandered by, and went down the path you see in the morning deer shots…. Full circle?