Monday, 28 July 2025
Another hot day, after a not-so-cool overnight, so I sure enjoyed my lake bath, today rather late, around 8pm, when the lake was quiet, as you can see. Tonight’s supposed to be cooler, whew!, and tomorrow the high will somewhat more reasonable…all of, get this: a mere 78°F.
Hmm, I’d better find a blanket, a light one, mind you, but still: a blanket.
Sunday, 27 July 2025
I left my late-day swim duds on the line overnight. Special morning with the dew-fog (which kept the duds over-moist). I’m calling this shot Line Art. 🤣
Elsewhere, this thistle is festooned with spider webs, a big one on the right, and a small one on top. I really do not want the thistle seeds to disperse (they’re noxious weeds!); tomorrow morning, if I get out when it’s still cool, these will become compost or otherwise be…eliminated…from the gene pool.
Again, I took a late-day lake-bath, hence the shadiness in this shot. This feather truly is floating on top of the water, although it looks like it’s airborne and above the surface.
Friday, 25 July 2025
I always get a bit excited to see this long-view of the mountains, even though the powerlines-strung-with-orange-caution-balls disrupts the skyscape, as it signals that we’re leaving the Piedmont…in short: we’re On The Road!
Not pretty enough? Here’re some asters at dusk three states to the north.
Tuesday, 8 July 2025
Every once in a while, I visit the BBC/Scotland webpage (link), and scroll down to find a selection of readers’ pictures from the week. Some are artistry in heightened saturation, some are long-lens captures (puffins are a favorite), a few are closer to snapshots, and some are of fabulous sunlight or sky moments. The ones I linger on the most tend to be patterns in nature. This is a mediocre example, but you get the idea.
Sunday, 6 July 2025
I could write something about fall-blooming anemones, that is: nice flower-talk….
Otherwise, I’ll get into the non-existential (or is it existential?) crisis of the Southern Ocean’s potential transition toward persistently reduced sea ice coverage resulting from rising salinity. Is the latter (link) too boring? Too hard to grasp? Possibly; you have my sympathy—but such salinity shifts and the attendant oceanic changes are way toooo important to dismiss. Important as in global climate change. Bonus: follow the link and you’ll read about polynyas—I’m betting it’s a new vocab word!
Sunday, 29 June 2025
This was a sunny afternoon five days ago. I’m over a thousand miles south of this beach, no lakes or sandy shores nearby. I’m torn about relocating, but quite glad to no longer be on the road. 😅
Friday, 27 June 2025
This morning’s murky sky was from moisture; in fact, it may well be raining across the lake, as the trees there are scarcely visible. BTW, this log was out in knee-deep water yesterday—shows the power of breaking waves.
These bushes are heavy with blossoms, denser than we remember from previous years. Of course, the blooms additionally are heavy with rain accumulation. I can’t remember what The Botanist called them; with a little help from plant recognition software, I’m pretty sure they are Kolkwitzia amabilis, beautybush to everyday folk.
Thursday, 26 June 2025
The storm the other day brought this lupin down across the path, and my eye was caught by the complex patterns in in the blossoms.
I can’t know, of course, but perhaps when I stopped to take this picture the seed tick I found inside my elbow a couple hours later crawled onto me…ick. I quickly removed it, then took a shower with lots of soaping, followed by a complete towel scrubbing.
Wednesday, 25 June 2025
Down on the beach during my morning stroll, I could see these dips in the under-sand filled with I-dunno-what, but they are deer tracks, pretty sure.
On the exposed sand, I have been seeing tracks like this for years and wondered what critter made them, with unsolved confusion. Today, perhaps, I had a break-through: not raccoon, but skunk? Going with skunk.
Up in the orchard above the beach, these bent lupins are evidence of lodging by a storm several days back. The plants have adjusted to present to the sun-sky, hence the bends.
Monday, 23 June 2025
I went to the beach to see the sunrise, and caught the post-rise glow…over a slightly roily lake. It’s been at least a day of the lake being in motion, and that changes the microbiome…I found ten large leeches while walking the beach cast ashore by the relentless turbulence, and snagged them each with a stick and tossed each in the woods. Me and the wind: altering the microbiome.
Returning to the cottage to make coffee, I spotted the sun illuminating a lupin that’s already displaying fuzzy pods.
Since today was to be hothothot, even more than yesterday, we decided to visit the largest and deepest of the Great Lakes, the S of HOMES. This is the flag display standing at attention in the south (offshore) wind at Grand Marais…the Michigan one.
At the end of the peninsula bracketing Grand Marais’s bay, we walked out toward the lighthouse. This is looking west along the beach…you can see there’s some overcast obscuring the distant dunes. Indeed, several times at the cottage, we’ve smelled a touch of the smoke still being generated up in Canada.
We drove west to the mouth of Hurricane River, one of our favorite stops. The offshore wind means the biting stable flies are epic in the quiet air, so we didn’t hike to the Au Sable Lighthouse as we typically do.
We spotted this pair of Amanitas adjacent to the along-the-beach path aka the North Country Trail…and (haha) unaffected by the biting flies…. Not so, the two of us. Back on the road, we turned up the fan to discourage the biting flies that followed us into the car…they head for the windows and the ankles…and they are per-SIS-tent (ouch; their bite is sharp).