Wednesday, 13 August 2025
MaNachur rained herself out in the dark hours, so that I found this spider web plastered onto the screen—obvious against the tree-obscured dawn sky…however, I could not get the focus correct. Ahhrrrghhhh.
A few moments later, the next screen had no web, but instead gem-streaks—and a first peek of the sun.
Tuesday, 12 August 2025
We had another late afternoon/early evening rain/no-rain rotation, once again substantiating the “if you don’t like the weather, wait five minutes” saying. Sometimes it’s more like a half-hour, but the pattern remains.
Also, I learned the Norwegian word fallvinder, which refers to strong downdrafts (at tornadic speeds) along the coast, that descend from the land across the coast, then compromising watercraft. The word was in a NYTimes article about experimental archaeologist Greer Jarrett, who’s been imitating Viking sailing, mostly long-distance trips along the western Scandinavian coast. Fallvinder were an underestimated danger Jarrett’s voyages highlighted. The boats were mostly 30-footers, and not the longships favored by artists and film-makers; he says they’re what most folk used. His over two dozen voyages illuminate what routes, islands, and ports were mostly likely used, and not necessarily previously known.
We experinced no fallvinders today at the cottage.
Monday, 11 August 2025
We saw quite a range of rainfall types, but not the heaviest. This was one of the more intense periods. It’s stopped now, and is rather cool—very appreciated given that the humidity in the sticky 90s. The plants sure needed the rain, so I’m happy, too.
Sunday, 10 August 2025
Dusk with goldenrod, 9:13pm.
Sky over the lake to the east, 10:07pm.
South sky, 10:11pm.
Saturday, 9 August 2025
People in places with changeable weather often pay special attention to the changes. The striking red sunrise reflects the smokiness, although the AQI was below 50 for part of yesterday, today: higher. And hot, hot overnight, whew, so that the downstairs only got down to 78°F even at dawn. Sticky. And we smelled smoke off and on all morning.
Around two, rain came in ushered by a moderate wind, so we hustled about to close windows. Fortunately, the temp dropped so that by 6pm it was down to 70°F on the front porch (!!!). Thankfully, now it’s quite pleasant—the humidity is lurking around 82%, and the AQI has dropped to the low 50s.
Yup. Lots of weather variation….
Friday, 8 August 2025
This morning we had noisy, busy visitors, feeding on the birch log section that’s atop the stump. They made chunks of the partly rotted wood fly. [Apologies for the screen view.]
I finally, after how many decades—don’t answer, looked up the definition of pileated, and it refers to the tops of mushrooms, alternately called toadstools. To me, the red caps of these large(ish) birds look nothing like fungi.
Thursday, 7 August 2025
The before-the-sun sky seemed a bit clearer, yet still slightly obscured by the Sky-Smoke deity.
We took a wee drive north to see if the Lake Superior shore breeze would seem even clearer. It did, a bit.
Wednesday, 6 August 2025
There are rumors that the smoke-murk will lift tomorrow. I can’t wait.
Next, I’ll be begging for rain; it’s darned dry out.
Tuesday, 5 August 2025
No humans on the beach today, until I went for my late afternoon lake-bath. I’m guessing these are pelican tracks; they’ve been sighted, but not by me.
Great fun dining with the neighbors. Short Stuff created her own midden of mostly brown rice.
Monday, 4 August 2025
I took a morning stroll down to the beach, because: well, it’s there, and pretty, and interesting, and fine. En route, I found a flitting monarch, just where you’d expect it to be.
At the beach, by the dock, I was surprised to see this guy/gal. I’d seen only a few living ones, and the parts I’ve seen (for years?) have been of much smaller specimens. This one was perhaps 15cm, tail to tips of the claws…and those of lovely blue. You don’t see much blue in critters, no?