an infrequent repository of mostly new stuff
One that didn’t get away.
Doug, Giselle and the kids got in from California on their whirlwind tour down the coast, and he set a day aside for boating. No sailing – this time – but we did manage to get on the water for a much needed break from jobs and stress. A little float fishing trip down the James was definitely in order, on a Friday when the river isn’t crazy with tubers.
A job well done.
I once had a job digging up the bones of dead monks for room and board. The pay wasn’t great, but it was a good job, and I liked it.
On the first day, a portly, pompous Frenchman named Bernard, the foreman, lined off a big grid on the ground with string, making six foot squares separated by one foot borders. Each digger was assigned a square. The job was simple: Dig the six foot square eight feet deep. You could not, however, use a shovel. The only tool you could use to remove 288 cubic feet of dirt was a small mason’s pointing trowel, which you had to supply yourself. Furthermore, you could not dig with the point of the trowel – doing so would be grounds for immediate dismissal. Instead, you had detect and carefully scrape away slight variations in colored layers of dirt with the edge of the trowel, a thin skin of soil at a time, like peeling an onion, scoop that into a pail, then empty it onto a spoil pile 100 feet away. We had three months to finish.
Bumper crop of fresh hay, rolled and ready
Wow. Signs of summer. Magnolia blooms scent the air with lemons in the evening, and the rumble-hum of tractors cutting and bailing hay can be heard deep into dusk.
The first hay cutting is the biggest and best cut of the year. This is a big year for hay, too – twice as many rolls filling the fields as years past. All the rain and cool weather. It looks like a random modern art installation when the fields are full of those big round rolls. One day the grass is elbow high. The next day it’s cut and laying down flat like a blond carpet. Then boom the field is green again and covered with golden rolls – giant toffees spilled across a green felt tablecloth. Or a game of Brobdingnagian billiards.
Hyacinths blooming in fresh snow
A few weeks ago we had snow on daffodil, crocus and hyacinth blooms. Yesterday it was almost 90 degrees. Abnormal is pretty normal here this time of year. I have photos taken several years ago of roses blooming in a snow storm. They don’t sleep well nights at the local vineyards and orchards until April is over and done with.
Dugout Canoes on the beach at Santa Catarina
The boats native to Lake Atitlan are the cayucos, a unique form of dugout canoe. You see these boats all over the lake, from dawn to dusk, though usually near shore where the fish are, as fishing is their primary use. Rows of them are pulled up on the beaches of every small village and town along the shore. Continue reading “Boats of Guatemala: Lake Atitlan Cayucos”
The Mayan crew, pounding the boat across Lake Atitlan, just ahead of a storm.
I’ve started on the toe rails, and hope to have progress to report soon, once I get it figured out.
In the meantime, here’s some boat related reporting from our trip to Guatemala. Coming from such a car-centric culture, the widespread use of boats for transportation there was fascinating; not only the extent of it, but the types and their construction, as well. Continue reading “Boats of Guatemala: Lake Atitlan Launches”
Lake Atitlan from Casa del Mundo, after a storm
We’re back.
A couple of times a decade we manage to take a nice trip somewhere. A few years ago it was the northern California coast. This time it was Guatemala, and what an amazing trip it was. A truly stunning landscape that left us literally speechless more than once. Continue reading “Home Port”