an infrequent repository of mostly new stuff
Just 3.5 minutes of spring peepers. Brown bats arc through the air.
Walked back to the pond this evening. It’s a quarter mile away, down at the bottom of the field and through the woods. Still, we can hear them clearly from the back door.
Standing at the water’s edge they are so loud they hurt my ears. It would be hard to talk over them.
Whew! Returning to Maine, where we last left off waaaay back in October at:
Some video from Deer Isle, the southwest corner overlooking Penobscot Bay. The foghorn was a constant companion, and we grew quite fond of it.
New Stuyahok, Alaska
Emily photo
In another one of those fun convergences that makes me smile, several people I know, and who know each other, all did different versions of the same thing at the same time, thousands of miles apart, without talking about it first.
Steve took a trip for work on a plane out of Wallops Island, flying over remote parts of the Eastern and Western Shores of the Chesapeake.
One of Steve’s photos, over Wachapreague,
One of my favorite places.
Meanwhile, Emily was also flying in an even smaller plane, also for work, on a volunteer gig to the remote Alaska backcountry. To a little native village called New Stuyahok (pop. 510).
They had stronger than expected headwinds on the way out. The pilot was afraid they wouldn’t have enough fuel to get back. He radioed around to people he knew and found a runway out in the middle of nowhere to put down and gas up.
Check out the video. There’s nothing around for hundreds of miles. When the plane lands – on a strip built with significant effort above the permafrost – there’s still nothing there.
Video from Emily in the copilot’s seat.
At the same time, other daughter Amanda was taking a flight of fancy a few thousand miles due south in California. She’s teaching third grade with a class of delightful mostly Spanish speaking kids in “The Garlic Capital Of The World” – otherwise known as Gilroy.
She was reading a favorite book to the kids, one I had read to her and Emily when they were young called Stella Luna, about a young bat who flies around in the moonlight. Amanda really gets into character when she reads, and has the rapt attention of all 30 some odd 9 year olds, which is no small feat. She dressed for the part, finding (somewhere) a flying squirrel costume that passed for a young bat.
Safe travels, all.
via The Atlantic Monthly
requires Flash
Blackwater Falls
First stop on the trek is right across the river from Davis, in Blackwater Falls State Park. In precise geological terms, Davis is just outside Canaan Valley. The Blackwater River emerges from the valley interior, seeping from the bogs and swamps that cover the valley floor. Gathering itself together, it meanders north where eons ago it cut a gap through the raised lip of the bowl, where it passes in front of Davis before tumbling over a set of spectacular falls. From there it carves a canyon down through the mountains on its way to the Ohio River. Canaan Valley sits on the Allegheny Ridge, an eastern Continental Divide deep in the Appalachians. Water on the eastern side of the ridge flows toward the Chesapeake Bay and the Atlantic, water on the west side flows north and west, into the Mississippi and down to the Gulf of Mexico.
The route taken. Link to map.
Blackwater Falls
Another side trip (a trend I wish to continue). This one a Christmas present to ourselves. The plan, when T made the reservations a month ago, was to spend two days cross country skiing at White Grass in Canaan Valley. Alas, no snow is hard to ski in. They had a pile not much bigger than a cow pie out front of the lodge with a sign in it, selling it for $120 an ounce.
No matter. No matter even that it rained all weekend. We hiked and explored and read and ate well. No crowds to contend with. Met a lot of nice people, too.
And sounds.
Snow falling on the shop today. One of those quiet ones without wind, when small sounds seem amplified.
This just shot with a phone.
