I added a bunch of photos this morning (Saturday), including this shot of the trees in my driveway. They're just pretty scenery, I know. But it's where I live and I want you to come visit, so go have a look.
A couple of days ago I went for a walk out in the fields behind my house, just trying to capture some of the fall foliage before a heavy windstorm stripped the trees bare. I've put them into an album with some other pics from my Island, and I'm going to try to have a running photographic record of the seasons and their changes here.
Have a peek at the album - the link is top left - for some colours that you wouldn't expect to see in nature ...
Sat, Oct. 14 Update! A whack of new photos from Saturday ...
This morning, around 7:00 AM, I took Roxy down to the mailbox with me - it's on the main hightway, about 100 yards down my driveway. About 3/4 of the way to the road, in the middle of the yard, there's a rusted, overgrown, antique piece of farm machinery ...
I like to believe that this hulking, delapidated skeleton was once hitched behind a horse and worked the fields in back of my house. If you look closely at it, as I have, you will see evidence of strain and wear, missing teeth and chipped tines. And if you listen you can hear the "Hup! Hup!" from some long-ago summer morning, the farmer urging on a broadchested Morgan through the reawakening land.
I don't know who painted the seat blue, or when - it's really much more gaudy than this picture would lead you to believe, an odd eccentricity that pleases me no end.
I've resisted all efforts to have it declared as junk and hauled away. It is, I suppose, junk. But hard work over generations should lead to a dignified, sedate retirement, and it warms me to provide just that for this old soul.
Roxy waited by the machinery as I went to pick up the newspaper. It was a chilly morning; 2 degrees C, or 37 degrees Fahrenheit. A clear, cloudless night meant a heavy front had settled on the land. At my mailbox, it still clung to the grass, bushes, and trees, its cold fingers yet to be pried off by the first warm rays of autumn sun.
I love early morning in the fall. The leaves are only now starting their change. In a week or two this Island will be a Wonderland of incredible colours. I only hope my camera - and my skills - are up to the challenge.
My dear friend Laura at Vitamin Sea has challenged us to "Play tour guide, and photograph your neighborhood or parts of your geographical area that you would like others to see." She's got a bunch of links up to people who are doing just that. I thought I'd play along ... so:
To get to where I live, you have to cross a bridge. And not just a teensy little bridge. This one is close to ten miles long over the Northumberland Strait between Cape Tormentine, New Brunswick, and Borden, Prince Edward Island. If you look closely just above the water in this pic, you can see the Confederation Bridge. (You may have to click on the image to enlarge)
Once you cross the bridge, you're in some incredibly beautiful green
rolling hills. In summer the greens are breathtaking, both in the sheer amount of green and the million different shades:
And beaches? Why yes, we do have beaches - the entire North side of the Island is one long 120 mile white sandy beach. Liberally sprinkled with scenes like this:
But Laura wanted us to go out and take photos, not just grab ones we had sitting in a file on our disk. So this is my 'hood, taken in the last hour:
From my woodpile, which is about halfway towards being safely stored in my shed after spending the summer seasoning, toward the garage (and further to the house):
Our apple tree, an ancient thing that bears very tart apples, perfect for pies and crisps and crumbles but sour enough to make you make a funny face if you bite into one right off the branch:
I have raked probably four bushels of apples off the ground and still, after a windy day like yesterday, this is what I get:
But there is a certain beauty in an apple on a tree. I can see this one from my office window. Today. Tomorrow? Well, Allie's making pies ...
Taking a goddamn break from mowing the goddamn lawn because I passed by the stupid goddamn Chinese frigging Bamboo or whever the hell it is (and I should have napalmed that crap back in the spring but "Oh, no, it's so nice and green") and it's flowering and swarming with frigging bees and one of the cockknockers stung me on the goddamn wrist and it goddamn bloody jaysus HURTS like a bastard and it's swelling up like a bitch and the frigging pain is shooting up through my goddamn arm and down through my hand. I'm not frigging allergic to bee stings but I forget how much those little bastards HURT when they get you and Christ this is painful, intense, throbbing , get the FUCK away from me with that ice I'm sorry I don't mean to yell but Christ on a crutch it fucking HURTS pain.
When offering condolences and/or assistance to someone who has suffered a painful and potentially lethal sting by a venomous insect, the appropriate response is not "Oh, for God's sake, suck it up. I shot three babies out of my vagina and didn't make this much of a fuss."
Over the past few summers, Erin has delighted herself by jumping on the mower and creating a maze of paths criss-crossing through the goldenrods and lupins out in our back field. At this time of year, the lupins are long gone and the fall colours are just beginning to take hold.
It's lovely to walk around out there, but last night I encountered this rather optimistic lil gal:
I giggled, because she had built this amazing web spanning a footpath. I can just hear her thinking "They can call me crazy if they want. All it takes is one big score and I'm set for life."
I can identify. I'm a writer.
I have no pension plan, I have no back-up, I have no contingencies for rainy days. I am working without a net.
But all it takes is that one big score.
The spider was busy wrapping up a fly that had zigged when it ought to have zagged, a snack to tide her over while she waits patiently for something that - let's be honest - may not ever come. She's done all the work, prepared as best she can. But sure - the odds are against her.
Even so, she waits. Because she's a spider. And that's what spiders do.