June 3rd, 2006

wayside cross

Saturday morning thoughts

The day is off to a slower start than I'd like, but then I was up late last night. My personal schedule is breaking down under the load of stuff coming at me. Once I take off on the trip to Africa, a lot of that will (temporarily) lift, since I'll be in Trek Mode. The real crunch will come when we get back, and my body wants to rest for a week -- the same bare week we have to finish up and get out of here.

I got a fair amount of tidying up and packing done down here in the ol' dungeon, but man! there's eight years of stuff packed away into corners: file boxes, souvenirs, half-finished project outlines. I hate moving. I had wanted to do it only one more time in my life.

We went out to Wilderstead for a little while last night, and talked in the cabin by candlelight. There, at least, there is some peace still to be had. I yearn for it the way Cuthbert yearned for his hut on the island. Someday . . .

Meanwhile, whatever gets done, gets done. Whatever doesn't will get done somehow -- or it wasn't important. Prayers for peace would be appreciated.
wayside cross

"Where the air smelled like snakes"

The hemlock around here is coming up a bumper crop. All the creek valleys, the margins of fields, ditches and yards are full of it. Early in the season, when I was out mending fence, I found a patch of it in a hard-to-reach corner of my land, and doused it with Roundup. This weekend, I say a large clump of it growing by my road; so today, I doused that with Roundup.

I hate hemlock.

I don't try to make the woods into a park. I normally leave things pretty much alone (aside from keeping grass and weeds choking the paths knocked down). Even poison ivy I leave where it grows.

But hemlock has my undying enmity. As does ailanthus. Thank God kudzu doesn't grow this far north (yet?). Hemlock, ailanthus, and kudzu form the unholy trinity of weeds.
wayside cross

"You've got quail!"

Cozy Corner Cozy Corner
A work in progress, but definitely getting there.
We went out to Wilderstead this evening for a while. The peace was wonderful. The crickets and the creek and the birds were all in full voice. At one point, collinsmom looked startled, then asked, "Was that a Bob-White?" It was, indeed. So we've got quail among our critters.