Moon Over The Mountain

Day 44: You have to understand that in the Pacific Northwest, you don't usually get opportunities to view celestial events or, for that matter, to observe a blue sky, so when this spectacular combination presented itself through my living room window, I grabbed the camera without thinking twice. Plunging through a tangle of chest-high snowberry bushes intermixed with dry blackberry vines, I picked up a few thorns en route to a position which avoided power lines, poles, fence posts and a significantly ugly display of political statement mounted on a truck parked mid-pasture, and managed to make it in and out of the maze without tripping on the frost-slick ground. It was at great hazard to life and limb that I made this photograph for you when I could just as easily have generated it with open-source AI. Apparently, there's a lot of that going on right now. It will never happen here. I promise you that.

Sunset Sheepscape

Day 356: After isolating the sheep motif from a krokbragd pattern in a book, I knew I wanted to turn it into a project of some sort. The book sheep were a bit tall and skinny for my tastes, so I changed up the draft to give them more wool and shorter legs, and as I was working them, an idea began forming which would allow me to use up some of the thrums and shuttle over-winds all weavers seem to accumulate. As I wove along, I added a stream, a forest, snow-capped mountains and a sunset/sunrise fading into a star-flecked sky without graphing out a pattern. Hindsight being clearer than foresight, I should have put more sheep at the bottom to balance the visual weight of the night sky, but I was happy with the way the concept of a "sunset sheepscape" had worked out. Another version is percolating: a whole flock of sheep in a pasture dotted with tiny red and yellow flowers like those in the lower portion of the pasture here. Bear in mind that I am constrained to work with a pattern repeat of only four threads. That doesn't give a lot of latitude for creating a design.

Morning, Noon And Night

Day 70: Morning, noon and night, the Mountain anchors me. Hidden or seen, there is not a moment that the Presence is not felt. I moved away once, foolish and young as I was, and did not comprehend what had gone missing in my life until I returned to the state some few years later. There, dominating the horizon as always, was the Being whose legends and lore were central to my upbringing, welcoming me home.

These three photos (all shot today) show the Mountain in one of its more consistent moods, something of a rarity especially in light of the lenticular cloud formations over the summit. The first, taken from the pasture opposite my home, was shot at dawn. The second image presents the view from the Community Building in Longmire (Mount Rainier National Park). The third capture is from the bridge over Kautz Creek (also in Mount Rainier National Park) and was taken on my way home from work.

A Leg Up

Day 40: "She'll be readin' th' weather." Robin Penn's remark was spoken softly despite the fact that his approach was clearly announced by the sound of his wooden leg punctuating every other step along the dock's planking. "An' I be thinkin' she's not a bit 'appy wi' it. Wants 'eavy fog, she does."

Robin served as our ship's bursar, cabin boy despite his age, and more importantly, ship's carpenter though his duties in that regard were limited by his infirmity. I had wondered at his service in the crew and made bold to ask him directly how he came not to be pensioned off under the Articles which provided more generously than most for loss of a limb. I found him willing to discuss the matter openly without taking offense at my curiosity; thus I learned that the very thing he warned so often against became his own undoing, but as a matter of choice, not chance.

"'Twas th' foggy season, like now," he told me. "We'd boarded bloody parish-rigged brig, see, carryin' a load o' victuals wot we sorely wanted, an' I were layin' about wi' me cutlass amongst 'er crew when I spied our powder monkey, young chap an' green, lookin' t' 'ave 'is 'ead split by a rogue wi' a belayin' pin. Oh, them were th' days! Well, th' anchor chain, it were a'tween me an' th' blighter wi' the belayin' pin. I made a leap t'save th' laddie...took that bleeder's arm off, I did...but somewheres one o' th' mates fired a keg o' powder an' th' brig, she 'eeled over fast. Got me leg in th' blasted chain, an' off she come in th' backlash. Carpenter...'im wot was our surgeon, too...tol' me, 'We'll 'ave ye right as rain, lad,' an' pared off th' tatty bits an' set me up wi' this 'ere peg." Penn paused for a noisy drencher from a flask of rum, his voice gone raspy with the telling of the tale while I stood speechless at how casually he could relate it, as if it were all in a day's work in the trade of piracy.

"Now Cap'n," he continued, "she seen wot I done fer th' young feller, an' she come by to see me in me bunk. 'Ye're a guid man, Robin, me lad, but tell me this: did ye no' consider wot might 'appen when ye went over th' chain?' I told 'er straight, 'That I did, but Jack Tar were about t' 'ave 'is brains spilt, an' I were thinkin' 'e's far too young t' die just yet. I took me chance an' lost th' roll.' Then she looks me str'ight in th' eye an' says, 'Then I gives ye a choice, fer that's wot I suspected. Ye can do one o' eether. Fer savin' a man's life, I'll gi'e ye double wot's laid out in Articles an' pension ye off, or ye can stay aboard an' be 'prenticed t' carpenter. But I'll no' be 'avin' ye monkeyin' about in th' riggin', mind. Ye're a deck 'and an' at lower pay if ye wants t' stay on.'" Penn took another pull at his flask, but it had gone dry. I offered my own, for my taste for rum is limited. He accepted it with but a nod in thanks, draining half the contents before lowering it to his knee.

"She give me two days t' think it over, an' I mean t' tell ye, it weren't a easy choice. But 'ere I be. 'Tis in me blood, piratin', an' wi' a Cap'n like Morgan Corbye, well, she ain't so mean as some. Wi' bein' full carpenter now an' bursar besides, me pay's almost as good as ever it were as bo'sun."

There was one more question I wanted to ask, and Robin anticipated it. "Young Jackie Tar, wot become o' 'im, ye wonder? Next time we put into port, 'e drew 'is pay an' married th' parson's daughter. I 'ear 'e's a clark at th' clothier's. 'ad all 'e wanted o' piratin', that one, an' Cap'n let 'im go wi' her blessin'."

Perhaps the sound of her name fell upon the Captain's ear, for at that moment she rounded on us sharply and said, "Ready th' lads an' get 'em aboard. We're sailin' on th' mornin' tide. Shift it, ye bloodless curs! We've piratin' t' do."

*****

Footnote: A little less than a year ago, a friend lost his leg in an industrial accident. He asked me to consider writing him into Morgan Corbye's saga. Given the circumstances, I have done so. This one's for you, Rob.