Aw, Nuts!

Day 333: I went to visit my fishing buddy today and took him out in his wheelchair for a long ramble around the compound. We sat for a while at the fishing pond without fishing, simply enjoying the sun and friendship, watching the big trout swim and rise to take dragonflies from the surface. The grounds are park-like: immaculate lawns, old trees casting deep shade, covered walkways, carefully groomed shrubs, and everywhere, fat Douglas squirrels scurry about for the peanuts residents provide. As I was watching one particularly plump female, my eye fell on this happy sculpture on a pedestal under a central canopy. I angled around, trying to get the real squirrel in the shot with it, but unfortunately the depth of field I had to use to get a good exposure on the sculpture turned the live animal into a blur. You can still see her to the left of the statue's tail, sitting upright in a similar pose.

Aqua-Bound

Day 332: What a day! A friend alerted me to a new "paddle cache" near Yelm a couple of days ago, and when I looked at it to get the specifics, I discovered that there were actually five on the sprawling, multi-armed lake. I mapped them out with National Geographic's "Topo!" program and traced a route of approximately 3.5 miles round trip. That, I said to self, is easily do-able. I put the project on my agenda for Saturday, but then was reminded of the holiday weekend by another friend. When you live alone, holidays don't signify. They're easily forgotten, and often leave you snarled in traffic if you foolishly decide to go to town. Saturday suddenly seemed less appealing, but the weather forecast for today was less than perfect. I went to bed with some trepidation.

When I got up this morning, I saw blue through gaps in the clouds. I made the final decision to go for it. By the time I hit Eatonville, I was regretting it. It was simply pouring buckets, in my mind filling the 'yak on the roof and soaking the seat. However, when I reached the blinking light on Hwy 7, rain ceased and puffy white sheep were gambolling on a field of blue. The Weather Gods had smiled on me for my doggedness. The 'yak was only moderately damp inside, and the seat wasn't the least bit soggy.

I launched on Lake St. Clair about 10:30 and was almost at the furthest cache when I realized I'd forgotten something very important. When you're logging five-star hides, you'd bloody well better have signed the log! And that's rather hard to do when you don't have a pen. With less than 300 feet to go to my primary destination, I turned around and started paddling back 'round the rabbit (a chocolate-bunny shaped peninsula) toward the car. Then it occurred to me that I was passing right by a full-sized "regular" cache I'd planned to do later in the day. Surely it would have a pen in it! I was in luck. With the borrowed pen, I "drove" the 'yak back to my intended starting point, found the cache and signed the log. Yes, I returned the pen later.

I faced another challenge with several of the caches. The owner (person who placed them) had not taken short-torsoed, short-armed tiny people into account. In water of unknown depth, I did not want to risk standing up in the 'yak to unscrew a tiny Bison tube hung in a tangle of cedar boughs swinging low over the water! By means of strange contortions, I retrieved that cache and (harder still) replaced it after I'd signed in. Two others were similarly placed. But oh, I was impressed by the tight places the 'yak could reach!

After all the caches had been found, I lengthened the day with explorations of all the lake's major arms (and it has quite a few). In total, my paddle covered approximately seven miles. The weather, for all of its wet beginnings, had turned into perfection. Now I'm ready to bide at home through the busy holiday weekend.

A Weed Is Just A Flower Nobody Wants

Day 331: Given free rein, candytuft would take over your garden, perhaps even more vigorously than those little yellow things you so diligently pull. What makes it a "flower" and consigns hawkweed to ignominy? I haven't got the answer, but I can testify to candytuft's persistent nature by saying that I haven't planted any for over twenty years, and yet here's a specimen poking its head up in a patch I'd let go back to grass. Something...a mole or a shrew or a beetle...must have stirred the soil and brought one lone seed near the surface. Dormant for twenty years, it sprouted. If that's not weedlike behaviour, I don't know how you'd define it.

Abbreviated Summer

Day 330: It was too short, summer. Impolitely, it came late and left early, like a guest who felt obligated to put in a token appearance at Aunt Matilda's birthday party. Oh, it wore a smile when anyone was looking, but as soon as it saw the opportunity, it crept quickly through the crowd and disappeared.

Already a light toss of snow has touched the upper Mountain. The mornings have damp edges and a fringe of chill. Best lay in a stash of good books, wash your woolly socks and chop some kindling because winter's already got its toe in the door.

Nasturtium Square

Day 329: Despite being troubled by aphids, the nasturtiums in their hanging baskets provided a cheerful accent to the back porch this year. The leaves were rather pale and wan, but they've been covered with bright orange blossoms for weeks now. Orange? I distinctly recall planting mixed colors, hoping for a few dark mahogany flowers and seeds I could harvest for next year. Other than one yellow orphan, the "mix" was limited to two very similar shades of orange.

But what the heck, it's color, right? And looking through the sliding glass door today at grey skies, that orange was a welcome sight. That said, "mixed" seed packets which produce only one or two colors seem to be the general rule these days. If you want variety, the way to guarantee it is to buy several envelopes of single colors or mixes packaged by different growers, a plan I never seem to remember from year to year.

Secondary Attractor

Day 328: The season is winding down, evidenced by the shortening of the days, and plants which enter a dormant period are acknowledging the change. New foliage is shorter, more spindly, the energy now being directed into flower and subsequent seed production. Old foliage is withering and dropping, turning into mulch which will afford roots some protection against colder temperatures. Plants raised indoors or in greenhouses are not immune to the diminishing hours of light. My Venus Fly Trap has dined well and is now preparing for a winter nap by putting up a stalk of flowers, a secondary attractor in the rules governing this species' game of survival.

Fishing Buddies

Day 327: Day before yesterday, my fishing buddy was ensconced as a permanent resident in a nursing care facility about 45 minutes from my home. His daughters had told me that there was a fishing pond on site, and expressed the hopes that I could visit and take him fishing. Today, I wheeled him down to the pond where, using a borrowed pole and off-brand imitation PowerBait, he proved that he hasn't lost his touch. As a guest, I am only allowed to assist him, so I cast out his line and placed the pole in his hands. About fifteen minutes later, the tip of the rod was jerked sharply downward and the game was on. With a flunky drag on the reel, it took him five minutes to bring the fish out from under the dock and into range of the waiting net. Unfortunately, fish (a gorgeous rainbow) had swallowed the hook deeply and couldn't be released. That said, the pond is well stocked with trout of similar size and larger, and only the threat of showers and dropping temperatures urged my old pal from the dock. I suspect we'll be spending many hours here.