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28/11/2021

Busy Lewis Mountain Brook

When I finish a blog, I often ask myself, “What’s my next blog going to be about? What slings, arrows and roses does life have planned for me?”

I usually don’t have to wait too long. Sometimes I get more than I wanted.

Equipment Manager

So there I am, it’s ten am on a foggy, rainy, night and I’m driving down Kelly’s Mountain.

I approach St. Anne’s Look-off and there he is. About fifteen feet from my truck. A buck. An eight pointer. I slam on my brakes and sadly, hit him.

I feel sorry for the buck, my truck and me. Only a year and a half ago, I was in a similar situation feeling sorry for a doe, my truck and me.

Hanging In

I phone 911 and a nice lady asks me if I’m hurt.

“No,” I say.

“Is the truck drivable?”

I say that I think it is.

“Is the truck leaking radiator fluid?”

Tree and a Mountain

I can’t tell her if the radiator is leaking because it is pounding rain. Liquid everywhere.

She phones the police for me while I attempt to get home before 11pm. I told Sue I would be no later than 11pm.

View From New Kitchen Window

Installing Kitchen Window

The truck seems okay. It gets me home. However, later on I find out that my lights are cock-eyed. One points up and one points down. I’m good at averaging things out.

When I get home I talk to a constable. He tells me that he will phone to give me my accident report number on Sunday. I will give it to my insurance agent on Monday.

Lane Through Woods

On Sunday morning, I’m sitting in my truck. I’m attempting to change my speedometer from miles to kilometres. My analog speedometer is in kilometres, my digital is in miles.

While I frig around with the modes, Sue and Dominic jump into the truck. Sue’s carrying her purse and Dominic’s tail is furiously rotating. It looks like they think we’re going for a drive.

Woodland Magic

Oh what the heck. I figure I can keep an eye on the dash and see if any warning lights act suspicious.

Sue asks, before we leave, if she should return to the trailer and change her foot-wear.

Morning Frost

"We’re only driving, so no need to remove your beach-wear runners,” I say.

The truck runs like a top. I’d roped up the front grill so the truck didn’t look crooked.

I decide to check out my two deer-kill sites.

We whip down the highway towards kilometre marker 99. That’s where I hit the doe.

Three Cows and a Manure Pile

We pass this marker and head towards the next incident report. I look at my temperature gauge and it is rising towards the red. So is my blood pressure.

We turn around and head back home. Unfortunately, a little too late.

The gauge enters the far edge of the red-zone and my truck beeps out a warning. “Engine over-heating! Engine over-heating! Dive! Dive!”

Lunch On Lewis Mountain

I pull over and park along the Trans Canada. I plan for us to all go for a walk up a scruffy trail while the engine cools.

Oh dear. Sue is wearing Speedo Beach Shoes.

Dominic and I leave her in the truck and head up the trail.

Sue, Dominic, Me and My Hat

Suddenly, Dominic’s third retractable leash snaps. He has been doing some undercover chewing. It’s free-willy time as transports and cars whiz by.

One of My Favourite Trails

I grab him, with memories of a few weeks ago, dancing in my head. That was when we were leaving our little beach which is close to the Cabot Trail. A few days before he had led us, unleashed, home and I was proud of him. This day he probably would’ve led us home also, but a squirrel popped up and the next thing we knew there was Dominic running, full speed, along the side of the highway while fully loaded logging trucks and other vehicles roared by.

An Autumn Field

Anyway, we go back to the truck and then do our drive and stop dance. Drive and stop. Drive and stop.

I figure we will never get home, so I stop and phone a friend.

He comes and puts fluid in the radiator and it gets us to his house. It was very kind of him.

Walking Along the Busy Highway

The next day they towed the truck to Port Hastings.

We now have a vehicle with all-weather tires and we live in a snow-belt.

Little Bells With the Leaves

The back of the rental vehicle is loaded down with plastic to protect the back seat from Dominic’s occasional upchucks and his muddy feet. It is also filled with towels.

Dominic Looking At the Peaceful River

AND THEN WE HAD A FLOOD!

Tool Shed After Flood

Bridge After Flood

Our trailer survived. Many people think it was a miracle.

The concrete Middle River Bridge didn’t. It's close to our trailer.

Don't Tick Off Our Cute Little River

Downed Oil Tank

I’m going to stop worrying about what’s going to be in my next blog. The deer one wasn’t in my plans, nor was the flood.

Actually, I was going to write something about how proficient the beavers have been at building a massive dam across the river. However, as you may have guessed, the river ate the beaver dam and the human-bridge.

Dominic Sniffs Out the Woodshed

River When It's In a Good Mood

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Helmet Tapper

6/11/2021

1 Comment

Forest Creature

Occasionally, some people tick me off. So, it’s helpful for me to read a poem like the one below Dominic's photo who seldom ticks me off.

DOMINIC BY THE RIVER

“If I knew you and you knew me,
If both of us could clearly see,
And with an inner sight divine
The meaning of your heart and mine,
I’m sure that we would differ less
And clasp our hands in friendliness;
Our thoughts would pleasantly agree
If I knew you and you knew me.”
Nixon Waterman, To Know All Is To Forgive All

Warren Lake

Warren Lake Beach Bird

I do, however, think that some folks are too comfortable in their personal stories. It comes out in their tone or the way they attempt to dismantle other peoples’ stories with a few frivolous comments. Simplistic sum-it-all-up words which can diminish the emotional depths that the other person is trying to communicate. These pat-pat-good-doggy people are too cozy and confident, as far as I’m concerned. Their comments are mushy tidbits disguised as intrinsic truths and they bring many heaven-bound birds crashing back to earth.

Our Hosta In Fall

Where I come from, these folks are F’n irritating.

That’s why I like the above poem. It gives me some perspective and keeps me from being too critical.

Now, I have plenty of stories to back up my perspective and I’m going to tell you one.

On Broad Cove Mountain

Once upon a time, on a gorgeous Saturday morning, I went cycling. The sun was beaming down on the trail and I felt blessed and was in a F’n good mood.

This was in Ontario where helmets aren’t required by law.

Now for a quick cycling history.

I Love The Forest

I’ve been cycling since I was a kid. My first bike was a brown five dollar girl’s bicycle.

I learned to bike from an older neighbour fella. He put me on his bike and pushed me. I couldn’t crash right away because I was going too fast. So I cruised down the street by the skin of my teeth, jumped a stop sign and then roared down a busier street. I kept going until I crashed into a hedge which was owned by a lady, who later called my family country hicks. Her hedge wasn’t so friendly either.

I Love The Forest's Floor

I once pulled a friend and his bicycle for over ten k’s. He hung onto a rope while I pulled. He’d lost his chain.

Another time I held onto his bike while I rode my bike, and guided him down a steep hill. He had no brakes and didn’t want to walk.

A Forest Floor Sculpture

I almost failed a high school math exam because I didn’t want to take the time to finish it. I wanted to go cycling.

Anyway, back to the story. There I was, peddling and feeling the burn of joyful freedom. I called this bike Pixie Lee. My present bike is called Buddy Lee. My cat Spooky named my first bike. I named my present bike.

View From Part Way Down Smokey Mountain

Up ahead I noticed cyclists approaching on their platinum cycling chariots. They were outfitted to the hilt with expensive equipment. Shiny helmets with dental mirrors stuck to their sides, leather gloves with holes from which their fingers poked out, tight revealing bicycle pants and tops sporting commercial logos, bike bells, multi-lights, and bright fluorescent eye catchers.

One Of My Thinking Spots Along Middle River

I’ve noticed that many of these super decked out cyclists ride in flocks.

I gave the leader of this flock a hearty and well-meaning salutation.

Vincent Finds A Treasure On Broad Cove Mountain Trail

Sue and Dominic

He said not a word. He just bicycled by with his nose up his gazebo while he tapped his helmet with his index finger. He felt entitled to be rude and superior by offering me a life’s lesson. “Wear a helmet.”

Torey Picking Raspberries By Little River

No good morning, just a super obnoxious superiority which drives folks like me into fits of speechless and angry wonder. Pointing his pointy finger at his expensive helmet was all he needed to say to a fella such as me who was hardly bedecked at all. His diminishing approach totally smoking out the idea that maybe wearing a helmet was, conceivably, possibly and might be a good idea which I might someday or night, but maybe never do some research on. He might’ve been onto something. Perhaps, could be, but I wouldn’t give him the pleasure of thinking he’d convinced me of anything other than he was a snotty snob.

It took me about fifteen minutes to get below the boiling point.

I said to myself, “Who the “F’ does he think he is?

Maybe a brain surgeon. I don’t know. If so, then he was an obnoxious, insufferable brain surgeon.

Later on, I thought I’d tell this story to two of my buddies who were raised in the same area as myself. They listened and then they shouted out some good old fashioned F’n curse words, using the F’n F word as a noun, verb, adjective and adverb. They were mighty fine.

And why not? He removed the pure joy of my bike ride even though I’d probably been cycling before he was even a glint in his parents’ bedroom’s eyes.

Translucent Mushroom

I remember another day when I was cycling. The trail was fairly busy and I passed lots of well-bedecked exercisers, who were checking their watches, their heart rates, their moods, their blood pressures and were, for the most part, enjoying the day. Most of them were friendly.

I approached a woman who stood by the trail-head. And oh my god, I nearly had a conniption. She was just hanging out. Slouching even, and was smoking a cigarette and drinking coffee. She probably had fatty fast food containers and napkins in her vehicle. I almost fell off my bike.

Our Road in October

I didn’t however, I just cycled by and gave her a Facebook Thumbs up sign with my non-virtual thumb.

Beautiful Little River

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