But how would the river react? Well, first it went into a temper. That’s a constant. It always throws a fit. But this time it spread out more. Sent a massively wide flow of water at us. Which roared by our little mobile home like a Panzer Division. One group heading for the Cabot Trail bridge. The other section veering to the left. Pouring over, not only our walking trail, but an area many times wider than our hiking path.
Thank you, winter rain.
Did you know, and really, how would you, that I’ve climbed or partially climbed two mountains since I submitted my last blog entry? And, if I’d sent it out one day later, I would’ve been able to brag that I’d climbed three.
For years I’ve been trying to cross country ski into the back country. The problem is I’m not a very good ski turner. So, I have a great deal of difficulty negotiating corners and steep hills and when I’m skiing in the woods, with its constant twists, declines, ascents and turns, it’s rough going. My life and limbs are in constant danger.
Then I bought the snowshoes and now the snow world is my oyster. Let the band play!
Snowshoeing also forces me to use different muscles. So, if you haven’t done it before, taking it easy is a good thing. Especially if you’re getting long in the molars.
I was up there by myself and during my snowshoe cruise I saw super large moose tracks along with mega large doo-doo piles.
And don’t think I wasn’t a little bit aware of other possibilities. It’s spring. Even though the snow is still up to my chest and beyond in places. And, because it’s spring, the bears are probably out scouting around. Hankering for a little nourishment, other than what they’re able to suck from their paws. Apparently that’s what they do during their long hibernation. Suck toes. I don’t want my toes tasted.
However, I don’t think too hard about these things. If you love doing something enough, you will do it in spite of the fear.
The best way is to come up hill with me
And have our fire and laugh and be afraid.”
Robert Frost’s Bonfire
It was on this tree that I thought about a Robert Frost poem I have been in the process of memorizing. It’s called, ‘The Vantage Point’. I recited a bit to myself as I looked out over the highlands, the fields and the few houses dotted here and there.
“If tired of trees I seek again mankind,
Well I know where to hie me-in the dawn,
To a slope where the cattle keep the lawn.
There amid lolling juniper reclined,
Myself unseen, I see in white defined
Far off the homes of men, and farther still,
The graves of men on an opposing hill-----”
Blue Toe Mountain has that name because I got two bruised toes after hiking up and down its bulk. I was wearing a new pair of hiking boots.
“Do they fit you okay, sir?” the sales clerk had asked.
I’d said, after I stomped around the flat store floor, that I thought they fit perfectly.
On flat land. On flat land, they fit perfectly. However, when walking down the side of the mountain, they didn’t fit perfectly. They fit snugly. They fit tightly and painfully, because the decline forced my toes into the front of the boots. Which, after a few miles of descent, caused those toes to be very sore. Later on, the nails of my big toes turned blue and one is still an ugly colour.
I savoured his poems. They are elemental. Connected to the earth, sky and sea.
“Life at Sea” is one poem in his book which reminded me of our experience this winter, as our little green mobile home was battered by the winter storms.
“Today we are again at sea
the house sails
into the white storm
stoves blazing. Trees
bend like stripped masts
and the white earth rolls.”
Now, I have to say that I gave him every chance to vacate before I threatened to send in the sheriff. I purposely bought him time by taking wood from the far side of the pile instead of directly over or near his nest.
And I’d loudly bang the door before I entered the shed. I’d shout, “You’re going to have to move because I’ll have to be dismantling your house soon. You have to be out before this happens. Because I don’t want you jumping out while I’m grabbing a piece of fourteen-inch firewood and scaring the crap out of me. Sue doesn’t need the extra laundry work.”
The poor squirrel did vacate. I think his present address is 216 Slab Wood Pile. Located next to the woodshed. Good for him. I’m glad he’s resilient and street smart enough to be able to start a new life, while the cold winter winds were still blowing.
Do you think he will be able to find, out of the thirty-nine pieces of ID allowed, one that will prove where he lives and one with a picture of his furry mug? Because he’ll need it to be able to vote for the naughty nuts he wants in office.
This squirrel still gives me the occasional lip. Even though I allow him to hang around in the woodshed when it’s not in use.
Like last week. Nuttsie said, “It’s so damn cold. How can you be so heartless?”
“Because it’s cold. That’s why we need the wood. That’s why we put it there.” My logic, as usual, was rock solid.
This whole conversation was watched and listened in on by the draining-sink-voiced raven. Who probably knows everything we do. I don’t want to think too hard about that.
I think I’ll call him, "Peeping Tom".