Perseids 2018

hoodoos_crop_sm Andromeda and a Perseid share the sky above the ribs of earth.

Lisa and I spent the night and early morning chasing shooting stars.

The smoke in the valley bottom was poor so we headed for the mountains. It was still smokey but we could see stars.

_LME8309.sm Lisa captures a stunning meteor emanating from the heart of Perseus.

We spent a few hours at higher elevation. The Perseids flew. Lisa and I agreed trying to get photos of meteors is like fishing. It is so enjoyable, to cast or press the shutter, and see one jump or streak beyond our line. It is a beautiful thing to watch and experience. Just like fishing she caught the big one getting the picture above.

RCE_1010-Pano.sm Backroads. A Perseid Meteor flys (left) over the haze and below the stars.

The meteors were continuous but not as plentiful as other years. It could be we missed the peak. It could also be the sky was obscured with smoke, letting us only see the brightest. The ones we saw were long and often left smoke trails.

RCE_1025-Pano_sm On the benches, coming home. Mars shining through the smoke (low, left of the Milky Way). The tip of a bright meteor at the top of the frame.

On the way home the smoke thickened. We stopped here and there to document the night.

We arrived home at 5. We agreed it’s tough to stay up all night, but well worth it.

hoodoos.satalite.sm Un-cropped merged panorama. A satellite points back towards star clusters, Chi Persei and H Persei.

Perseids

perseids2.17x22 A meteor (left) streaks toward Perseus at tree line. The light of Andromeda Galaxy
(right, above and left of the tree branch) reaches us 2.3 million light years after
it was shone. Lightening lights the clouds on the eastern horizon.
A large rock, lit by our campfire, is covered in fossils of sea
creatures older than the light of Andromeda.
To see it is a miracle.

The annual Perseid Meteor Shower is now underway. If you have dark clear skies you may be able to see a few.

The peak is around the 12th and could be very good as the moon is young, leaving the night sky dark.

Come peak, Lisa and I will spend the night in the mountains chasing the streaks. It is difficult to predict the conditions. Even if clear smoke could obscure the sky. Tonight, Venus could barely be seen in the western horizon. Mars can’t be seen yet. Once it gets higher above the eastern horizon it will become visible.

Meteors occupy the entire sky. I often point my camera towards horizons, this year may be better preserved shooting directly overhead where the smoke is not so noticeable.

If that is the case It may be better in an enclosed space like a canyon. You see less of the sky, but what is seen is directly overhead.

late July wedding

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Smokey skies but nothing like last year at this time. There s a few fires burning close by. The garden is bone dry and I’m up late trying to get some water on it with a hose and antique cast sprinkler. It is low and does a good job.

Lisa and I photographed a wedding today. It has been awhile since we have done one. We used to do a lot. We were very good at it. We both like doing them. Some photographers dislike doing them, thinking they should be shooting for National Geographic instead. I always felt we were documenting the start of the Bride and Grooms family history. Someday the pictures would be looked at by their grandkids. We wanted them to see the day as it was. The love, the awkwardness at times, the heat or cold and their friends and family. We also wanted to show their connection to the land and each other.

Like I said it’s been awhile but it was like riding a bike. Lisa didn’t miss a shot during the ceremony and moved things along during the portraits making sure the kids and elderly were done first so they could seek shade.

It all came back in a hurry. The beautiful couple with their two small kids was dearly in love. We were honoured to document and share their day. The endeared themselves to Lisa and I when they confessed their rings cost $13 each on Etsy.

Talking about being in love. Hunter and Bree are out from Calgary. I cooked a few steaks on the BBQ with fresh potatoes, carrots and squash from the garden. It was a feast. It is good to have them out.

The valley is busy. Plenty of traffic. Crazy drivers. All in a hurry to have fun. Ambulances going out all day and medic helicopters coming in to take the wounded back to Calgary.

I am getting used to it as I get older. There was a time everything about the crowds burned my ass. Now I’m glad they stay shopping in the valley bottom. There is still plenty of room on the backroads.

The moon is bright same as mars. Very fine day.

July 5th

_LME7786-Pano_sm The Big Dipper is up there among the stars.

Someone once asked me if I’ve ever seen things that go bump in the night. They knew I spent time in the dark. I told them about the time one November it dropped down to minus 30 and the birch and spruce started going off like gunshots. That wasn’t what they were looking for.

I look for ghosts all over. Usually they show up in the rivers and streams. They don’t say much. I listen to the babble of the creek, but I can’t make heads or tails out of it. Still I know they are trying to tell me something. I appreciate the effort but I don’t get it.

_LME7782-Pano_sm Mars, Saturn and Jupiter.

My good dog Willow would bark if something was threatening. That’s why I like dark nights down by the water. The only sound she makes is snorting through the long grass.

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***

It was my Mother’s birthday yesterday. I visited her early this morning. I wonder about her everyday. How hard she had to work. She was born into a world where women were subservient. Yet she became a respected women that didn’t back down from men who tried to bully. She didn’t even blame them for it. She considered them pitiful.

She accomplished it after growing up poor and hard, without education. There wasn’t a book she hadn’t read or couldn’t discuss. She saw a lot. She kept the hardship to herself.

unnamed-2 Isabelle and Wynanne.

My Mother was a smart beautiful women. I wonder sometimes if she ever looked at the bearded man across from her who seemed happy with the long hours and not much, the broken washing machine and the ragged kids scooting about, and thought, cripes what did I do to deserve this?

She would laugh at that. She used to laugh at everything.

getting on

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in this world
you get teeth knocked out
for no reason
or they go bad as you get old
your dink gets shorter
your balls hang lower
the cold makes your chin quiver
you start thinking
it s a young man s world
your joints swell
and give you grief
especially when the
sky spells rain
or in dry weather
the dog comes through
the hole in the screen
after rolling in something
it s a lot further down
to your laces
and a lot less further
down to everything else
girls smile at you because
you remind them of their
dear old dead dad
people ask you for advice
say you look wise
with florescent lighting
on white whiskers
adorning your jowls
everything s been broke
at least once before
what s to do
the coffee ain t hot
the beer s woodshed warm
and somewhere along the line
whiskey started upsetting
your stomach.

late June

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There is only two things to do on Canada Day weekend. You can either get out of town, deep into the bush, or stay hunkered down at home, don’t even try to go out and get a coffee, or beer or groceries or anything else. All the locals know it. The area is taken over by revellers from the city. We’re told we need them. I certainly can’t blame them for trying to escape the city. Most have manners, but some are hell bent on partying and tearing the shit out of the countryside and waterways. The latter all have big toys, four wheel drives, ATV’s and loud motorboats. The business people jack up the prices on everything from a loaf of bread to a litre of gas. This is the good time, they say.

We have elected to stay hunkered down. The garden needs weeding. Lisa is going to pickle the garlic scapes. I am looking forward to cracking a jar in the winter. They are going to be good. So good I probably won’t be able to stand myself.

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Willow will miss the bush this weekend but she will have plenty to bark about around here. Yesterday, she caught a young bird in the garden. She killed it, of course. Once I clued in to what was going on I stopped her from eating the small bird. She wasn’t happy with me. My old Wire-Haired, Slinky, was a master hunter, unlike rodents birds never agreed with her upsetting her stomach until she purged herself and vomited feathers. Willow is much more delicate than Slinky so I didn’t want to take a chance. There is nothing worse waking up to the sound of a dog trying to get something up.

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Thinking of Slinky, this was her least favourite weekend. All the Canada Day fireworks scared her. We would try to spend most of these weekends in the bush, so she wouldn’t have to put up with it. Willow on the other hand can sleep through thunderstorms and fireworks.

slink Slinky. Scraped or not never slowed down.

A good rain today. The garden is coming. I got the foot long grass mowed before the skies opened up. I am hoping all the moisture will be good for the huckleberry crop. Cooper loves huckleberry jam and he is depending on me.

story time

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Out of my element tonight. Without my usual brand but with a mix of coloured bottles. Start with a Henry Weinhard’s Blue Boar Pale Ale.

the boys were rolling off mt king edward
down schofield creek sliding over gumbo
raspberry devils club and birch trees
flying by the cockpit windows.

there was little george, rip and taylormade
swift was driving the 75 plymouth
gran fury station wagon.

green with brown vinyl wood paneling
chrome details hanging off
hub caps missing hood tied down
with a rope.

the perfect hunting vehicle
the carpet was torn out
with a blood stain in the back
from deer hunts gone past
little george said it was from
deflowering virgins.

The Pale Ale was pretty damn good, not a lot of skunk that usually defines these high end brews. To damn bad I only have one. Now I’m moving onto the Henry Weinhard’s Classic Dark Premium Lager. I’m sure this one will not be as accessible.

they hadn’t seen any deer
but shot their rifles anyway
they had been drinking beer
since morning and now it was
getting dark.

the old 75’s headlights were the shits
little george was pissed out of his head
and went to lay down in the back
bumping around with the spare
slurring and farting his way to dreamland.

the fury was all over the road
then a thump and bang
taylormade yelled we hit somethin
rip said it was a man swift hit the brakes
little george lurched in the back seat
started to snore
they were thirty miles from town.

three empty beer tins fell out when swift opened the door
they could see nothing it was fully dark
swift jumped back in backed up and shone the
shitty headlights into the ditch.

i see him
yelled rip
they scrambled tripping down the bank
the man turned out to be a big beige cougar
deader than a door nail.

a big bastard they wrestled the cat up the bank
and loaded him in beside little george
the cougars tongue was out
little george snored.

it was a relief they hadn’t killed anyone
swift was going to have him stuffed
they all cracked a fresh beer
and headed towards town.

The Classic Dark is gone. Tasted like burnt toast covered in molasses. But not bad. The stuff was made in Hood River, Oregon. Much more accessible than I thought it would be. I was told my poetry was the shits by a guy who introduced himself as a writer. Yes I said. He said proudly that it just ain’t accessible to everybody. Well, fuck him, I’m going to speed the drinking thing up and switch to whiskey.

they hit the outskirts
stopped at uncle ronnie’s roadhouse
where even squares can have a ball
parked out front little george was still snoring
taylormade thought he heard him growling.

they headed in drank 3 jugs
swift hit on the waitress to no effect
they wobbled back out to the plymouth
little george was still sleeping
but one problem
the cougar wasn’t dead anymore
it had shredded the seats
bits of foam were everywhere
the cat was wide eyed pacing
scratching at the virgin blood.

The whiskey tastes good and there’s no fear I’ll run out before this story is finished.

little george was snoring
foam moved around his nose on exhale
the cat was low ears back
and moved up on the drunken little george
it’s nuts hung on the side of his face
he was a big bastard.

i hope george doesn’t wake up said rip
in a fit of bravery swift swung the
gate and the cougar lept into the night
crossed the road from uncle ronnie’s neon
and disappeared into the bush.

it was a relief
the boys kept looking
into the darkened ditch
little george woke up
grabbed a rifle from the front seat
and shot a hole in the ceiling of
the 75 gran fury station wagon
swift, rip and taylormade hit the dirt
little george had foam in his hair
said he had a shit dream then
slurred what the fuck happened to
my upoholstery.

swift said we were going
to ask you the same
that last virgin must have been a real wildcat
a cougar even.

they piled in
swift drove
heading straight
towards town.

mountain lady’s slipper

Willow and I made time after supper for a run behind Swansea. She ran rampant, smelling rabbits on her tongue. I poked around looked for blossoms and signs to confirm it was indeed the middle of June.

Work is good and plenty of it at this time of year. Lisa and I were side by side today hammering the computers. It feels good to be back in business for ourselves again.

There was a time I could put in 16 hour days, even longer sometimes, sometimes even with a couple beer under my belt, but not now. Occasionally, I wish I still possessed that focus, most of the time I’m glad I don’t, it can catch up to you.

It feels good to be making practical things, not art or anything magnificent, but products that make peoples lives easier or happier. That’s what we are good at, working, putting our noses to the grindstone. Nothing more, but more than enough.

Was up early this morning. Mars was blazing over the lake. Right now Mars is close to Earth in our respective orbits around the sun. How close is Mars? It is so close, Willow stood up and barked at Rover.

Boooooo!

mid June

mobot31753002839139_0377 Yarrow illustration by German Botanist Walther Otto Muller from the 1800’s. He illustrated many important botanical books of the time.

Was up in the mountains today while the valley bottom was at it’s busiest. The yarrow plant is starting to bloom in the bush. I picked a bunch and also juniper berries for my good friend Dave. He makes the best jellies and hot sauces. The yarrow and junipers will be made into an exclusive hot sauce for a local bar and restaurant.

Lisa says she is going to make me a foraging pouch that will hook on my belt. I told her to make it big enough to hold a mickey and a couple quarts of huckleberries.

***

Got the spuds hilled this evening between showers. Every time I tried waiting it out it kept up, and when I came in it instantly stopped. That’s June.

***

Plenty of thunder last night. It’s good to see it accompanied by rain. That will stop soon.

***

It’s Father’s Day tomorrow. I still miss mine. I told Hunter, when I talked to him on the telephone today, I will be expecting some dry macaroni glued to a sheet of paper.

I wasn’t the best father or the worst. I was serious back in those days and worked a lot. I also did things that didn’t make it easy for us. That was part of being serious. I could have got along better with people that could have made life easier for all of us, but I was too proud or quick to criticize, so we all suffered. It’s not noble looking back. Still my children love me, regardless. That’s luck.

***

It’s said the weather is about to turn hot. Lisa says I need a haircut. It’s about time to stop wearing long sleeved shirts, even if they are worn rolled up. There is a slow leak on the rear passenger side tire that needs taken care of. The carrots need weeding same as the garlic. Other than that I don’t think I have any problems. But I’ve been wrong before.

stripped down

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Willow has now been properly stripped. Lisa and I held her in place and pulled out all the loose hair. Now she looks like a smooth Dachshund with furry paws and a terriers face.

Willow doesn’t like getting stripped or having her nails cut. It is a bit of a wrestling match and it is important she knows she is going to have it done even if she doesn’t like it. It is usually me who is the bad guy in these situations. It’s funny, because she seems to forget any hostilities right after, and we go back to being the best of friends.

Willow does enjoy a bath though. I am sure she would jump in Lisa’s bath at the first hint of an invitation. I tell Willow not to feel bad, Lisa banned me from her bath a long time ago when I started displacing too much water.

***

The garden is coming along. It’s been chilly the last week. Rain on and off. The tomatoes look stunted. The lettuce and mustard greens are chugging along and we can’t eat them or give them away fast enough. Mid winter, I often think, I’d die for a spring salad. Now they are so plentiful. I’m thinking to save time, I might just go out to the garden and get down on my hands and knees and munch the leaves right down to the soil. It would save time picking, washing and putting on dressing. I could always chug some olive oil and lemon juice later if I was left wanting.

The garlic scapes are coming ready and we have been enjoying quite a few. They are humdingers – hot and spicy! Delicious raw! While I lay in bed last night I thought, shit, I’ve overdone it on the garlic.

***

While driving over the overpass today I saw an old guy on the sidewalk. He was walking slow, shuffling like he was on a patch of ice. He had a hundred yards of sidewalk in either direction before he could rest. Cars whizzing by. He was on his own.

I figure somebody, maybe even a doctor, told him to get out and get some exercise. He figured he walked the overpass plenty of times before, so he set out. He was dressed nice. He looked like a tourist or second home owner.

I worried for him. Not because he looked shaky, but because he looked like he didn’t have a purpose. Going for a walk is never enough. It’s better to be out checking the height of the river, the progress of bulldozers building a dyke or the next condominiums, or the species of birds landing on the wetlands, all the while contemplating a desire to walk the liquor store isles, pushing the need to collect bottles and cans to pay for another snort. And then another walk in the spring sun admiring the girls wearing less.

Or something like that.

***

Willow seems small without her wire hair. She better get her shit together and grow it back in a hurry. . . at least before winter.

Palliser Pass

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Tag: poetry