A wild turkey. Too late for Easter and too early for Thanksgiving!
Got the garden in. Better late then never, yet I’ve been later. It all seems to work out, despite my foolish worry and woe.
Wild flower. Venus’s Lady’s Slipper Orchid.
A robin who was singing into the sun turns his back for the camera and scratches it’s ass.
It was good to get out and catch up with the garden. Despite good intentions I am once again behind. Spring always seems to sneak up.
The garden needed digging. The garlic, planted in the fall is not yet up, it could be because it was trampled by the deer before the ground froze. It is hard to say if it will come up. The weeds got shaken and tossed to the side. Tomorrow I plan on running a rototiller through the garden and maybe get a few spuds in the ground. I’ve started a few plants inside, but they are not ready to be put out.
I think we should prepare for another dry one.
During the week Lisa and I headed behind the mountain along the creek. There is more yahoos in the bush then ever. We saw some people shooting down the road. We weren’t in their line, but somebody could have easily been. Before I could think, I was out of my truck and asking them what the hell they thought they were doing. They apologized, which I didn’t give a damn about.
Lisa calmly asked, once I got back in the truck, if my new thing is giving people carrying high powered rifles shit?
The sun felt good today. My head has been clogged with a cold. The first one I can remember in years. My arms are sunburnt and scratched from pulling out the old raspberry canes. Very fine day.
It has been a strange winter so far. The mountains are getting snow, yet very little in the valley bottom. The last week has seen temperatures above freezing during the day. Today was sunny and plus 5°. There is ice on Lake Windermere, but open spots here and there. The ice freezes different than when I was a boy. The open spots are in in other locations. It changed when they filled in some of the wetlands for development. It increased the pull of the river exiting the lake.
Columbia and Windermere Lakes are often described, by experts, to be a widening of the river. When I was young I used to try to see where the current was under the surface of the lake. I imagined a time when the lakes were not as wide. If the banks of the lake looked freshly cut within the last thousand years. I’d squint and remove the railway tracks and the few homes along the shore. I would look for schools of fish, under the ice, how they moved, if they were being fed by the years dead insects and animals finally loose on the current. During summer, I would swim the width of the lake feeling where I would get cold from water moving quicker under the hot sun. I would confirm it swimming back.
It is a lot tougher now trying to figure out the current. My father and I used to venture onto the ice, early in winter, when it was safe. We would put up a tree in the places the last of the ice froze, to warn people of thin ice. It was the same spots year after year. My father said there was a spring under the ice in those spots. The tree always looked like an undecorated Christmas tree. The warning was observed, everybody knew.
Now, the lake freezes later. The weak spots are more plentiful. The current doesn’t meander like it used to. I ask myself, why should it be different? The snow is coming. I know that.
This one is lucky I traded my rifle for a camera.
There is a time you realize everything you thought was big isn’t really.
The bush around our house was thick. It was built between town, the train tracks and the lake. The bush was overgrown. I thought it could hide just about anything. Indians would get their liquor and walk over the bank. They would fuck and fight. Laugh and cry. Freeze to death, at times just die. Sometimes they would smash our forts. Young guys mostly, before pure sorrow took over their souls and made them drunks.
Reaching the creek bottom.
In the trees, we drank their stashed wine and thumbed through Penthouse magazines, found behind the bookstore. At night if there was a fight in the house I’d escape into those trees. I’d break branches off fir and bury myself under moss. No need for a fire, every branch accounted for and smoke gives your position away.
Even now, while in the bush, it becomes my whole world. It’s a downfall really, when the Royal Group is as far away as France. When the distance across the Kootenay is equivalent to the span of the Atlantic.
A cathedral, the only thing missing is a preacher, thank God!
Walking the mountains is awarding, regardless of illusion, the colours at this time of year are vibrant. A trout on the line renders the chill forgotten.
It’s not the biggest world, but I can still get lost in it.
he blurted it out.
we were talking
shit i can’t
he pipes up
out of nowhere.
he s about
in the crew
bad break up
yup he says
it’s what the
porn stars use.
can it increase
he was laughing
of his lips.
doctor says my
smooth and about
a man my age
but when i wank
it s like stepping
on the end of a
was digging in
his lunch kit
for an energy bar.
don’t know about that
eat a bunch of
the night before.
and a tin of
a turkey leg
ole’ denny was
for a spoon
in his beans.
it s not
you have to
up to it.