I wonder sometimes if it's too late. I played Paul Bunyan (jr) this afternoon and now have a great westward view of the lake from the palace. But I waited too long for the sunset.
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I wonder sometimes if it's too late. I played Paul Bunyan (jr) this afternoon and now have a great westward view of the lake from the palace. But I waited too long for the sunset.
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  As I crossed the deck a few minutes ago a dozen small birds flew in and settled in my two planters of geraniums.
The closest ones were only about two feet from where I stood so I slowly and carefully pulled the phone from my pocket and took these pictures before they spooked and flew. I believe they are waxwings, but must be juveniles as they were mostly gray except for a yellow tail stripe and black eye patches. I'll investigate further when I get home to my computer. Meantime, any thoughts as to whether these are Cedar or Bohemian Waxwings?  Moyra gave me a small gift this morning before our walleye brunch at camp. It was a hand cranked food processor - perfect for out here where we run on solar power and are conscious and careful of our electricity use. Tonight I decided to try it out in preparation for a modified surf and turf dinner I plunked an onion into the gizmo, gave 'er a few cranks, and gazed in amazement at the gorgeous coarsely chopped onion puree. I then added hunks of a modest size garden zucchini, twirled the handle a few times, and smelled a beautiful sight that would set my Newfoundland friends exclaiming, "Lord, lifting thundering Jesus..." Along the way I cut in a head of cauliflower, poured in some cornmeal, added shredded parmisian and cheddar cheese, a couple eggs, and dumped various spices (especially smoked paprika ) into the bowl, and processed a couple deep fried walleyes into the mixture. Eventually I formed the concoction into small patties that I cooked on a steel griddle in the barbeque. (Sometimes I tell strangers that I cook on my girdle - I think they go home and tell their friends that I'm a goof). Look at these! We had small, melt -in-your-mouth- tenderloins, grilled as well. Nice meal combo, but the steaks weren't necessary. Friends have the best ideas!   My friend Kai stopped in early this morning and the two of us slipped out for an hour of fishing. We kept four small walleyes.
I've cleaned the fish and Kai has gone to pick up his wife. He and I are treating our ladies to brunch in the palace - walleyes, corn meal pancakes, eggs, and maybe a small glass of wine. It's a fine way to start Saturday.  Tonight I sat on the opposite side of the fire pit table from where I admired last week's fire.
Last week's view was gorgeous as evening painted itself into night. The lake view highlighted the flames. Beyond the fire, from tonight's vantage, I see glimpses of the water through heavy bush. It is pretty and sings beauty to come as I thin the dense growth in the months ahead. As I wrap the wonders of another bonfire around me, I marvel... Same fire. Different perspective.  When I was a boy, among the ugliest names to be saddled with was yellow-bellied sapsucker. It was an insult, hurled to hurt, meaning sissy, or chicken butt. Last week Mary saw some woodpecker-type birds at camp, but couldn't identify them. The same weekend, a few miles away, my friend Tony Kay saw some birds drilling holes in the wild cherry trees of his yard, and posted a picture, seeking their identity. It took some investigating, and a few days, but eventually we established that these were immature yellow-bellied sapsuckers - not uncommon around here. I've seen two or three of these hanging around camp for the last week. I suspect they are siblings from this summer's hatch and will soon become separated as they migrate to bask for the winter in the sun of the southeastern United States, and even further into Central America. These little guys are ambitious and absolutely charming to share a space with. Does anybody know how such delightful characters became associated with childhood taunts? Here's a yellow-bellied sapsucker photobombing my mid afternoon attempt today to capture the moon rising above our bay at camp. Cheeky little bastard!  Here's a pretty ash tree at camp. The fall yellow leaves fire up with intense brilliance just before they drop.
My friend Steve Nicholson and I have had a good natured debate this summer as to whether this is a white ash or a black ash. Steve believes it's a black ash because it grows right at the lake shore with its roots submerged at high water. His argument is bolstered by the notation in my tree identification book that the black ash, but not the white ash, is native to this part of Ontario. I believe this could be a white ash. The bark pattern certainly supports my thinking, and I don't find any characteristics that fully refute that possibility. Many years ago a friend told me a sure fire way to determine which was which. It had to do with the way buds sprouted on the limbs. " White is tight. Black is slack." It made sense at the time. Darned if I know now. It's a ravishingly brilliant and beautiful tree, but I don't know whether it's black or white.  A Spanish Coffee snuggled up to me beside the palace bonfire after dinner. A million Monarchs migrating to Mexico wouldn't have been more marvelous. This Friday evening is a dance of angels.    Look who I found sitting at the Lakeside Bar this evening. Oscar the Grouse. He seemed to enjoy the view and even left a tip when he departed.
 Does anyone know if this is a Woodland Sunflower? It's quite common around here, but my Ontario flower guidebook shows its distribution in Ontario only in the southwestern part of the province.
It's a beautiful flower, and certainly adds cheery color to a fall landscape. |
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