Lynching at J Creek

I’ve walked a mile to the creek approximately 167 times since we moved to NC. I’m sure I’ve seen at least one new thing on every walk. Today I was enjoying the lovely sound of water rushing over rocks when I noticed a bottle hanging from the bridge. It was swaying lifelessly in the breeze from its invisible tether. Curiosity compelled me to go on the bridge where I found a fine nylon string tied to a reflector. The lynching of the bottle was a deliberate thing. My questions are, “Why? What did that bottle do to deserve such an untimely end? Will it be left for weeks as a warning to other bottles?”

I stop to speak to the four sheep and a new lamb whenever they are close enough to the road to hear me. I checked twice and saw only four animals. Walking on, I saw the fifth in the next pasture. The lamb bleated, and the sheep I was looking at stopped eating and shouted bah-aack. I’m wondering if the lamb is being weaned.

My mother loved the pileated woodpecker she saw in the thicket behind our house in West Tennessee. I suspect she identified with it, being reserved and reclusive herself. Once she pointed it out to me when I happened to be standing next to her at the back of the property. Fast forward 60 years, and I had a clear sighting on our own post. John and I were eating breakfast inside when I saw the large bird land on the wooden fence. He checked out several sections before I scared him away trying to get his picture. Come to think of it, our family resembles that bird. Our son $ is as camera shy as the woodpecker.

Little Lamb and Mailboxes Ajar

The lamb is growing quickly, and I finally got a photo of it that wasn’t too far away or blurred. He follows his mama closely, sometimes hopping with exuberance. I tore myself away by looking forward to seeing him again on the way back.

As I walked up our street, I noticed that Joyce’ mailbox was open. The next one up, the log house, also was agape. That got my attention, so I checked them all, both coming and going in case I absentmindedly missed one. Every mailbox from our house to Qualla was hanging open except for the three lined up at the base of Minerva. Some had mail in them; most were empty. When I came home, I looked at ours, across the street, and at the end. We had been spared the wee hour inspection. Perhaps the culprit was frightened off by the dead end street as it ends at Amy’s steep drive.

I took something down to Amy and found Ron on the porch. By his own admission, mornings are rough. I try to limit the time I spend with him, especially early in the day, being aware that breathing does not come easy. I would have left with the barest of greetings, but he asked how much weight I’d lost. I would love to have answered 50 or some other astronomical number, but the weight has varied only 6 pounds in the last six months. Unfortunately, I proved it by looking at my log. Six pounds wouldn’t even qualify for the yo-yo label. Speaking of weight reminded him of seeing Tina Fey exposing secrets of undergarments that enable stars to appear svelte in tight clothing. It was hilarious.

As I started down the stairs, I said, “That’s great to start the day off with a good laugh.”

Ron chuckled and said, “I find it good to start the day.”

He paused for effect and said, “It’s better than being towed off somewhere.”

Amen to that!

One Walk in Pictures

Tuesday was brought to us by the letter F – fog and frost. Before I left the house around 6:30, I checked the thermometer. It was 36F, a comfortable margin for our new plants. Frost was forecast for higher elevations. We made it through, or so I thought. There was nothing unusual about the day until I went down the steep hill and found the valley overlaid with fog. Taking a picture was useless, since all you would have seen was white blankness. The first bit of color was on the bank of the creek – little yellow buttercups. These same plants were under water only a week ago after heavy rain. The creek is back to its normal winter level. 0402815 Buttercups by the creek

After seeing the creek, I walked past the firehouse as the sun struggled to gain mastery over the fog.

The fog was still winning as I walked back up the hill, but I looked south and greeted the tops of the mountains there.

Coming back to our street, I was surprised to see white on the rooftops. Frost? As I took the newspaper out of its box, I saw bumps on top. I thought they were water drops that would move as I touched them, but they were cold and solid — ice! Oh! No!

I rushed to the deck to see what had happened to the new plants. The sun made the railing sparkle, and there was a thin layer of ice on the leaves. Twelve hours later the plants are still standing tall, so I think they won the frosty battle this time.