MORNING IN PEACHAM, VERMONT

I’ll have to tell you about the epic drive across northern New England. Not today, but when I’m a little more recovered. It turns out that all the high speed roads in New England run north-south. If you are way up in the far north and need to go somewhere else, westward, which is also in the far north … there are not a lot of roads.

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It turned out, you take Route 2 out of Skowhegan. After then, just keep driving, driving, driving, driving until you get to Danville, Vermont. Make a left. Voila.

I am omitting the fun details. It was the most awful journey through magnificent, glorious mountains. They took my breath away while dealing with the dreadful driving and primitive roads made us crazy. Ambivalence redefined. Remarkably, we are alive and here in Peacham, Vermont.

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I just have a few of pictures for you of the morning mist rising off the pond, and the river behind the house in which we are absorbing our coffee.

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There are stories to tell and I will tell them, but today … we rest. Recuperate. Breathe. And absorb some of the most incredible scenery in the world.


Reader’s Block - F.Y.I – I haven’t read a book since I went on vacation more than a week ago. Barely written anything, either. C’est la vie.

MY BLUE HERON

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I needed an airing. My cameras needed exercise. So, finally, I got my act together and we went out to take some pictures. Where to go?

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Sometimes, the path of least resistance works out best. We went into town, parked and walked to the Mumford River and the dam. With trepidation. I didn’t know how bad it would be. As it turned out, better than I had hoped, at least for photography.

Because there, right in front of the dam where it used to be deep with a powerful current, stood a blue heron. So still he might have been a statue. Garry spotted him and we dove for our cameras.

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We had nothing to fear. He stood there, unmoving, for so long I thought maybe there was something wrong with him. Then, he started to move. Walked over to the spill way … and grabbed a fish. And swallowed it. Then, in his new position along the side by the spillway, he again went still. I guess he was waiting for another fish. He was still standing there when we packed our gear and headed home.

Mr. Heron catches a fish.

Mr. Heron catches a fish.

The Mumford is very low. It’s no more than a few inches deep, but at least it’s wet. I guess, from the heron’s viewpoint, it’s better this way. Because when the river was “normal,” a wading bird couldn’t fish there.

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NOTHING TO COMPARE

Autumn Leaves – Changing colors, dropping temperatures, pumpkin spice lattes: do these mainstays of Fall fill your heart with warmth — or with dread?


This morning ... our early autumn woods.

This morning … our early autumn woods.

Talk about mixed emotions. I love autumn, by far my favorite season. The color. The smell of the air with that tang I can’t even describe. The sun changes to amber and the entire world glows. Of course, here in New England, foliage rules. In a good year … I hope this will be one such … it is incomparable. Magnificent.

But Autumn also comes bundled with its own sadness. Always there is a melancholy overtone to remind us this is the end of the warm time. The finish of a cycle that began when the ice broke at the end of last winter. Now, the visible shortening of days begins and the chilling of nights.

In our latitudes, snow will follow. Snow, ice, bitter winds will blow. We will hunker down, locked in our houses and wait for spring.

Note: I took all the pictures this morning, between writing the first paragraph and publishing the post. Hot off the presses.