RED, ORANGE, GOLD

Local Color — Imagine we lived in a world that’s all of a sudden devoid of color, but where you’re given the option to have just one object keep its original hue. Which object (and which color) would that be?


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This is the wrong time of year to ask that questions. My world has been saturated with the richest colors of nature’s spectrum and I am unable to make such a choice. Though if I must pick an object — or “class of objects” — it would have to be “trees.” In this part of the world, trees are showtime. The heart and soul of every season.

Two red lawn chairs are bright in a wintry woods.

Winter strips the color effectively enough. We live in a black-and-white world from December through March, only traffic lights blinking in red, yellow, and green. And Christmas decorations — red, green, more red, more green.

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I wear bright coats and sweaters to compensate for the paled-out world, the utter silent whiteness of it all. Red is the color that holds its own throughout white days and nights.

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So I’ll keep red. And, if you don’t mind, I’ll also hang on to red’s close cousins, the oranges and warm yellows. You can build a whole world with those colors. I know. I’ve been living in that world for weeks.

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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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