It wasn’t a photo excursion. We were driving from a doctor’s office to the mall. To PetSmart, to get extra dog food. And biscuits. Have to make sure the doggies have plenty of kibble and biscuits. They’ve never missed a meal and I wouldn’t want this to be the first time.


The road between North Street and Route 140 is lovely. The woods are bright because its is dominated by alders. They turn bright yellow in the fall, and unlike the oak, they don’t form a canopy to block the sun.


The train tracks cross the road, though I’ve never seen a train. We have train tracks running through Uxbridge too, but no train station … not any more. What used to be the train station is now a real estate office. Once a week, you can hear the wail of the train’s whistle as it rumbles through, coming from somewhere. Going somewhere else.


I don’t know what it is about this train crossing, but I love it. Something about the way the road dips and curves. It reminds me of something, but I’m not sure what. It makes me wistful, as if there is a memory somewhere tucked in a corner of my brain … but I don’t know where.


The leaves were bright today. Not at peak. Not quite. At least I don’t think they are at peak … yet they are falling, even before many of the trees have changed color. It’s as if autumn has been short-circuited. Is it the lack of rain?


One year ago, we were on the road to Jackman, Maine. Autumn in northern New England. This year, the leaves have barely begun to change. Strange.



Right outside the window, there is … or was … a cornfield. This morning, the harvesting machinery showed up and the cornfield went away.


This particular corn is not “people corn” but silage, for the cows to eat in the winter, so it is ground up during the harvesting process.

One September morning in Vermont …


To the sea again …

Marilyn Armstrong:

Because it’s beautiful … and brings back memories …

Originally posted on My Favorite Westerns:

A Dedication to Marilyn and Garry of Serendipity Blog

May your sails be full
and a fair wind blowin’ …


Sea Fever

I must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,
And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by,
And the wheel’s kick and the wind’s song and the white sail’s shaking,
And a grey mist on the sea’s face, and a grey dawn breaking.

I must go down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide
Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;
And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,
And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the sea-gulls crying.

I must go down to the seas again, to the vagrant gypsy life,
To the gull’s way and the…

View original 38 more words



Welcome everyone to Cee’s Which Way Photo Challenge.  This challenge subject is all about capturing the roads, walks, trails, rails, we move from one place to another on.

The tree farm up the street, just a few doors down.

This is the tree farm up the street. It’s just a few doors up the road from our house. We got married here. I believe it was our third vow renewal.

Follow the road until you see acres and acres of baby Christmas trees!

Follow the road until you see acres and acres of baby Christmas trees!

The south end of the historic horseback riding trail that crosses our road at Arrowhead Acres.

The south end of the historic horseback riding trail that crosses our road at Arrowhead Acres.

I stuck close to home today. Because the valley in which I live is blooming. Flowers and trees. Green, the deep green of full summer.


I live in the Blackstone Valley where no one tells you nothing. When weather people stand in the studio and do their predicting, they position themselves so you can see the entire Commonwealth of Massachusetts. Except where we live because that’s where they stand.


I asked our friend, the trustworthy meteorologist (there is one and he is it) about this. He said, “Well, we have to stand somewhere.” But on his next broadcast, he moved aside for a few seconds so that I could see the map. Thanks!

When anyone mentions the valley at all, it’s Worcester. The rest of our towns don’t exist. I have learned to read weather maps because I’m not going to get information any other way. Dinosaurs could be roaming the Valley, and no one would notice unless one of them ate a tourist.


Now that we’re turning the corner to warm weather, I can take a deep breath and relax. It’s a quiet weather period, usually.

The past couple of months gave us a big dose of weather frenzy. Most of it was on the money, unlike previous winters when the frenzy exceeded reality by 100%, give or take a few points. I was numb from the hyperbole of previous years, so I ignored the warnings. When the first, huge blizzard hit at the end of January, we were unprepared. I hadn’t even bought extra groceries.


The frenzy isn’t harmless.

Weather sells. It pulls in viewers. When hurricanes or blizzards threaten, people who normally don’t watch the news tune in. Higher ratings, lots of teasers.

“Seven feet of snow on the way!! Will you be buried tomorrow? Story at 11!” It’s money in the bank. Doom is a perennial best-seller.


TV stations like to whip everyone into a frenzy. It’s good business. Weather predictions don’t carry issues of journalistic responsibility. No one can call you to task for being wrong because, after all, it’s the weather.

The frenzy is not harmless. Every weather event is presented as if it’s the end of the world. It’s impossible to figure out if this next thing is serious or more of the same.

Should we lay in supplies? Ignore it? Plan to evacuate? Fill all the water containers? Cancel travel plans? Make travel plans? Head for public shelters?


Hysteria is exhausting and worse, it’s numbing. Some of us worry about the possibility of weeks without electricity. Telling us our world is ending is upsetting if you believe it. It is even more dangerous if it’s serious, and we don’t believe it.

They shouldn’t say that stuff unless it’s true. Or might be true. At the least, it’s rude to scare us to death, and then say “Sorry folks.”

You can’t unring the bell. When the real deal occurs — as it did this winter — we don’t listen. Weather forecasting may not be legally subject to standards or accuracy, but maintaining credibility might be worthwhile. I’m just saying, you know?