Memorial Monday

This morning as I lay late in bed listening to stories of war and sacrifice on NPR, I heard the loon's piercing call somewhere out in the Bay. Haven't yet seen one, though I've been watching the water closely.

Yesterday I was thrilled to spot a kingfisher in the trees along the shore. Heard the rattling loud cry--thought at first it was a pileated woodpecker. In 23 years on this lake, I've never before seen a kingfisher. Much, much bigger than a British kingfisher. And oh, so noisy!

This morning I had a Cinderella-among-the-cinders moment down in the boathouse. Scouring the grunge from the water filter with an old toothbrush, I remembered that a friend of mine spent the weekend at the Hay-on-Wye Festival as a featured speaker and generally being fêted. Envious? Well, I do love Hay. And literary festivals. But here I was on Golden Pond, basking in sunshine. It's my understanding that the rains falling on Hay were Biblical in their magnitude.

Today I walked the dogs' legs off them. We had a very lengthy walk late in the morning. Along the way we saw Camp 1907 head into his drive in his flash car, a bright red vintage Corvette convertible. We met 2 and 1/4 dogs. The 2 were large and on rope leashes and live in Massachusetts and their people own the large compound that straddles both sides of the road. The 1/4 dog was very small and poodle-ish and came from the Point and was being walked off-leash, so we altered our route. Jewel is quite certain that the entire lake belongs to her and doesn't take kindly to intruders.

On our final walk, we noticed many an SUV with lifted hatch, as the holidaymakers stowed their possessions and their dogs, large and small. We felt lucky that we needn't leave the lake for a while yet.

Returning to the cottage, I settled on the porch with a small pitcher of homemade Pimm's.



As I sipped and read about fashion and frivolity in the pages of the current Vogue and W and Tatler, Jewel did this...



...and Ruth did this.



So ended a day that felt almost summery--a foretaste of days to come. The expected rains never materialised in these parts. Not yet, anyway.

Spectacular

Last night's sunset.



It got much more vivid and colourful as the light slipped behind the mountains. I watched the show from the porch but couldn't be bothered to leave my chair. Call it lakeside lassitude. I'm already looking forward to an equally fine display later.

What a glorious day! Sunshine, a slight breeze. Some signs of life on the water but it's rather quiet for a holiday weekend. Motorboats are plying the waters, though not in great number. A party of kayakers just went past. And a couple of canoes.

Here's the Big Boat on its morning cruise down the Bay.



Plenty of passengers on board.



Each of the four times I saw it pass by--down the Bay and back, down the Bay and back--I remember the thrill of holding the ginormous wheel in my own wee hands just a few weeks ago.

Future blueberries.



We're having lots of fun. Can you tell?



Ruth is the smiling-est dog I ever knew. And Jewel the most soulful.

Change of Habitation

Ruth and Jewel and I arrived at the Cottage on the Big Lake at midday--the journey is only about 35 minutes. We made the ritual stop at the garden center for some bright annuals for the windowbox and planters.

The dogs believe the main reason we come here is to take long, long walks to the Point, followed by longer naps.

Soon as I stowed the food in the fridge and planted the bright red verbena and impatiens and fresh oregano ripped from my garden at the Lodge, we went walking.

Despite what the sign says, we move pretty fast.



This is a signal but we don't know what it means.



"Camp" is the local/regional vernacular for "lake cottage," and is usually preceded by the world "old" or "fishing" or both. This impressive boulder marks a neighbour's drive.



We, too, call our cottage "Camp." Probably ours wasn't built as early as 1907, but we aren't absolutely sure. It definitely started its life as a fishing camp. And it's certainly old.

Somewhere in our neighbourhood, a pirate is running around without his hat!



Ruth and Jewel waste no time opening the swimming season.



When we return home, we head down to the dock.



While I enjoy the view of the "front yard," they wonder why there are little flowers where last summer's blueberries used to be.



The cottage smells of lily-of-the-valley, because I brought along the loads I picked this morning. While doing so, I spotted the very first rose bud!

Maibowle

Sweet woodruff runs rampant along the front of the Lodge, having spilled out of a shady garden. And I let it run around freely, because it's so pretty, and so useful.

I've picked some sprigs so I can concoct May Wine, or Maibowle. Like feasting on white asparagus--to which I have no access--it's a European tradition in the midst of springtime.

The harvest--



Ideally, May Wine is made with a sweet white wine--a German Rhine wine like Liebfraumilch or something. A young wine is recommended, as presumably the grass-like woodruff infuses it better.

Here's a proper recipe:

Choose a light German white wine, the younger the better. Pour into a bowl. Add a half-ounce of dried sweet woodruff (or four or five freshly dried sprigs) and a couple of tablespoons of sugar, if you like. Cover it. Let it rest in the refrigerator overnight so the wine is infused with the herb's essence. Strain out the herb. Place the wine in a punch bowl, add strawberries and serve cold.

Here's what I did:

I chucked my generous handful of fresh (not dried) herbage (flowers and all) into a vat of whatever white wine the Chap was keeping in the fridge. I didn't even look at the label, but I know it's something dry. (He doesn't like sweet wines; I was practically weaned on them, 'cause my dad lived several years in Germany). I also poured in a little of the blush wine we keep on hand for my personal consumption. When I'm next in the kitchen, I'll throw in some superfine sugar. Haven't got any strawberries, they aren't in yet, and in my opinion they aren't necessary (unless serving guests--the berries lend a festive note.)

My Maibowle will rest throughout the day so it'll be ready tonight. I plan to sip it while sitting on the porch, listening to the birdsong and planning my weekend.

The Go-to Granite Stater

Today my friend Susie, famous Internet Mum and generally fun and funny person (from a fun and funny family whose members write lotsa novels and a brilliant debut novel and perform on NPR radio shows) hit me up for an "official" response to a recent criminal incident on the Seacoast. (Which, coincidentally, most likely occurred while I was cruising the Portsmouth Harbor....)

You'll find me over here.

Rodents & More

I got a pic of one of our two resident snowshoe hares the other evening. One or both can been seen at about the same time, late in the day, enjoying their supper.



Vincent, my special chipmunk friend, who earned his name because at least half of his right ear is missing.



When not scoping out the bird feeders, he sometimes explores the plant table on the big deck.



My fourth mandolin. It's a brooch, and comes in the cutest little mandolin case.



A friend made these earrings for me.



Last night we ate our first fiddleheads of the season.



Had a long day in the House yesterday, concurring--or not--with Senate amendments to various bills.

Last night we were happily surprised--I more than the Chap--by the outcome of American Idol last night. Our guy won!

Today I'm enjoying a quiet day at the Lodge. We had a bit of rain last night. I'm hoping for more today!

Birds of Colour

The many-hued visitors at the feeders over the past 45 minutes.

Oriole


Cardinal


Hummingbird


Rose-breasted Grosbeak


Purple Finch


Blue Jay


Goldfinch

In the Garden

No garden tasks today, apart from gathering cut flowers to adorn the Lodge. Conditions are conducive to outdoor labour, but I must focus on housekeeping, not groundskeeping. It's unseasonably cool, about 56 degrees. Alternately bright and dull. Quite breezy. Not a black fly in sight!

My chipmunk friends are out and about. Here's one of them pretending to be a garden statue.



I love all my tulips, but probably prefer the parrot tulips.



I'm extremely fond of this full-bodied tulip, with peony-like shape.



The bergenia starts out white before turning pink.



I've got two bleeding heart plants. The smaller one--smaller being a relative term--was divided from the mother plant several years ago. A precocious child, it's the first to bloom.



The fringed bleeding heart plants (I have many because they self-sow like crazy) are laden with blossoms.