Happy Halloween!

Oh sNOw!

This view isn't normal for 30 October. It doesn't even rise to the level of abnormal. In fact, it's apocalyptic.

As you see, we experienced historic snowfall overnight. Not merely for the date (29-30 October) but we seem to have set a record for amount of snow totals within roughly a 12-hour time period--in any season! It's unprecedented even for mid-winter.

Around the Lodge are spots covered with about 18 inches of snow, and other areas where nearly 2 feet accumulated, far, far in excess of what we initially were led to expect. Our snow plow man is getting an early start to his busy season. We lost power, and are thankful for the generator.

The sun is now out, the skies have cleared, the snow has begun melting. But with so much, it won't go away any time soon.

Pre-Halloween Horror

Early snowfall--fun or fearsome? Hard to say.

What's unusual about this first snow is the timing. We still have vividly-tinted golden and orange trees, here and there. The combination of autumn foliage and white snow is strange...yet beautiful.

It's a sunny, blue-sky day. I had occasion to take a long country drive through hilly terrain with mountain vistas. Breathtaking views.

We're having a break today, but there's snow on the way, perhaps even our first Nor'Easter tomorrow night. Predicted snowfall amounts of 3 to 6 inches. That's quite a lot for October! Even for November!

Ruth and Jewel opened their Snow Wrestling season this morning. Even though the conditions weren't exactly stellar.

More Typical of the Season

The roses are still blooming and budding...even my forsythia is responding to the mildness by throwing out a few yellow blossoms.

Otherwise, the views and colours round the Lodge are appropriately autumnal.

What Season?

My calendar says it's mid-October. The vividly coloured leaves and the persistent winds (all too rapidly shearing said leaves from the trees) say it too.

But the mild days and cool nights and frequent rains--sometimes gentle, sometimes heavy--make the roses think it's prime season for blooming. Several of them are putting on a lovely late display. I'm tempted to cut the blossoms and bring them indoors. But it's so nice--if incongruous--to see roses in the garden surrounded by fall foliage that I'm leaving them in place...unless a hard freeze comes along.

The View From My Window on Andrew Sullivan's The Dish, Redux

For the second time one of my Big Lake photos has been featured on Andrew Sullivan's blog.

The View From Your Window.

Last time it was a summer view of the M.S. Mount Washington sailing past Mount Major.

Wedding Anniversary

On which we celebrate and joyfully remember a wonderful, happy, and enjoyable day--and the many wonderful, happy, and enjoyable years that followed.

Return of the Sun

I did my usual (at least for now) Thursday to Tuesday stint at the lake cottage. It was characterised by incessant rain, very damp dog-walking sessions, and piercing silence. No loons in the Bay. No seasonal neighbours puttering about with their hammers and chainsaws and motorboats. And the fog so thick on Sunday that I missed all the crossings of the Big White Boat.

My search committee beat its October 1st deadline by a day, all the materials were uploaded and all went smoothly and feedback has been positive. After lots of mental and creative activity, my brain could rest.

Under these conditions, not surprising that I achieved much writing and much itinerary planning. The Chap was with us for about 24 hours. He continued with some closing-up tasks (in the rain) and helped with the dog-walking and brewed the Sunday morning coffee.

Yesterday I had a meeting, very likely my last, for a committee on which I've served something like 8 years. We ran a bit later than usual and I didn't begin the homeward drive until about a quarter past 6. I was startled by how dark it was at that hour.

The sunshine returned today after a long, long absence. Leaves are falling, the chipmunks and squirrels frantically dart about gathering food, and in some places the foliage is quite vivid, though still far from peak. The seasonal views will be much improved by the lifting of that curtain of cloud and fog and rain we've got used to.

Big day tomorrow,annual celebration. Rain or shine, this is always one of my favourite weeks of the year!

At the Setting of the Sun

Sunday's sunset over the Bay. Amazing to watch, with a quick conclusion. Darkness falls so swiftly at this time of year. Only, it doesn't exactly feel like "this time of year" because it's so warm and summer-like.

I returned to the Lodge Monday afternoon, for an appointment in Concord, and Tuesday meetings.

Yesterday morning a friend of mine died, exactly a month after his illness was diagnosed. We had a double connection, not only was he the husband of a dear friend and fellow diocesan volunteer, he and I served together for 2 terms in the Legislature. He was one of my favourite colleagues. He celebrated his 74th birthday a couple of days ago, in the Hospice House--where they let his beloved dog visit--and passed peacefully away surrounded by family. I last saw him at a mutual friend's house, for a dinner party, enjoying wine and food and laughter--and he insisted on a second piece of my Key lime pie.

I hadn't seen them lately, they spend summer and early fall at their farm in Maine. They had invited the Chap and me to visit. But by the time our summer parties and Montreal trips and other things were behind us, and I started to view the calendar with thoughts of a getaway to Maine, our friends were receiving the diagnosis and left the farm for rounds of tests and hospitals and bad news.

There's always comfort in these situations. The closeness of family and friends, the knowledge of a life well lived and well used. I can't regret that his suffering is ended, but I mourn lost opportunities to spend time with someone I valued.

It's a time to hug my husband tight, and cuddle my dogs a lot.

Today I'm having my last weekly mandolin lesson for a long while. I will resume in about 5 months, at the time of my birthday in March. Of course I'm not giving up the instrument, not after my investment in time and money, and the progress I've made. But I've decided it would be better to downsize my schedule, for several reasons. As well, I'm planning a trip and will be out of the country for a bit, and after I return one of my diocesan committees will enter a really instense phase of work lasting till mid-March.

Oh, and there's a novel I really should finish writing! Two of them, in fact.

Sunday Solitude

The doggie girls and I arrived at the cottage on Friday. This pair of loons greeted us in their singsong fashion, and loitered at the dock for the longest time.



In this little video you can hear Jewel fussing at me for not taking her to the dock with me, when I went down to film the loons.



It was a grey afternoon but so very humid, and the lake completely deserted. The Chap joined late in the afternoon and grilled burgers for our supper. It rained all night, sometimes heavily.

Yesterday was also humid and warm, but brighter. The loons returned--a threesome--and entertained us as they slowly journeyed across the Bay. After lunch our Friends From the North Country arrived and spent the afternoon. We headed to El Centenario in Wolfeboro for a delicious dinner.

Today the Chap went to church and afterwards will have a Seacoast shopping expedition. The girls and I are staying till tomorrow. We had a wonderful walk this sunny morning. I could easily imagine it to be Midsummer, but for the ripe haycorns and leaves upon the forest floor, and the changing foliage.

No sign of loons yet today--heard them calling at dawn--but the Big White Boat has made its first journey up and down the bay. It will be back in about an hour's time.



There's not much other boat traffic. The high Season is definitely over. The remaining summer residents are taking their watercraft out of the water and packing up their vehicles to journey south.

With a busy and momentous week behind me, and another ahead of me, I'm enjoying the peacefulness of lake living.

Quiet Weekends

Even here on the Big Lake, a tourist and weekend mecca, things have got really quiet. The seasonal neighbours are departing, there are very few boats zipping up and down our Bay, even on a Saturday.

The leaves of some trees are already on the turn, though in the Lakes Region and southwards, the prevailing colour is still green. Considering the overnight temperatures, I don't think that will be true for much longer. We were threatened with 38 degrees overnight. This turned out to be overly pessimistic, but there's a decided chill in the air today. We'll be having a fire in our fieldstone fireplace tonight here at the cottage! Our furnace is in good working order.

I've just completed another hectic and demanding week, with another ahead of me. So this long weekend by the water--though I've brought work along--is a nice change. The Chap has been running errands in the village. He returned with news of having spotted four loons down the road at the little beach/boat launch area. Perhaps they'll swim this way.

Finally got round to reading Hilary Mantel's Wolf Hall, the historical novel about Thomas Cromwell and Henry VIII's divorce. (About 2 years after it garnered the Booker Prize and various other richly deserved honours.) I'm already salivating for the sequel.

I've read other books as well. I really need to update the sidebar list of what I've been reading. Might not happen till October.

I'll soon be releasing this dear little deer mouse, which has lived with us at the Lodge for the past fortnight.



Not much other news...well, nothing I'm able to share at the moment.

9.10.11

“We do not actually need anniversaries when there are things we cannot forget." Colum McCann, The New Yorker, September 12, 2011

The date 9.10.01, is meaningful to me for what I can’t remember about it. A decade ago, this turned out to be the last day of my former life…the “old normal.” For 10 years now, the 9/11 anniversary has been the point at which I chart a massive shift in my priorities and a re-ordering of my life.

I remember the days before and after 9.10.01 far better than the day itself.

On the day before, a Sunday, my parish held its annual outdoor service and picnic in the park. It was a pleasant, sunny morning. My husband and I took our contribution to the potluck, and afterwards he manned the grill. I chatted with fellow parishioners. Possibly I talked of our recent journey to London, Brussels and Bruges, or to Washington. I’m sure I spoke of upcoming travels—his impending trip to Madison, WI. Our journey—booked the previous weekend—to London and Paris. Camera in hand, my trusty Konica 35mm, I shot the kids on the swings, the people wading calf-deep in the Town Pond. We returned home, he to pack, me to do something. Perhaps we walked the dogs…the beloved, devoted predecessors of the ones we now have.

What happened on 9.10.01? He rose very early that Monday morning to catch his flight from MHT. A sleepy kiss, a “Be good, girls,” to the dogs. A solo breakfast while slumber dragged me back down, then off to the airport. This was our routine, so familiar. He would be back at midweek. Or so we assumed that morning.

How did I spend that last day of old normal? I never can recall. I’m sure I drank many cups of tea. Maybe puttered in my garden. Pondered what to have for my solitary dinner at day’s end. I was a writer in transition, seeking a new direction to my career after 12 published books. It was time of exploration, I had an invigorating sense of freedom—tempered by uncertainty about what I ought to be writing. I was intensively researching a nonfiction theatrical and literary biography while simultaneously noodling about with a contemporary relationship novel, but wondering if it was time to dust of a synopsis of another Irish book.

Just two days earlier, over in Scotland, my parents had celebrated a milestone wedding anniversary. I’d faxed them a “card” with their wedding photo embedded in it, and had rung them to offer congratulations. My brother was the quintessential professional guy, doing his thing in Atlanta. My maternal grandparents, the only ones I had left, were safely cocooned in their nursing home. That day I couldn’t guess the remainder of my grandfather’s extremely long life could have been measured in weeks. When someone attains the great age of 99 years, eventually you assume he is immortal.

At some point before I went to bed that night, my husband called in. He’d spent the evening with his university mates and a boyhood friend living in Madison. Whenever he stopped in town, they gathered for dinner and drinks. He’d flown out on Monday to accommodate this reunion. Thank God.

With the spouse away, I could read late into the night and well into the next morning. What book, I wonder, kept me up through the earliest hours of 9/11? I have no idea. But I read and I read until, no doubt, I dozed with the book propped on my chest. At some point I switched off the light.

As I groggily came awake, at approximately 8:50 on Tuesday, September 11, 2001, I was aware of the local public radio announcer’s voice reporting the collision of a “small private plane” with one of the World Trade Center towers. A couple of weeks before that morning, my husband and I had taken an early morning flight from Manchester down to Washington, DC. The mention of the towers triggered a very fresh memory—an early flight down the East Coast, our plane following the Hudson River south, edging Manhattan. It was just past dawn, and the first rays of orange and golden sunshine was lighting the lower portion of the island, reflecting beautifully from the twin towers.

I’d never much liked those buildings. It wasn’t a part of the city I cared about, or visited often—it was too removed from the Theatre District, the Waldorf, Fifth Avenue, Madison Avenue, the best shopping, Lincoln Center, the museums. But in the colourful light of a new day, the towers looked so beautiful, they and the adjacent water magically shimmering. My final view of them, in person, from above, was by far the best.

My 9/11 story is one of lonely despair. Airports closed, meaning my husband couldn’t get home. (Eventually he hired a car and drove cross country, from Wisconsin to New Hampshire.) My parents in Scotland were horrified by events, but so far removed. My cousins in New York were too close to the tragedy. A schoolmate perished in the Pentagon. Shanksville was every frequent flyer’s greatest nightmare made real.

Apart from the people in my small parish and a few locals, I had very few friends or contacts nearby. Lack of sleep (all that late-night reading), non-stop tv and radio coverage, tears, had wrung me out, messed with my head. Every time I put the dogs outside, I almost believed that terrorists were lurking in my own forest, about to pounce, to take advantage of my utter defencelessness. It’s hard enough to find our woodland abode with GPS…but fireballs and pancaking skyscrapers had obliterated logic.

So how did all this change my life from what it was 10 years ago today?

I actively sought the comforts of community. On Wednesday night I attended a special service at my church. (I drove bravely through the night, there and back, even though I knew terrorists might be tailing me.) A small thing, yet for me a very big initial step leading to significant engagement with my spiritual community. The knowledge that God is present and accessible in our worst times, a prayerful focus on hope and peace and unity in the midst of division—how we needed to hold on to these. And only Christians, but people of all faiths or none. Within months I was volunteering at the diocesan level, serving on high profile committees and smaller task forces. My sense of community expanded beyond my experience or imagining.

I answered a strangely compelling call to public service. The following year both I and my husband were candidates (unsuccessful) for statewide office. Four years later I ran again and was elected, and re-elected, to the House of Representatives. My four years there were rich in learning and accomplishment. I served on a nonprofit board. I joined local organisations. We served on the committee to build a new library in town and were major donors to the project.

I re-committed myself to world citizenship. In the panicked days following 9/11, when the thought of boarding planes was anathema, we didn’t cancel our trip to London and Paris. The following spring, as Baghdad fell, we were in London and Dublin. And so it continued, every year since. As usual, we spent this Labor Day Weekend firming up plans for the next jaunt.

Our working lives differ now. My husband continued in his profession but as a solo entrepreneur, focusing on international clients, in complete charge of his projects and schedule and travel. Eventually the strain of overseas commuting persuaded him to seek employment closer to home. He now works in an office, using the same skills in a different arena, with only a 20-minute drive door-to-door.

As for my work, I continued to pursue literary reinvention. But after a decade and a half cloistered in my home, tapping a keyboard, I felt an urge to go out into the world. I took a part-time office job—customer service—not too far from home. When the desire to resume full-time writing returned, I gave up the position. A few years later I took another part-time job, as a temporary fill-in, at a community college. Both experiences were positive, and proof that my default setting of “hermit” needs periodic adjustment.

We also felt it necessary to contribute to the economy and support the local labour force. Two weeks after 9/11, I bought a car. Not long after that we added a room and a third deck to the house. Then we completely renovated the master bathroom. Next came a kitchen upgrade. Then another bathroom. In the midst of recession, I bought another car. Yes, these purchases and alterations enhanced our comfort, but as we entered into them, we acknowledged their intended stimulus effect.

It has been a busy, bittersweet 10 years since the Monday that I can’t clearly remember. I’ve been interested to read and hear the reflections and remembrances of others—some closely, unbearably scarred by the multiple tragedies imposed by attack and warfare and economic distress. Others who have more distant, objective responses to all that has occurred. A decade is a big chunk of time to characterize and distill, whether personally or nationally or universally. I didn’t think I would want to, and I’m not entirely sure why I have done, or why I’m publicly sharing it.

I only know that hardly a day has passed that I haven’t thought about 9/11/01. I won’t be writing about it tomorrow, that much I know. It will be a time for feeling, not composing. Today, in preparation, I felt especially retrospective about 9/10, of what has changed since then. And what has not.

Intact

Saturday was undoubtedly the most beautiful day of summer. It was clear and pleasant, hardly a cloud in the perfectly blue sky. Difficult as it was to fathom, given the conditions, we knew Hurricane Irene was on her way. The Chap got the chainsaw out and removed some young trees close to the electrical wires and telephone cables. I took planters off the deck railing and brought some garden statues indoors.

Sunday was rainy and windy and everything one expects of a tropical storm--she'd been downgraded by the time she arrived. The Chap intended to go to church, but I dissuaded him. "It's just a bad storm now...who knows what conditions will be like when you're trying to get home?"

We lost electrical power, as expected. Our generator came on automatically, so we had all major appliances, water pump, satellite tv, internet, radio. It wouldn't have surprised us to go quite a long time without electricity, but it was miraculously restored 5 hours later. The winds were fierce. A very large tub on the deck blew over, but the runner beans and morning glories were unscathed. The gale sheared small branches and twigs and lots of leaves from the trees. Ruth and Jewel were fussy about going outside, which was necessary a few times, and when they came back inside they were soaking, we had to towel them off. That's their favourite part of being wet, the toweling!

Monday was as gorgeous at Saturday, perhaps more so, and Irene was like a brief bad dream--for us. By then we knew that there was major flooding, road destruction, and power outages in other parts of our state and in neighbouring Vermont. People on the Seacoast regarded Irene as a non-event, while inland people were--and are still--suffering greatly.

We checked with neighbours near the cottage on Monday and found out electricity had just returned...it was out for about 24 hours. We drove there--oh, my, big trees knocked down along the highway, reminding me of the tornado a few years back--stopping for lobsters at the market. It was a friend's birthday, we'd planned his party by the lake. That plan was unaffected, and we were glad to host him because he'd been without power.

The chaps went swimming. (Water is down to 70 degrees, so I didn't go in!) My chap put the canoe back in the water. We feasted on our friend's fresh tomatoes in a caprese salad.




After the Chap hypnotised the lobsters, we steamed them. The summer feast also included fresh corn on the cob. After the meal we ate a chocolate cake I'd made...first time using the recipe for cake and frosting, and the combination was a triumph.

We returned to the Lodge later that night. Yesterday (Tuesday) it was back to the office for the Chap, and back-to-back meetings for me.

The lake is calling to me, so I'm returning later today. The silence and peace of it is delightful. All the holiday-makers and weekenders have departed (some will return for the Labor Day weekend). Our summer neighbours are still in residence for a few weeks more, and the year-round folks are returning from their own vacations. (People who live on lakes go other places...chance of scene, change of pace!)

As I enjoy these precious days, I can't help but remember that so many people are isolated due to swollen rivers or ruptured roads, and have no lights or any way to get supplies. My heart goes out to them.

Weather Fair & Foul

On Monday the Chap and I were at the lake cottage. We transported our Old Town kevlar canoe, which has lived at the Lodge for many, many years. We weren't using it on the little lake here so decided it would be more useful on the Big Lake. The canoe there is also an Old Town, an antique wooden canoe made in 1912 (we have the original paperwork.) It's gorgeous but heavy to maneuvre.

It was a glorious, breezy day.



The Chap and his brother (in front) take the canoe down the steps.



In its new location beside the dock.



However, with Hurricane Irene on her way, due to arrive this weekend, the canoe will be removed from the water and safely tucked inside the boat house.

We had planned to be at the cottage--which survived the fearsome 1938 hurricane. But it's better to ride out the storm here at the Lodge, where we have a generator in case of power outages, and lots of food and a garage to protect 2/3 of our fleet of cars.

We sharing our habitat with another little deer mouse.





My long absence from blogging is due to a writing project, lots of meetings, preparations for various visitors, other distractions, and scripting for a video in preparation for editing. I look forward to a housebound weekend for pleasure reading and relaxation. What else does one do during a hurricane?

I was driving during Tuesday's earthquake and had no idea it occurred. The Chap was at a meeting in a conference room, and definitely felt the earth waver for several seconds. He was the only one in the group who knew what was happening!

Restless England

Many fellow bloggers and all media outlets on both sides of the Atlanta have covered the rioting in London boroughs and other parts of England. The causes of the unrest have been speculated about endlessly, the reponses debated in every forum.

I've been busy, and busy-ness is comfort. It's also kept me from commenting on these developments in a country that formed me to a great extent and where I return at least once a year. I intend to be there again before the year is out, to see friends and explore family connections.

Historical bloggers are running down the list of English public unrest down the centuries. Americans who haven't set foot in the country for a decade or more are shocked and alarmed. Those familiar with the places wrecked, looted, torched, are outraged.

It's a very small nation crammed with many many people, natives and people from every other land on earth. There is a wide disparity between the classes, and more class distinctions--among immigrants and Britons--than is conceiveable to Americans. It's a potent mix.

I mourn, I rage, I go through all the stages. But I'm not in denial. These eruptions occur--in every generation, under every government. Riots broke out when I was there 8 months ago, the drone of helicopters was omnipresent. Though I hope not, I won't be surprised if it happens next there. It's terrible to see...but to me, based upon my experience, not entirely incomprehensible.

I've seen desperation explode into flames.

Some commentators call it the desperation of the underclass. Some call meanness and yobbishness of modern youth. If only identifying the source of the violence were a means of curing it....

One of the most beautiful and saddest songs Mark Knopfler ever composed describes impotent despair. For me, it sums up how what we think of as social and technological progress is nothing of the kind.

A b&w video of the song performed at RAH. I saw it performed in Montreal last year.




And the lyrics:

A long time ago came a man on a track
Walking thirty miles with a sack on his back
And he put down his load where he thought it was the best
Made a home in the wilderness
Built a cabin and a winter store
And he ploughed up the ground by the cold lake shore
The other travelers came walking down the track
And they never went further, no, they never went back
Then came the churches then came the schools
Then came the lawyers then came the rules
Then came the trains and the trucks with their load
And the dirty old track was the telegraph road

Then came the mines and then came the ore
Then there was the hard times then there was a war
Telegraph sang a song about the world outside
Telegraph road got so deep and so wide
Like a rolling river ...

And my radio says tonight it's gonna freeze
People driving home from the factories
Six lanes of traffic
Three lanes moving slow ...

I used to like to go to work but they shut it down
I got a right to go to work but there's no work here to be found
Yes and they say we're gonna have to pay what's owed
We're gonna have to reap from some seed that's been sowed
And the birds up on the wires and the telegraph poles
They can always fly away from this rain and this cold
You can hear them singing out their telegraph code
All the way down the telegraph road

I'd sooner forget but I remember those nights
Yeah, life was just a bet on a race between the lights
You had your head on my shoulder you had your hand in my hair
Now you act a little colder like you don't seem to care ...
Well just believe in me baby and I'll take you away
From out of this darkness and into the day
From these rivers of headlights these rivers of rain
From the anger that lives on the streets with these names
'cos I've run every red light on memory lane
I've seen desperation explode into flames
And I don't want to see it again ...

From all of these signs saying 'sorry but we're closed'
All the way down the telegraph road

Two Guests

Over a week ago, I adopted another deer mouse. This one was much younger than the previous one.



It slept through the day and ate in the evening. It was such a sound sleeper than I called it Rip, for Rip Van Winkel.

On Thursday my childhood friend (Larry Hamilton knows her real name!) made her annual visit to New Hampshire.

She had her first dinner at La Carreta in Manchester almost as soon as she de-planed.

The next day she and I and the two dogs came to the lake cottage. We stopped along the way at the Pick Your Own fruit farm.

First we picked blueberries.



Then we picked raspberries.



The day after that we went to lunch at El Centenario in Wolfeboro, then shopped at the famous annual Huggins Hospital Fair. After we exited the book tent with our purchases, they announced that everything for sale was half-price. So I got a DKNY merino wool skirt for $2.50 (just marked down from $5.00), and a little purse for the same price and an electric clock AM-FM radio ("tested ok") for only $1! She found some flannel pajamas for $1.50. I hadn't been to the fair for several years (during which we donated stuff but didn't attend) and forgot how amazing it is!

Yesterday we made two pies, they finished baking by the time the Chap arrived from church. (In the photo he took we're wearing the super-cute aprons she bought for us...she brings hers along so we can both wear them while cooking.)



We went to East of Suez for dinner last night. The goat cheese rangoons were everything I hoped, and the Pad Thai was amazing. The Chap and Larry's wife both had Phillipine dishes, pancit noodles and chicken adobo.

Last night the deer mouse seemed to be showing an interest in leaving its temporary habitat. It also became apparent that Rip was a she. So we started calling her Ripa.

This morning we took her to the same place where I released the other mouse.



She climbed up her stick and darted off into a pile of brush.



This was our road trip day, a circumnavigation of Lake Winnipesaukee. (The Chap was dog-sitter and took the girls back home to the Lodge.)

We drove down the Bay and up the other side, arriving at the Tamarack exactly at lunchtime.



We both ordered lobster rolls. It was the most claw meat I've ever had in a single lobster roll!



In Meredith we shopped. And shopped again in Moultonborough at the old Country Store. And lastly in Wolfeboro, where we bought matching t-shirts. When we returned to our dock for adult alcoholic beverages and sunset views, we had a photo op.



For supper we had salmon scrambled eggs with leftovers of the salmon she cooked for me on our first night at the cottage.

The Release

This morning seemed like a good time to release my dear little deer mouse, who lived with the dogs and me at the cottage for 6 days, 5 nights.

I carried the aquarium over to a wooded spot not very near but not too far from our property.

As soon as I removed the lid, he scented the fresh forest air.



Seconds later he was climbing out with no assistance needed from me.



He headed for the nearest tree--an extremely tall one with a wide trunk--and began scaling it.



He paused at a broken branch very high up and gazed down at me--posing for photos. We bade one another a fond farewell and I returned to the cottage to dismantle his habitat (such a cute little burrow he made) and clean the aquarium.

I miss his presence, he was a very undemanding guest. I hope he has a safe and happy life.

Pink Clouds

Cotton candy in the sky at the end of a lovely day.

No more heat wave, after several days of agony today was divine. The Chap spent 25 hours here, each one an improvement. I'm luxuriating in an evening that is still, cool, and calm.

We had guests yesterday, our Friends From the North Country and their dog Oliver, wee Ruth's handsome poodle boyfriend. Walks, swimming, a cookout, conversation on the porch, reminiscing about the wedding that took place here 1 year minus 1 week ago.

My dear little deer mouse is still living in its glass-walled habitat. It has burrowed a hole and seems comfortable. Still sleeps away the day and a bit more active at night. Plans for release back into the wild--at a distance from the cottage but a place as safe from predators as possible--have been formed, rejected, revised.

Here it is, sleeping sweetly tonight, on the surface and not in its hole. It likes being in the hole during the daytime.

Living with Nature

Although in fact, it's more a case of nature living with me. Temporarily.

This deer mouse is co-habiting with me at the lake cottage.



He's nocturnal, so after the activity pictured here, he curled up in a little ball and is sleeping soundly.

The heat wave that made so much of the rest of the country miserable has found its way to us. I had the option of being at the Lodge, well-insualted and multi-level thus cooller. Or coming to the cottage as planned, where a cool-ish lake is right outside. Its temperature was 80 degrees when I went in yesterday, soon after my arrival. Doesn't get much warmer than that.

So far, today isn't as dire as predicted. The air is moving, quite a strong breeze at the moment, which helps. It's "only" 83 degrees outside, though the prediction was for 10 degrees beyond that, and threats of 100 degrees in the southernmost part of the state.

State officials advise us to avoid exertion and keep well hydrated. After our morning walk, the girls were panting heavily and drank lots of water. Now, like the dear little deer mouse, they are sleeping the day away!

C D B!

See de bee?

On rosa rugosa alba



on Celsiana



Busy times, no matter where I might be. Lots of activity in Concord last week, various meetings and such. A quick trip to Portsmouth yesterday for dinner with our friend Tess Gerritsen and her husband at a fantastic new seafood (mostly) restaurant with glorious view of the harbour. Can't wait to go back! We had a lovely time catching up on family & travel & career news--and eating awesome seafood. Beautiful day.

Having finished inside renovations/updates (kitchen, 2 baths) in the past few years, we're having the outside of the Lodge painted. Power-washing took place on Thursday, and the Chap and I spent a couple of days mulling over paint colour options. The one called Lodge Brown was quiet naturally irresistible. However, we did resist and rather than going quite so dark chose Pine Cone for the clapboards and Hunt Club (a dark green) for the trim. The main colour is a change from what we've got now (Filbert) but the trim isn't. The painters begin on Monday.

Here's my friend the chipmunk, eating the core of my breakfast pear this morning.



I'm at the lake cottage, preparing for our church cookout/picnic tomorrow afternoon. The weather will not only be bright, but also quite hot, so all have been advised to come prepared for swimming as well as eating. The house is full of flowers, I brought bucket of them to do arrangements.

Ruth & Jewel weren't invited to the party. We'll make it up to them.

We had a fun July 4th at the lake cottage. Met friends for lunch in Wolfeboro at our go-to Mexican restaurant there. They then came to the cottage for an afternoon of conversation, swimming, and dogs.

Ruth was reunited with her boyfriend, Oliver, whom she hadn't seen for nearly a year when his people married at the cottage. She likes to kiss him.



They had a really nice walk together, and she tried to teach him to swim. Because Jewel doesn't mingle well with other dogs, she stayed in the house while we were down at the dock. But she got plenty of attention, and kept one of our guests company for a while. After all the excitement, they slept well that night--even though fireworks were going up all round the Bay, sometimes quite loudly. And they slept later than usual the next morning.

The girls and I returned to the Lodge on Tuesday. I had meetings in Concord that afternoon. After an overnight at the Lodge and mandolin lesson yesterday, we returned to the lake. The Chap is on his summer work schedule, so he'll have Mondays off and plans to spend long weekends here.

I have photos of a few "mystery" roses...rather, I have records and a site map and can look up what they are, I just haven't bothered to do so yet.

This one is from breeder David Austin, but I can't recall its name.



Ditto.



This is New Dawn.



Maiden's Blush, a 15th century alba.



Banshee, which mimics Maiden's Blush.



Another David Austin. This is Cottage Rose. This flower is heart-shaped!



This morning after walking the dogs, I drove over to New Durham Ridge to pick berries. (And as a result, breakfasted on berries!) The Reveille raspberries are newly ripe...the Killarneys will be ready for picking next week.

His Rose

The gallica rose Charles de Mills always reaches its peak of bloom on the Chap's birthday. Even though most of my roses are a trifle tardy this year, this stunner was spot on time and waiting for us with a marvellous display when we returned yesterday from our trip.

It's my spouse's natal day and Canada Day. Had we stayed in Montreal, he'd have fireworks on his birthday. Instead of that, he chose to spend a few days at the lake cottage with his brother and sister, visiting from their respective states (MN & PA). They haven't all been together for their big brother's birthday since--oh, longer than I can calculate.

I'm heading up there later with a massive birthday rose bouquet, to join them for a festive cookout. In the meantime, I'm enjoying the company of Ruth & Jewel, overjoyed to be back at the Lodge after their stay at the kennel.

I didn't think the branches of my John Davis rose could hold any more blossoms than it had when we departed. He keeps surprising me with ever more blooms!