I brought a small lunch, but I want to walk first, because it's supposed to rain later. And then I want to write today's entry for the retreat blog, at least that, and read about the digital voice recorder.
I want to find my old strobe and see if it can be fixed or buy a new one or borrow one of Keith's. He always says he has one, but he never GIVES it to me to use.
It's cold today.
I haven’t been recording my walks anywhere. I start this walk at
I wish Keith were here with me; we had so much fun here together last year at this time.
Toothworts in flower, fern fiddleheads unrolling. Blue violets flowering still. I shoot a few white trilliums and some reflections in a swamp with Olli. I left Eeyore in the car because it looks like rain, and the radio said it would rain. There are ZILLIONS of white trout lilies here. I should take some back to
Back in B’ville, someone told me of some flowers that were going to be destroyed and I meant to pass the word on to Bruce and/or Baltimore woods, but never did.
The whole forest floor is covered with white trout lilies. Amazing.
I accidentally zero out my watch at 6 minutes, what a piece of junk. (Read C@#$!)
I take toothwort (3 shots) and one of the woodland floor of white toothwort and start my watch again. I need to remember to add six minutes.
There is not a huge variety here. But what there is, there is in abundance.
I find a cress that looks like rock cress (?), but I'm unsure. I don't have my book. I shoot it, and I small incompletely opened Jack-in-the-pulpit. While I am shooting, who should come along but the same man we saw at Metrobeach, the birdwatcher with the green coat and camera and matching binoculars to my sweetie’s. He tells me that there used to be both yellow and white trout lilies here, but the Formosan deer preferred the yellow ones and ate most of them, whereas, the white ones, which are normally rare, were unfavored and spread and that there are more here than anywhere else. I tell him about Rock Glen falls in
I had inadvertently stopped my watch at
There is lots of spicebush in flower, but partly gone by. I run into the Green Birdman again and he starts taking again. We hear a bird and go toward it. He says it is either a worm-eating warbler or a water thrush. He says he’s been listening to the calls on CDs. I say I do too, but I don’t learn as fast as I used to. He knocks on his head and says, “This is a 386, not a Pentium 4, but eventually it gets the job done.”
I walk off in another direction. I suddenly am feeling as if I should have binoculars with me. I have 2 pairs in the car, but I was intent on wildflowers today.
As I was arriving, I ran into a man riding a unicycle with a big grin on his face. He was clearly enjoying himself. It was geared low so he was peddling like mad and swaying from side to side with every stroke.
When I cross to the far side of the canal, I meet a black man. I rarely see black people out in the woods. He has a grey mustache and is friendly. Says, in a heavy southern accent, "Wish it would get a little warmer!" I say, "Warmer would be nice," and he says, "Sure would be." Cool, though, is good for sustaining the wildflowers and slowing the leafing. In my mind, a long cool spring is preferable to a short hot spring. I sympathize with warmth lovers, but only to the extent it doesn’t kill off the flowers or get hot.
I take a couple shots of the canal, and go back to the other side, walking on the canal shore trail rather than the woodland trail I was on earlier. There is so much trash here it is difficult to get a decent shot of the trail or the canal. I attempt a shot of the trail alone the canal, but it may not really be representative of the area because the woods is more open here than elsewhere.
When I stop my watch to take the shot at 14-something, it zeros out again, so now I have to add 20. At least it’s a nice even number.
I feel suddenly happy. I am alone in the woods next to the canal and that water thrush or worm-eating warbler is calling again, and the gulls are calling, and robins, and the little leaves are opening on the trees and it seems peaceful and serene. I wish these woods were just a little larger, but they are still pleasant with wildflowers. I wonder if the story Mr. Green Birdman told me about the trout lilies is true. It well may be. I wonder if he is British or from somewhere else, he has a bit of an accent. He looks rather British or something.
A lot of the squirrels look mangy. I wonder if the are shedding badly or actually have mange. A lush fluffy black one investigates me.
It is so dark and a little oppressive. It really seems as if rain is imminent.
I wonder if the Imminentalists are so in the moment that they are sliding over the shiny accretion disc into the future. Or the future is rolling over the slippery slope into their now. What is imminent is almost more now than now, it is what is coming, what is slipping from future to now, the rain drops that are ABOUT to dimple the slate grey water, the fetal robin that is about to burst through its cerulean shell and emerge.
Is that what the Imminentalists think they are all about? I read all their mission statement stuff and saw nothing tangible to chew up and swallow.
HAH! It is starting rain, just very lightly, a tiny sprinkle, slowly increasing in intensity. The imminent becoming present. And here it comes, harder. It is clicking and banging. It is SNOWING!
If it rains, I can sit in the car and work. If it snows, I may go home.
It is SO much nicer here than walking on Moran and McMillan.
Even the dandelions are all closed up!
There is a yellow Aracae opening. Because of the snow, I do not photograph it. The snow is getting to hard and thick to write and it’s starting to gather on the ground. Sheltering the camera, I take a shot in the woods with toothworts and white trillium and falling snow.
And another of the trail along the canal. Two. They come out dark. It’s
I am nearly back to the red bridge, and when I get there, I will have walked just over 30 minutes and still have 15 left to walk. The poison ivy is coming out, red leaves unfolding and reaching toward me with itchy fingers.
I can never make things the same as they are or were. I can’t keep them the same or go back. I think of how much fun Keith and I had here together and want him to be here with me. I know I said this, but I keep missing him. We could have come Sunday, but we went instead to the primitive skills party. Cinco de Mayo.
I walk over to the bathroom, but it is locked. People have urinated and defecated in the entryway and it stinks. I quickly leave.
Keith has a relationship with B'l'Isle. I am building one of my own.
I walk among the gulls and find and photograph a crayfish claw, a few gulls, some trees along the lagoon. I'm about to shoot more, but I just can’t stand the garbage: white Styrofoam cups and food containers, chip bags and cans juice boxes and lots more, ugh.
Plastic bags floating in the water like guts.
I see three big fat fluffy healthy-looking fox squirrels. They do not seem to be afflicted with mange that the black phase grey squirrels have.
The snow has stopped and disappeared from the ground. I walk along the edge of the woods and find a sign that says, "Belle Isle Nature Trail." There is a foot of water on the trail and I can’t resist taking a picture.
I am sitting at a picnic table outside picnic Shelter #18, which is where the flooded nature trail starts. NOW, the sun peeks out between the dark clouds, now that I'm officially finished. But I could trick it, and go back in the woods, here or else where. I was going to work on my retreat entry.
(If you would like to see my retreat entry at Belle Isle for
OK, good, now I can go eat my sandwich.
I thought I might end the serial today, but it doesn't seem to want to end yet.
What will I do about the fact that none of the restrooms are open? I may have to go home. Actually, I wanted to leave here at
I also wanted to read the instruction manual on my new voice recorder. I'd like to know how to use it before I start back to B'ville.
A big ship is passing on the river. Keith would be excited!
The little parking area is littered with ribbed condoms and flattened beer cans. This is not a pristine wilderness area.
I stop to take couple shots of periwinkle (Vinca minor), but, like the violets, the blue just doesn’t cut it. They look washed out.
There are geese around my car, and I have to disturb them to get my sandwich. They are not very disturbed, though. I think I was more disturbed to be disturbing them than they were at being disturbed.
So far, I have walked 53:33 and that is probably it for now.
The geese are grazing in a manner similar to horses, all walking along in more or less the same direction sometimes stopping to rest. I am not sure what they are eating. It is not the taller grass. They press their beaks deep into the grass.
There goes another big ship.
Suddenly one goose takes off from the rest in the opposite direction. Half turn and follow him. He walks across the road, almost getting hit in the process. The others turn back, graze a little longer, and then half of them follow the first goose who is now grazing on the other side of the road. I missed a good picture. Now they are all going, and a squirrel crosses their path coming back across the road. A fast-moving SUV almost takes them all out. The sky is darkening dramatically after lightening up a little.
It starts raining and I’m in motion and don’t stop to take the picture I wanted of the old boat house or whatever it is near the bridge.
I pass a woman hitchhiking. It literally hurts to drive by and not offer a ride. I remember when I seed to hitchhike to and from school and desperately want a ride, when it was cold or I was late, and no one would stop. I’d be so angry. "What are you afraid of?" I’d scream. Couldn’t they see I just needed a ride? But now I’m the one who’s afraid. The woman looks right at me and raises her eyebrows questioningly. I keep driving, feeling hurt, sad, scared. Probably, she just wants a ride. But maybe she has a gun. Maybe she would rob me or hurt me, take my car, my money, what little I have. WAHN!
When I get home at
OK, I need to collect my stuff and go inside. I wish Graham would let me know if he’s coming home. It could affect my plans!
I hear that unconditional parenting produces the healthiest more independent-minded children, moderate parenting the next best (that’s halfway between strict and lenient), lenient parents the next best, and strict parents have the worst kids when they become teens.
I tried for a mix of unconditional, moderate and lenient. I like having kids have the most amount of freedom possible and making the most decisions on their own. But some loving guidance is appropriate.
Rage is always a mistake, but one that reasonable beings unfortunately occasionally make.
Patty Murphy comes along: someone moves while I’m writing, so I take my spot in front of the house. Now (Michael) Murphy’s Law says Graham will need a ride and someone will steal my spot. Or something like that.
The man next door is trimming and trims along our edge. I have trouble getting the door unlocked my hands are so full.
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