The Beauty of the Early Morning

In the meantime, the sun went hiding behind deep hanging clouds and the beauty of the early morning is just a memory.

 

No, I have not had her on the water yet. Although there is much talk the one man can 'easily' step the mast of such a boat, it is way outside my competence. This thing is heavy, and if you imagine that one has to balance such a pole of 25 feet upright and then kneel down to put a bolt through the foot to hold it in position, you can easily understand that I won't attempt it. The previous owner has constructed a set-up frame for it and we used it for the trial at the owner's home, but even that is so impractical a design for one person that I will not try it a second time. Instead, I am building my own, and it turns out that my design is exactly what is commercially available and is demonstrated in numerous You-tube strips. I tried to find one fitting for this boat, but was unsuccessful, so I'm building my own. Parts are on order, and shipping time is long. Before I rigged her completely and alone in the driveway, I will not take her anywhere.

 

In the meantime, just the excitement of having this boat available to me is great and the memory of the many years of longing for it makes it even greater.

Progress

 Our road is all chewed up. They came with this monstrous machine that works almost like a roto tiller and breaks the roadbed up chews it fine and spits it back out. Fantastic! They used to put some 20 guys to work on this with pick and shovel, now there is one lonely operator and another guy who stands around with his hands in the pockets for no better reason than to adhere to the buddy system. I'm going to apply for such a job. I think I can still handle it. The machine moves at a speed of perhaps one or two miles per hour, so even I would have no problem keeping up with it. Good exercise, too!

So the road was regurgitated by this machine and then a grader came and straightened it up and now it sits for a while. They did it to a road down behind the school and it sat for weeks after grading. They also will have to rework the ditches before they can put down the new blacktop.

Of course the road is now soft and full of ruts from cars that have come through. But we Vermonters are brave drivers and know out way with dirt roads. There are still some that come past here at 50 to 60 mph. The dust is not yet very bad. Also, the prevailing wind takes it more over to Chip and he will know what to do about it. I hope we will have rain regularly.

Just thought you need to know, because it is not long before you come up here.

Here is another view of this wondrous machine, just in case somebody near you has a deeper technical interest.

...that's her given name!

It means: I can't help it. It is all out of my hands.

Again: that brown thingy in cockpit is the dingy. It'll be gone from the by the time you come.

But notice the beautiful swimming ladder. Just what I always envisioned: a sailing ship as a bathing platform. . . .

At His Mercy

Welcome the latest distraction! I just brought her home from New Hampshire and you see the rig still warm from the trip  over the Hogback mountain.

All went surprisingly well, with the exception that at 50mph the trailer started to sway and swerve, so I usually cruised at some 45 on the level stretches, closer to forty on the hill, and down to thirty on the very steep uphill from Jacksonville to Townhill.

When I came home and unhitched, the trailer sat down on its tail and that negative tongue weight probably caused the sway. I did not know about that before, because the previous owner hitched me up and I saw nothing that could have told me about this. I'll have to figure something out. In the back of the boat you see a brown blotch and that is a dingy I got with the boat and it is heavy enough to put the rig out of balance. Without the dingy, I would expect no more problems going over 50. But I gotta get the thing home in fall, won't I? How could I get it on top of the car?

Anyway this is a MacGregor 22, sometimes also called a Venture 22 and that is because originally MacGregor designate all his boats 'Ventures', probably owing to the fact that he and some of his buddies at Stamford U founded this company in the course of an MBA class project in the early sixties. It immediately was so successful MacGregor kept it going and sometime in the 70 - 80s the Ventures were renamed MacGregors. There are said to be little if any modifications made to these boat after about 1971.

The 22, of course stands for 22 feet length overall. This one has a cabin with a layout that includes a V-bed for two who can get along with each other and a dinette which can be converted into a double for two not minding to hug all night and then perhaps there could be a fifth balancing on the bench along the hull opposite the dinette. The rest will have to lay mattresses in the cockpit which might be comfortable for four sitting up, including the one in command of the ship. The rest of crew and passengers will have to find their space 'before the mast' or midship on the cabin roof. Before the mast one gets swiped by the foresail when the boat comes about and midship one gets knocked on the head by the boom swinging over. I tell you this so you can figure out how you will distribute yourselves when we cruise down to the Bahamas all together 😳 😁 😊

Also, the cabin roof can be raised 'pop-up camper style' which gives some standing room in the cabin in the dinette area, but also gives free access to the elements including what may come flying in on the wind. I've bee thinking about finding someone who can fabricate a net that can be buttoned around the four open sides of this area, but those a dreams for the future. Also consider that if the cabin roof is u p, the passengers who used to use it as they personal space will have to cling to the gunwales.
P.s. there is no galley, so we will have to fish and eat the fish raw, perhaps with a side of rice which we cooked on shore before leaving for the islands. There is also a porta-potty under the foot end of the starboard V-bed, so there should be no problem on that account unless - but you think that train of thoughts to your own private end. 10 people on board - it sounds like some of the tales of the Cubans escaping Castro to get to the US, back in the 60's

Technically speaking, in a pre-purchase trial I set the mast up almost alone without prior practice but the method used by the previous owners is totally impractical for single 'day sailors'. I'll keep the boat in the driveway to try to make some different arrangements. Wish me luck. The aim is than one weak old man should be able to get this about 25 foot mast from towing to sailing.

Other plans are to find a mooring place for the four months I am still scheduled to stay here. There is a bay on the Harriman Reservoir (lake Wilmington) where there are some sailboats moored at buoys. The area is apparently managed by TransCanada, the electric power company that operates the reservoir. I am trying to make contact to see if I can get a space there. In distance it is closer than Shaws. If it works, all we have to do is 'hop into the dingy' and ferry from shore to ship and later back again.
And that's about it for starters. Welcome to the Wilmington sailing academy.
Isa

Home Security

The daisies are guarding the approach to the front door. 

This is what nature does if it left to its own devices. 

Pretty, isn't it. 

I didn't check their growth on purpose - until they bloomed.

Rhubarb

So I heard in the news:
Rhubarb should not be harvested after June 24! The stems contain oxalic acid, which is the stuff that roughens your teeth. The content is the lowest in the stems of young leaves in spring, but then increases until in mid-June it reaches levels which can be even poisonous to adults. In addition, this acid may promote the formation of kidney stones.

Last, but not least, if harvesting stops at mid June the plant has time to gather strength for a bountiful harvest next year. That sounds familiar from the asparagus, does it not?

In my own experience, I very much enjoyed my rhubarb and yogurt as a desert before bedtime while the leaves were still so young that I felt like I must be damaging the plant by harvesting so early. But the bounty increased, and so did the discomfort on my teeth, and that was because of that acid, I am sure. The say you should not brush your teeth until at least one half hour after eating rhubarb, to give them a chance to recover some from the etching they got.

Anyway, I have stopped harvesting and cooking rhubarb about two weeks ago because the last batch was really badly acidulous. Not knowing the context, i added sugar, but that did not help the discomfort to my teeth. Now I know why.

It is just a pity, because there is a "wealth of green" in the rhubarb batch which will go unused this year. We'll do better next year.
Isa

Simply An Odd Way of Writing

Friday, June 7, 2013, at 7:03 AM
 
Dear Laurie,

You, who studied English

Must have the answers to this:

What is poetry?

To me, it was always rhyme and rhythm, 

Using words that suit the purpose

Of the poet.

Rhyme and rhythm then

Dictated the form.

Is this a poem? To me it is prose rendered in a form that alters only the ease of reading, 

but not the content nor the meaning.

What kicked this off was reading (parts of) "Thanatopsis" by William Cullen Bryant:

To him who in the love of nature holds
Communion with her visible forms, she speaks
A various language; for his gayer hours
She has a voice of gladness, and a smile
And eloquence of beauty; and she glides
Into his darker musings, with a mild
And healing sympathy that steals away
Their sharpness ere he is aware. When thoughts
Of the last bitter hour come like a blight
Over thy spirit, and sad images
Of the stern agony, and shroud, and pall,
And breathless darkness, and the narrow house,
Make thee to shudder, and grow sick at heart;--
Go forth, under the open sky, and list
To Nature's teachings, while from all around--
Earth and her waters, and the depths of air--
Comes a still voice. Yet a few days, and thee
The all-beholding sun shall see no more
In all his course; nor yet in the cold ground,
Where thy pale form was laid, with many tears,
Nor in the embrace of ocean, shall exist
Thy image. Earth, that nourished thee, shall claim
Thy growth, to be resolved to earth again,
And, lost each human trace, surrendering up
Thine individual being, shalt thou go
To mix forever with the elements,
To be a brother to the insensible rock
And to the sluggish clod, which the rude swain
Turns with his share, and treads upon. The oak
Shall send his roots abroad, and pierce thy mold.

Yet not to thine eternal resting-place
Shalt thou retire alone, nor couldst thou wish
Couch more magnificent. Thou shalt lie down
With patriarchs of the infant world -- with kings,
The powerful of the earth -- the wise, the good,
Fair forms, and hoary seers of ages past,
All in one mighty sepulchre. The hills
Rock-ribbed and ancient as the sun, -- the vales
Stretching in pensive quietness between;
The venerable woods -- rivers that move
In majesty, and the complaining brooks
That make the meadows green; and, poured round all,
Old Ocean's gray and melancholy waste,--
Are but the solemn decorations all
Of the great tomb of man. The golden sun,
The planets, all the infinite host of heaven,
Are shining on the sad abodes of death
Through the still lapse of ages. All that tread
The globe are but a handful to the tribes
That slumber in its bosom. -- Take the wings
Of morning, pierce the Barcan wilderness,
Or lose thyself in the continuous woods
Where rolls the Oregon, and hears no sound,
Save his own dashings -- yet the dead are there:
And millions in those solitudes, since first
The flight of years began, have laid them down
In their last sleep -- the dead reign there alone.

So shalt thou rest -- and what if thou withdraw
In silence from the living, and no friend
Take note of thy departure? All that breathe
Will share thy destiny. The gay will laugh
When thou art gone, the solemn brood of care
Plod on, and each one as before will chase
His favorite phantom; yet all these shall leave
Their mirth and their employments, and shall come
And make their bed with thee. As the long train
Of ages glides away, the sons of men--
The youth in life's fresh spring, and he who goes
In the full strength of years, matron and maid,
The speechless babe, and the gray-headed man--
Shall one by one be gathered to thy side,
By those, who in their turn, shall follow them.

So live, that when thy summons comes to join
The innumerable caravan, which moves
To that mysterious realm, where each shall take
His chamber in the silent halls of death,
Thou go not, like the quarry-slave at night,
Scourged to his dungeon, but, sustained and soothed
By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave
Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch
About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams.

What I did then was to read this article, which appears to admit that poetry 
needs neither rhyme nor rhythm, but is simply an odd way of writing.

What do the learned have to say?
********************************************************************************
Friday, June 7, 2013, at 8:09 AM

Yes, that's a poem, officially called "free verse" since it is without discernible rhyme scheme, rhythmic foot, meter, or syllabication, any one of which (or all four) can drive a poem's required form for certain types of poetry--think Haiku, sonnet, cinquain, iambic pentameter, limerick, etc.

This is what I teach my Creative Writing students during the fourth quarter. We'll chat about it to whatever extent you like once we are together in person! :)

Carmenère

This link leads you to a wine made of a grape originally from the Bordeaux region in France, where those beautiful, heavy, full aromatic wines are produced that were so much part of festive dinners in my younger years. I came across this wine at the Co-op today. They had a new wine up on the shelf and the given name on the label first made me sneer. Who would call a serious wine 'oops' ? But then I read the label and I was hooked. I would be guilty of wild fabrication if it is not true that Carmenère, the grape I am talking about here, or rather the wine made from this grape, was part of some of those festive meals I mentioned. I do remember the name and the spelling and that there would always be a reverend moment of quiet, or talking in subdued voices, when a bottle of this wine was brought up. And in a restaurant, it would always be carried by the sommelier himself, with the long silver chain over his shoulder to hold the tasting cup. And when he brought that bottle to the table he was always accompanied by two waiters in full dress, as if by special body guards. Add to that low lights, candles on the table, the hush of the other guests until the opening of the bottle and the tasting of the first drops was done and you get the picture of the lore of this wine. The approval after the tasting would release an audible sigh from all those witnessing this.

I bought two bottles of this 'oops' with the above images in front of my eyes, and I fear I might  be very disappointed after such a build-up, but I will give it an honest try. I will buy me a good piece of meet and grill it with special care, and will sit down to judge. There is no rush. after the long rough trip over the Hogback, these bottles first have to rest in the dark cellar for at least two weeks. Care to join me? I wish Pips would share in this adventure.

Should you come across some Carmenère, whether from France, Chile or West Coast or even Australia, get a bottle, try it and let me know what you found. I'd be looking at Total wine, and then in every shop i'd come across. They say that the grape in France was killed by the root louse, but had already been established in Chile. However, the Chileans did not know what they had and sold their wine as Merlot. Then, recently (1994) a viticulturist saw the grape, recognized it and exposed it as different from the Merlot with which it was grown. Oops!

Cheers, Isa
*********************************************************************************
June 6, 2013, at 5:26 PM

Went to Shaws today for grocery shopping and the more I see of that store the more I like it - disregarding their habit of making the best of the tourist seasons. But as I was browsing around, I found pine nuts, which none of the supermarkets east, west, north or south from here within the range of my rovings could produce. Of course, in the meantime, I found them at gold plated price at the Co-op, but the pick at Shaws would have been as good - closer and cheaper by the gas burned on the road to Brattleboro. His product is imported also, so, perhaps it is like garlic: China is the largest producer of that, and that is the reason we see it on the shelves of our stores.

Shaws also offered grass fed beef, ground and packaged in one pound squares. Curiosity tickled me and I bought one. Took it home, halved it and grilled it without trying to give it a traditional form. As it came out of the package it was a 2x4x1-1/2 piece and that.s the way I put it on the grill. A thick steak! My fault that I did not adjust the grill temperature properly. It came out seared on the outside (not burned!) and Steak Tartare on the inside. Delicious. It was a 97/3 lean peace that left me gloating after the half that is still left. Maybe that one I spice up as real Steak Tartare.

Having this meat in preparation, I also stir fried a bit of baby book choy and a helping of Rösti and placed next to it the first bottle of Carmenère about which I sent you an epistle earlier. All promises are kept. The wine is full-bodied, "warm" and full of flavor, with just the right amount of acidity to make it a very super accompaniment for red meat dinners and still give very pleasant company after the table is cleared. That's where I am now: at a cleared table with a last glass of Carmenère. Oh, how I wish for you company.

Love, Isa

New Toy

I hope you all had a wonderful day! All things on my schedule are done, except the tractor or the weed whacker have to yet received their deserved oil changes. Ehem - looking for that indoor/outdoor thermometer/humidity meter, I had to settle on a full weather center. This one is a gadget which has the capability to report all of the above in real time and to keep records to play back some history including the maxima recorded during the past - the past beginning at the time of the installation of the batteries to activate this little electronic wonder. It also measures wind speed, but for the direction you need to look over to the barn roof and consult the rooster. It keeps up with the moon phases and the ups and downs of barometric pressure and estimates the chances of which of the weather modes will be on us in the near future - e.g. a rapid drop of the barometer used to warn seamen of an approaching storm, so this gadget now does the same thing, including the consideration of relative humidity and short term changes of temperature and in time will come up with warnings of rain, perhaps, or rain mixed with snow, or just snow - god forbid! I'm outta here! However, it can make these predictions with relative certainty only after a period of learning, said to be 14 days long, starting with the initial installation of the batteries. It also has an LCD display, about half the size of the screen of an iPad, and one is tempted to sit and 'watch what's happening', but I found out that the action is not even approaching that which is visible through the window of a front-load washer or drier.

Anyway. The gadget deserves the heading "time will tell". I set this thing up on the deck and to be able to do this I got dressed for the heat out there, but then I learned from the gizmo that the temperature was only 71 degrees, which is not worth shedding a single drop of sweat about. I went inside to prepare my dinner and now sit at the table talking to you. The temperature now is 67 outside, with wind speeds of 4 mph at this instant, gusts to 10 mph, and an overall average of 2 mph. The dew point is 49 degrees and I now can determine whether I should feel comfortable, or take a break to put on something a bit warmer. Done!

I had a cod filet for dinner, baked in apple wood smoke on the grill and dressed up on a bed and under cover of sautéed onion, sour cream, Parmesan, basil leaves (chopped and dried), salt and pepper, and mixed wild rice. Since fish must swim, I opened a bottle of my all time favorite Gérard Bertrand Viognier 2011. Life is good! Tomorrow I will have some large shrimp, grilled, with grilled veggies and a red-leaf salad, dressed with Greek olive oil and Modena balsamic vinegar.

So, these are the news from 'up north' which I did not want to publish on FB. Perhaps some other time I think differently.

The flowers are from Lulu's plantings. The bush on the left of the garages consists of two bushes, it looks like. One is this beautiful red and the other is white. But the white is a bit behind the red, so you'll see some of it later, I think.

Day after tomorrow is Riina's birthday, so says my calendar.
Love, Isa

To sell, or not to sell...

That is the question!

Yesterday, I spent some four hours at the pond, whacking weeds and actually clearing halfway around the inner edge, reaching down to the water as far as the whacker would reach without pulling me over and into the water ;-)

After that I went back up to the house, unloaded the machinery, reloaded the golf cart with two folding chairs and a cooler and three (!) cold Black IPA.

I took three beer because I can't stand on one leg, and I needed one extra for the always expected guest. That is who the extra chair was meant for, too. And you wouldn't dare call me a bit whacky because of that, would you?

So I sat at the edge of the pond and watched the birds and the insects and there was a pair of painted buntings and many swallows and blue birds cavorting over the water and a big dragon fly landed on a reed nearby, its broad spread of gossamer wings iridescent in the sunshine - again, I stumbled about the plenty and the beauty and used up all the 'ands' on can possibly squeeze into one sentence.

I also reminisced and Ema was everywhere. I finally used old Martin Luther who said, "God is everywhere. He is over and under and around and through." And I argued that, logically, since Ema is with God, she also is everywhere. Oh, cool logic is great.

And since Ema is everywhere, and Lulu is with her, I should not worry about letting go of everything, since even without anything, they would still be close to me. Even though Lulu urged me to make sure that this property does not get into undeserving hands.

So why can I not make peace with the thought to get rid of all these wonderful trimmings of our life on earth, specifically my life? That is the question - again. Is it greed?

Fooling around with my iPad I came across the invite to download Zillow, the real estate website. And from there it was just a small jump to open Zillows' map of homes for sale around 1446 Townhill Road. If I did not know this area, I would think that every house around here is for sale, which of course is not true. But looking for a house here must be for a buyer like standing in a fully stocked supermarket in front of the cereal shelves and having to make a choice. Of course, he eventually will make one, but his pick is as chancy as buying a lottery ticket when the jackpot is up to 750 million.

The old farm house across the street, which currently stands empty and most recently was rented by that retired Marine and his family is listed as foreclosed by Zillows'. Foreclosure estimate is below 140 G, less, much less than half of what I would ask for the place across the street from them.

What puzzles me, by the way, is that Zillows claims this foreclosure took place in 2008. Why, that house was occupied even a year ago.

I came across a relatively recent post by Laurie in which she makes a case against clutter. In consequence, I will wait here 'til I have help to haul clutter. I made a great beginning by taking the two plastic model pistols from the window shroud in the living room and giving them to the church ladies for their rummage sale. I also gave away a set of garden tools hanging on a heavy gauge wire rack and sized to do gardening in a bonsai pot. Lulu has left one here. It is 4-3/8 by 3-1/4 and obviously the tools had not increased its tenant's survival chances. 

The little tree was brown and dry already over three years ago, but even in its death it has retained such beauty and calming rhythm, it is not clutter. On the contrary. If the pot were of a light color, I would put it all by itself on Steve's and Kaarin's new killer-mantle. Nothing else. It would be ornamental, not clutter. Seeing it sit up there on that mantle would keep me sitting in front of the fireplace and contemplating questions of eternity on the basis of an old bonsai, so beautiful even in its days of final decay.

My thoughts are wandering again . . .

The hills are awash with the heat of summer - you know that song? I'm sure you've heard it before, perhaps with other words. It is so hot up here I opened up all windows and doors and turned on all fans. Nothing helps. I'm sitting on the front porch and there the temperature is just at the edge of bearable. But inside the house - I had closed the blinds at the sliding door to the deck and adjusted them so they would throw their shade into the room without impeding the flow of the draft through the house. But these blinds acted like the wings of birds in the wind and rattled and clattered until I had to move them to the side. That immediately stopped all air from moving in the house and within minutes I was awash myself.

The thought occurred to me that I could drive to Greenfield where there is the nearest Home Depot. They were offering portable air conditioners a few weeks ago, just after the last snow had melted up here. I declined the offer then, thought about it on occasion during the past weeks and my mind locked on this option today. A/C in the hills of Vermont! Perhaps Al Gore does have a point? But then I read a report that claimed this spring was the coldest since 1978, and the eighth coldest since records are being kept. so who needs A/C? Are we just getting soft? So, off to Greenfield? But on Saturday and Sunday the roads around here belong to the tourists and unless you are a very highly experienced driver you best keep your car locked away in a garage for these days. 

“Speed! Malise, speed! such cause of haste

Thine active sinews never braced. “—

They are in such a hurry to have fun on the weekend, they forget what they come up here for.

Perhaps Monday! I must go down to Brattleboro again to get the car an oil change. I also must find an oil filter for the tractor and give it an oil change and I must change the oil on the weed whacker also - so busy with all those worldly musts.

Speaking of oil - Cleaning a bit in the refrigerator I came across a jar of pesto. It had been opened sometime ago, but it was refrigerated during all the past months - years . . .? But I could no longer resist my longing for pasta with pesto, so I fixed me lunch: two ounces of dry rotini, boiled to proper tenderness, one heaped teaspoon pesto, three thin slices pork loin, Smithfield, on herbs and garlic marinade, barbecued to absolute and juicy perfection on my infrared grill and smoked with apple wood chips.

I also added a glass of muddy water - remember what that is? It is so good when diluted wit Early Times, but for this midday meal I dared it straight. Not bad at all.

After lunch I scrutinized the labels on the pesto jar and came across a very disconcerting note: best by 8/10/08. Almost instantaneously I felt a bit queasy in the linings of my stomach. While I composed this message to you, the feeling did not go away. Should you not hear from me anymore, come and claim the then-your property, look in the kitchen for that jar of pesto and have it analyzed. The world might learn something about pesto. I now go and have me a shot of Jägermeister. It cures all ills. But do come anyway!

Happy weekend to you, and with loving thoughts to you all, Isa