street life

Yes, that's the World Trade in the background. And yes, that's famed fotog Donna Ferrato playing in the water. So, yes, I am back home where most of the cabs are yellow and the people come in all colors and shapes and sizes and cultures but mostly have a certain New York je ne sais quoi in common. More than you'd think are wearing camo. So am I a country girl or a city girl? I take on the colors of the place I am. City now.


home, again

This time in New York City!
Parking place in front of the building!


goodbye to all this

It won't be long before I'll be hitting the road.
With the watermelons, of course.
And a carpenter bee trap.
And some other stuff.
Like, a truckfull.


roadside attraction

Through a screen, a scene looks like needlepoint.

The House by the Side of the Road

 The poem by Sam Walter Foss (1858-1911) may be trite, but I can relate.

There are hermit souls that live withdrawn
In the peace of their self-content;
There are souls, like stars, that dwell apart,
In a fellowless firmament;
There are pioneer souls that blaze their paths
Where highways never ran;-
But let me live by the side of the road
And be a friend to man.
Let me live in a house
by the side of the road,
Where the race of men go by-
The men who are good and the men who are bad,
As good and as bad as I.
I would not sit in the scorner’s seat,
Or hurl the cynic’s ban;-
Let me live in a house by the side of the road
And be a friend to man.
I see from my house
by the side of the road,
By the side of the highway of life,
The men who press with the ardor of hope,
The men who are faint with the strife.
But I turn not away from their smiles nor their tears-
Both parts of an infinite plan;-
Let me live in my house by the side of the road
And be a friend to man.
I know there are brook-gladdened
meadows ahead
And mountains of wearisome height;
That the road passes on through the long afternoon
And stretches away to the night.
But still I rejoice when the travelers rejoice,
And weep with the strangers that moan,
Nor live in my house by the side of the road
Like a man who dwells alone.
Let me live in my
house by the side of the road
Where the race of men go by-
They are good, they are bad, they are weak, they are strong,
Wise, foolish- so am I.
Then why should I sit in the scorner’s seat
Or hurl the cynic’s ban?-
Let me live in my house by the side of the road
And be a friend to man.



We made it through Jerktail Landing and Flat Nasty, but the Akers Ferry ferry had sadly blown a fuse. And now we were at God Knows Which River  about to head through fords and over high water bridges and down muddy tracks. We didn't really know this "shortcut," so we were lucky to run across a local boy.
"I have a high stress job," he said, which is why he takes off down the trails and through the rivers, where his palomino Missouri Foxtrotter is quite the hit. So much so that he was gifted many beers, and by the time we met him he had lost his compadres if not his sense of direction. Not that it mattered much to him. "Fortunately, my old buddy Samson knows his way back so it doesn't matter how drunk I am," he said.
   He have us directions and we chatted. "I try not to talk about politics, but I guess I'm going to vote for Trump. Clinton is going to take our guns."
   "Well everybody said Obama was going to take their guns, and he didn't," I said.
   "And it was two terms," said Frank (or Dianne?).
   "Well when Obama came in it was open carry on the rivers," he said. "Before it was 600 feet away and then when Obama came in they changed the law."
    I couldnt really understand that.
    "I'm not really much for guns," he said. "But my friends tell me we're gonna need those AK-47s when everything falls apart and the city people come down to try to take our food."
     To Frank and Dianne's relief, I did not tell him the invasion had begun.
    Our invasion had lucked into a local guide.


the report

Hannah called my landline this ayem to see if I was alive. I am, but no internet until at least Thursday now, and maybe not! Last night the electricity went out, to add insult to injury. Don't give up on me. I'll be back with you when I return to New York next week at some point.



 Kate and Dennis rolled into town and parked in The Yard of Silver Trucks. We had some gala evenings and chatty mornings and then they headed to to the north country, leaving figs in their wake.
    For those of you who are taking note, my modem was stuck by lightening and fried, and I likely won't get another one until Monday. No phone. No Internet. Incommunicado. At a friend's house now. Sorry to be out of touch.



 The day can change from sunny to stormy in an instant—just ask Donald Trump! But a swimming hole is as American as pie, and nobody packed up when a few drops of rain hit. And speaking of pies, better check the peach and blackberry I just put in the oven. No apple.



Grab 'n' go. We chased streams and storms yesterday on a mini road trip. Frank had his gear; I had my phone. We stopped, we shot, we split. And, oh yes, we ate at Roy's gas station—one for the record books. In terms of quantity as well as quality. Urmpf. I will show you some pix manana.



The pimping out of the goose is about done. I balked at mopping.
   This is how the guest nook fits into the master nook. It may look big in the picture, but the building is 16 by 22 feet, as is this room and the one downstairs, so don't be misled.
    I think Hillary should have me decorate the White House.


your room is ready

Well, ok, it' not a room, it's a nook in my bedroom. So now one-quarter of the Goose is prepped for what promises to be several visitors. some of whom will be living in their Airstream. And now for the other three-quarters and the exterior. If it quits raining.