A Blue Moon rose last night over Greenfield, and from my lovely spot here on the hill its rise was gorgeous. It’s been a week that’s run the gamut for me emotionally, and this was a good way to bring the week, and the month, to a close.
There are two red foxes in our neighborhood now, and sadly, late one afternoon, in broad daylight and as I witnessed helplessly from inside the house, a fox grabbed our dear Sussy and ran off with her (Elihu took a rare shot of her that appears at the top of the last post’s photos). I shouted and ran after, but it was too late. It wasn’t til the next day that I realized how hard our dear, chatty hen had worked to evade the predator; there were four distinct spots of struggle which started on one side of the house and concluded out back. A day or two later Elihu, neighbor Zac and I watched as the fox made another pass at the yard, crossing over the creek and through the field without so much as picking up his pace to a trot as I yelled after him. Clearly, this place was easy pickins, and my shouting was no deterrent. This is so frustrating. Last year I did battle with a family of raccoons, and to my chagrin I ended up killing two of them. The humane trap isn’t as straightforward a solution as one might think (and then there was the skunk which I did end up catching – and then releasing – thankfully without getting sprayed). What’s more, foxes do live up to their reputation as being clever creatures. They can figure out all sorts of inventive techniques to reach their prey (and they are notorious for evading traps). This new situation is very distressing – I can never leave our property with confidence, but truthfully, even if I am here, I’m not sure I can do much to stop this visitor from making off with one of our gals. And while there are a good twenty birds I could lose without much regret, there are three of whom Elihu and I are so deeply fond, that to lose them would be a true heartbreak. All I can do is hope that somehow they’ll be spared. (We’ve lost four hens in the past month, and now the loss of eggs is becoming a challenge as our young gals aren’t laying yet and we still have regular egg customers.)
This is our sixth year raising chickens, so we know that unexpected loss goes with the territory. But still. It’s hard to shake a loss, especially when you lose one of those ‘special’ birds that has shown herself to stand out from the flock in any number of endearing ways. I can assure you this: even a simple chicken may possess unique tendencies. Elihu himself will scold me for anthropomorphising these creatures – but nevertheless, it’s sad to lose a hen who added such good cheer to our homestead. Mom is a good lookout and calls us with advance warning; she lives just one property over, and daily she puts out corn for the deer. Just this past week the foxes (this is how we know there are two and not just one) have joined the raccoons, deer and turkeys at mom’s place (between the furry creatures and all the birds, her house looks like Snow White’s cottage!). I just hope the foxes eat their fill there and forget about their taste for chicken. I should think it would be a whole lot easier to eat what’s given to them than to hunt – and tear apart – a bird. At least I hope so. Elihu and I found a fox den in the woods on the side of the hill and covered it with sticks. I’ll return soon to see if they’ve been moved. If so, at least we’ll know where they live. That will give us something to work with. This is an adventure that’s likely only just begun. It’s all so discouraging; just when you think you’re past the rough spots, there’s always some new challenge. But truly, that’s life in the county.
At this writing Elihu is back in Chicago with his father, and will return again in little less than two weeks – coming in on the late night flight that arrives after 1 in the morning. Later that evening we plan to hear the Philadelphia Orchestra, so it’ll be a long day. But no point sweating over that just yet; that may as well be a year off… House guests arrive any day now, and between the Studio, my search for piano jobs, staving off the ever looming panic attacks, teaching a handful of students and life in general (oh yeah, and fox hunting) there will be plenty to keep me occupied.
A few weeks ago I’d tried my hand at another garage sale, in order to get an infusion of summer cash into my pocket – and to once and for all get rid of all this stuff that has remained in my possession all these years. I finally unpacked the one last box from my move here, and at last knew definitively what should stay and what should go. The sale was a lot of work – and a bust too, netting me a mere $47 after two hot and sweaty days, not to mention the many hours spent in prep. And after it all, I was still left with my stuff, plus the trash that had come with the process. Rather than spend more money I hardly even had, I decided to muscle up and get rid of it by myself – the old fashioned way: by going to the dump. I hadn’t been to a dump since I was a kid and my dad would load up the station wagon and back it up to the big, sandy pit here in Greenfield. The place has been closed for years, and thankfully, somehow the forest has reclaimed it. (It’s actually kind of eerie – in driving by you would never know that there’d been a huge, open space there once upon a time. I shiver to think of the stuff that’s hiding just below the roots…) I did have to shell out $25 for the car load, but what a relief to finally have my big trash out. Now I gotta muster the oomph to load up the car again and schlep all that leftover stuff to the Salvation Army store a few exits up the Northway. Believe me, when the last extraneous scented pillar candle and ironically amusing coffee mug is finally out of my garage, I will feel a relief that will, I’m hoping, be something of a spiritual experience.
The one thing that has pained me most about living here – aside from the lack of affordable, good ma and pa restaurants and any true ethnic diversity (those wonderful little joints usually come along with that missing diversity) – is that there’s no water in my world. Yeah, there’s a lake just about a half hour drive in any direction, but that aint the same as living on the shore of one. And ten miles may just as well be a hundred. Anyway, even if I do make it to a shoreline, I have no means of getting out onto the water. I don’t have any boating friends here, so I don’t have an in. This was something I could live with for a few years, but just a few days ago I reached my limit. What was stopping me from at the very least finding my way to the local sailing club? I didn’t even stop to think about it, I grabbed my bag and got in the car.
I’d heard about the sailing club – but no one I’ve asked ever seemed to know where it was exactly, or how you got there. Good Lord, people, are you not all smart phone equipped? I myself had a mere map on paper – and that was all I needed… It was a bit further off the beaten path than I might have guessed, but easy enough to find. I pulled in and discovered an old home on a lovely, tree-shaded lawn that ended at the water’s edge. I parked, got out of the car and crunched up the gravel driveway as a man in front of me, looking up into a tall white pine, said quietly “there’a a bald eagle in that tree” and pointed behind my shoulder. Sure enough – stock still he sat, surveying the water for dinner. I always have a pair of binoculars in the car for appreciating birds and scenic outlooks, so I doubled back to get them. I offered them to the man for a look. He enjoyed them for a minute, then thanked me as he handed them back. I stood there feeling more than well rewarded. I’d finally found this place – and got my first sighting of a wild bald eagle. This had to be a good sign.
I went in and found two high school boys on the porch waiting for their charges in the youth summer program to arrive. We had an enjoyable chat, and I got a better idea of the vibe there. Although there were the requisite high-end cars in the lot, the place didn’t have an overly highbrow feel to it, instead it felt homey and very family-friendly. I passed my card to one of the boys, the one who’d said his own mom might actually like to take me out on the water. I also wrote a note on my card and pinned it to the bulletin board. I hesitated for just a second, but decided to do it. Nothing to lose. I snapped a couple pics of the old-timey, nautical-themed interior, then got on my way after admiring this rare view from the underdeveloped west shore of the lake.
Until the magical day I get on the water again, there’s always much to do around here. Progress is stop-and-go with the Studio, but things are still moving forward. We now have doors that actually lock, and we’re just a day or two away from a kitchen with actual running water. ! Bits and pieces are still annoyingly hard to complete; a strangely-shaped box office needs some desk and counter space, but just how that will work is still not known. A large crack has erupted in the new wall which the carpenter suspects is being caused by a leak in the roof. There’s an enormous pit in front of the place that will need to be back filled after the plumbers finish their work. We still need to order and install an art hanging system, and there are knobs and face plates to go up. Small crap – construction mess and various bits and pieces – still lay about on folding tables and it all needs to go out or back where it belongs. Much of the tedious little stuff I can do myself – and in fact that’ll get to that this next week, but my hands are tied when it comes to addressing perennial leaks and joining pvc pipe. But on the whole, this process has been fascinating, and I’ve learned a lot on the way – it’s been a supreme game of ‘which comes first’, and for me, a person for whom linear thinking is often a great chore, it’s helped me to organize my actions effectively. Sometimes (hell, who are we kidding, make that most times) it feels as if nothing has actually been accomplished – that I’ve been spinning my wheels and getting nearly nowhere, but the photos from our ‘then’ and ‘now’ tell me otherwise. Much as I’d like to think I’m a happy, positive energy in this world, the inner side of me is more of a ‘glass half empty’ sort of gal, and panic and worry are forever tapping me on the shoulder to remind me of the ‘what ifs’. But I’m working on it.
This may be my last solo day for a while, as my friends arrive soon to stay here for the week, and Elihu returns not long after they leave. I feel a mix of that dull, waking awareness that summer is on its way out, and a growing dread for the unknown future of my world. One of the things that does lighten my heart as I plod along on this planet are uncommitted days in perfect weather – just like this one – when my garden comes alive with color and my chickens surround me, purring and chuckling sounds of contentment. So today, this first day of August, I’m not going to do much, and I’m going to do my best not to feel guilty about it either. I’m going to savor my solitude, my birds and my garden, as I enjoy the memory of last night’s Blue Moon. I’ll be back to hunting red foxes soon enough.
This was not actually the true Blue Moon, but the one the night before. Still looks pretty full and sure is beautiful.
Usually I’d scold Austin and shoo him off the bird feeder, but he’s alerted us so well whenever the fox has been here that I feel he deserves this special treat.
This is the trio we love – Thumbs Up, her sister Specks, and our eldest rooster and father of the whole flock – Bald Mountain. He himself has battled a raccoon – losing his comb in the process – and made it out alive. In fact, he’s survived many attacks in his six years here. Elihu loves him like a favorite dog. If too much time passes without hearing him crow, I go searching for him to make sure he’s still with us. He may be old, but he’s still fully loaded.
Went to the movies with mom and Andrew the other night, but it was still light out, so the birds hadn’t roosted yet. Not wanting to risk losing our favorites, I put one gal under each arm and stashed them in our screen porch for safety. I’d left the window to the porch open – and look what these clever girls did for added security! Do ya see em? They let themselves in through an open window.
Smart girls.
Smart boy, too. He parked himself on the table because he’s a big, heavy bird and likely couldn’t get to the top of the fridge.
This business of euphemistically calling a dump a ‘transfer station’ gets me. Can’t we just call this place what it really is?
I got in line to have my full vehicle weighed on the drive in.
We’re headed to the building in the distance.
Inside this hangar-sized structure is a mountain of trash. Ya just back up your car and heave away.
A large claw pushed the incoming mess to the back as folks continued to fling their trash onto the heap. Decades ago, before recycling was hip, I’d taken it upon myself to collect the recycling of my apartment building neighbors and drive it to a recycling center. My friends all knew me as the gal ‘who’d take your stuff’. I even had T shirts made that said “The earth is a finite resource. Recycle.” I sold them in Garbage Magazine (long out of print) and to anyone I could. I was – and still am – profoundly frightened of our long-term prognosis with respect to our cast-offs. I remember feeling very conflicted about even having children because of it. Many times I’ve apologized to my son for bringing him into this mess. Our future is not for the faint of heart.
Ah, but this is what Genesse Cream Ale was made for. To help us forget! Mom brought over a couple of cold ones, including this gem on the right: the very last of the original bottle shapes. They don’t make em anymore, which makes me a little nostalgic. Screw it, let’s drink!
I’ll miss those short, squat bottles. Genny in a long neck just isn’t quite the same.
Finally! It’s a very long, private drive to the shore, but I wasn’t daunted.
Here’s the lovely home of the Saratoga Lake Sailing Club.
A cozy feel just like you’d imagine. Even has that certain smell…
Ah, nautical memorabilia. Gives me a gentle feeling of being home at last. It’s been over a decade since I’ve sailed, and honestly, I couldn’t get underway without help these days, but there’s something about being on water and powered by wind that makes everything finally OK. It erases care and unites one with the world. Really.
Here’s the view from the club.
The bump in the center is Snake Hill, on the lake’s southeast side, and I can see it from my house all year ’round.
And look! A sailboat!! So close, and yet still, so very far…
Love this. Cheat the nursing home. Die on your Laser. !!
How’s this for bird watching? My first ever sighting of a Bald Eagle in the wild. Awesome.
But these are the birds I love most. I love to know they’re living a happy life here. While they enjoy roaming free and foraging in the grass (cutting my feed bill by more than half) they’re safer in the run. Now I let them out only when I can be out with them.
And this, I assume, is a happy frog living in our pond
I also like to think that even our fish are happy.
This time of summer our garden looks lovely – and that, even if it’s only a moment’s distraction from the endless concerns of money, my unknown future and endless to-do lists – makes me happy too.
The Blue Moon rises to the left, and the casino and harness track glow in the distance off to the right.
Burning what’s left of the paper and boxes.
After seeing me ‘standing alone’, the moon retreated behind the clouds and left them glowing around the edges in the dark night sky. Goodbye for now, Blue Moon. Most likely things will be very different around here the next time we see you.
Post Script: I made the decision to let the chickens out today, because they seem so much more content to roam, take dust baths and sit in the shade. As I sat working at my computer Austin began to sound an alarm, and I looked up to see a fox about ten feet away from me, and creeping closer still. I yelled and the fox merely slowed his pace… Unbelievable how brave… Finally I grabbed a couple of rocks and threw them, and he/she did then retreat towards the woods, but it stopped a few times to look back to see if he/she might not be able to get past me and grab just one hen… Now I simply cannot go inside until sunset for fear of an event. Time to wash the car and do a little weeding I guess.
At the literal starting gate here, where horse number nine threw its rider, causing the crowd to roar… You could feel the anticipation of the race in the air.
We’re about as close to the action as one could hope to get, but unfortunately, that doesn’t really help my Achromat. He’s obliging me by being here. He sees very little of the horses.
Although it’s a pretty penny to get into the box section, this gal talked her way in effortlessly. I meant to show Elihu the elegance and thrill of the ‘other’ side of the track; private boxes, computer monitors, $25 flutes of champagne, and high-stakes betting. I’ve been told that the money the ‘downstairs’ folks bet is often called ‘stupid money’, because the bets are made based on the names of the horses alone (look at me, case in point!) and it’s the stupid money that funds those who know what they’re doing. The folks who sit here.
Not a lot maybe, but way too rich for me.
The red and white awnings everywhere make me dizzy.
These gentlemen are playing with the ‘stupid money’ to make their fortunes.
Ah, but this is why we’re here. Sang ‘I’m Confessin’ (for the first time in over seven years!) at a bright clip, forgot a line but filled it with the usual shtick, and enjoyed myself more in those two minutes than I have in a loooong time.
We finally went to hear the Philadelphia Orchestra. Saw this Rolls in the artists’ parking lot. Must belong to the tuba player, right?
Ah, SPAC. Thanks to Elihu’s visual situation, we’re always entitled to front row seats. Amazing. Grateful are we!!!
Hey look! It’s Carol!!
Enjoying some surprisingly tasty fries while listening to Tchiakovsky. Say what? Uber dope!
Conductor Yannik overflows with enthusiasm, love and gratitude for the music and the musicians.
Even got a little post-concert hang with tubist Carol Yantsch! (Turns out the Rolls wasn’t hers.)
There’s a little more excavational action at the Studio to finish up. Daryn waves to the camera.
My buddy Al assesses the too-tall stack. Come on, plumbers, ya charge me an arm and a leg then I have to finish the job myself? Al simply pulled a run of the mill saw out of the cab, marked it off…
…and had Daryn saw it down to size. Details, details. So many, yet each one is important.
The power went out one night. Threw most of my neighbors into a tizz. Me, I spend some time enjoying my piano. I positively reveled in the first-ever black of night outside my door. Gone were the annoying and ever-present ‘dusk to dawn’ lights that country folks often like to install by their garages, and which prevent true night from ever falling.
The chipping sparrows returned a couple of weeks ago, and this is their final clutch for the season before they head north. Look at this adorable open-mouthed baby! Feed me indeed!
This is the baby. He still has a bit of that pouty look – his ‘lips’ kind of turn down, and he’s more streaked than mom and dad. Tiny and so friggin cute.
Indulge me, if you will, in a little more nature talk. An ordinary lawn chair, right? Look closely at the bottom of the two center bars…
What’s this? Hay sticking out of a hole?? An accident perhaps?
Certainly not! It’s the work of a very industrious wasp whose labor I’ve watched for weeks. I don’t really want to share my chair with her, but how an I undo all of her domestic efforts? I can’t. This chair will remain unused til next year. (See how she carries that grass while in flight! I for one am very impressed.)
Mom and I spent hours upon hours going through the WWII trunk of Martha Carver’s husband, Francis.
Frank on the left, son Rob on the right…
Little Robbie then… and now!
The Studio still feels like it’s miles from completion, but we’re getting there.
A memento of years gone by…
Ancient Annie comes by the Studio as she has for the past sixteen years, and checks out our progress. I think she approves of the new kitchen.
Elihu and grandma admire the newest tomato. Look at this photo and notice: these two people are just about the same height. I just noticed this now. Holy crap, when did this happen. ??
I left the door open for a moment, and the girls just lhad to inspect the new porch.
Happy snail, happy fish. (Ok, if not ‘happy’, then at least virtually stress-free.)
One of twelve ‘happy’ frogs that live in our pond.
We finally released the tree frogs we caught last spring.
I’m thinking they’re pretty happy about that!
A last look. Thank you! We enjoyed having you around. Happy ‘torpor-ing’ – see you next year.
Back to the bottom line. After a full roster of events and day trips, there’s no place like home. We’re always  happy to let the race go on without us for a while.
The Hillhouse 