As well as clouds, I am terribly drawn to water, especially moving water and it’s very difficult when riding in a car with Grant, to get him to stop.
There’s always either “a car behind”, or “it’s a blind corner”, or he stops, but so far on I have to hike back.
One evening when I had walked a long way back to get a picture of the rising moon, a local dude drew up beside me to ask if I was alright, as to him it must have seemed I was standing in the middle of the road staring into the woods.
“Oh, quite alright, thank you,” I said “I’m taking pictures of the moon”. Which he could not see from where he was, so he gave me a funny look, wound up his window and drove on.
Another time we stopped at the end of our access road so I could photograph wild flowers and before long a woman emerged from her nearby house looking rather disturbed: “Can I help you?” she asked shrilly. “No, thank you. I’m just taking photographs of the flowers.” She huffed off. They weren’t her flowers!
We have various reservations about those people. Apart from anything else, they tie their dog up outside, round the clock. It’s wails are very disturbing, but there is nothing one can do.
Although Grant sometimes mutters darkly about what he would like to do.
There is no way I would ever consider returning to live in suburbia. Life is so much simpler and less stressful in the country.
But of course in small villages before long you discover that people know stuff about you.
For instance it appears to be common knowledge that I purchased my house sight unseen, off the Internet.
Plenty of people, perhaps myself even, would have thought it a mad thing to do, but I did it for a reason. It was a risk I had to take which involved placing trust in people I did not know. Very uncharacteristic.
Everything about that move was super-charged with stress, in part because the couple of people who found out what I intended expressed utmost dismay.
Like a small child that’s told not to do something, I stuck my heels in and carried on.
It all worked out, but I admit it was risky.
Though why anyone in the village would consider it their business, I can’t imagine. Perhaps they have worked out that I am the same woman who “lost it” with the Medical Center over the matter of an elusive prescription.
“Crazy foreigner with foul mouth!”
Meanwhile we explored some different roads that took us to Goose Egg Mountain where I was able to descend from the car to photograph a stream.
This, however, did not satisfy my yen.
Every time we go to Greenwich I sit with my camera on the ready but I have yet to capture the shot I want.
We had to wait here for a tractor to come past. I like the way the muddy ruts and the rushes caught the light.
Corn stalks also.
Plenty of colour, despite the season.
This would have been a nice enough photo had the muddy windshield not created a blemish that, to me looks like a St Bernard. Do you see it?
When I was a kid that was the dog I wanted.
And a horse. Never got it, either. Just cats.
Before I go, a photograph posted by my blogger friend Peter reminded me of this:
Someone has been eating my broom bristles.
At best it would be humble pickings as this is really only for taking snow off the roof, but in the absence of snow, I’ve been using it to sweep the porch.
It’s hard to imagine how any creature could call this a satisfactory dinner.