Empty nest

A really good deal on an almost-new bicycle saw us on the road last Saturday, for a 2.5 hour drive to Burlington, Vermont. It was a new destination for us, although it was just a short extension of the journey we became familiar with last year in our frustrating attempts to see migrating snow geese.

As Fall is yet to manifest in any dramatic way, the early part of the trip was unexciting and for once we shared the road with other drivers. Perhaps people determined to enjoy what might be the last warm weekend in New England.

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However, there were no delays and we arrived in Burlington ahead of the time set for the rendezvous, so we pulled over for Grant to call the seller. While he did that, I noticed a clump of the pretty asters I’d recently become aware of as they are everywhere at present.

The seller was at home and said we should come on down, so we set off on what turned out to be a convoluted route through Burlington. At a light where we were supposed to turn, Grant opted to continue straight on an alternate which, according to the GPS, offered the same ETA. I think the idea was to avoid a perceived traffic jam, but this back-fired somewhat as we soon found ourselves on the campus of the University of Vermont.

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The campus covers an area of approximately 450 acres or 1.9 square kilometres. That Saturday, everyone appeared to be on the move, in cars, on bikes and on foot, no-one paying much attention to where they were going which made progress a little nerve-wracking.

The GPS had us twisting and turning in every direction and we began to feel we’d never escape the campus, but finally we found ourselves on a wide boulevard which led down toward Lake Champlain.

Here, Burlington had the feel of a seaside town, with signs for the beaches. With more time available and on a quiet day, it would be nice to go down to the shore, but not this day.

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Even this far north, most trees had not yet taken Fall colour.

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Burlington is on the eastern shore of Lake Champlain. Ethan Allen’s homestead is there. He was a leader in the American Revolution and a key founder of Vermont.

Only because we drove straight past it, I discovered that this is also the home of the Vermont Teddy Bear Factory. If we go that way again, I may go in, as I adore teddy bears. Of course, it would be a bad idea because I would be sorely tempted by all those sweet faces and what does an old woman need with another teddy? I still have the teddy I was given in 1956.

Teddies are comforting, much more so than dolls. I was never tempted to cuddle a doll.

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The mountains in the distance are in New York, the other side of Lake Champlain.

At this point, I began watching the cloud formations that added much character to what had been a bland blue sky.

Without too much additional trouble, we located the man with the bike which Grant loaded onto the back of the car and we set off to re-trace our steps, but not across the campus!

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Our route would take us past the turn off to Dead Creek and now that we had no appointment to keep, we had plenty of time, so we decided to head in that direction.

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In our tours about the countryside, I’ve often noticed that barn roofs are white, so I asked Google to explain:

White or reflective light-colored roofing materials are installed on modern agricultural buildings to reflect sunlight and reduce interior heat buildup during the summer, though they are less common historically because dark or weathered roofs helped absorb solar heat during freezing northern winters and traditional roofs were made of wood shingles, slate, or unpainted metal.

and why most barns are red:

Historically, classic New England barns became red because 18th- and 19th-century farmers mixed inexpensive linseed oil, skim milk, lime, and rust (iron oxide) to protect the wood, creating a durable, fungus-resistant coating that happened to dry in a reddish-orange hue.

Red barns look very picturesque in a snowy landscape. Barns that aren’t red tend to be yellow which goes back to the days when they were painted with yellow ochre, an affordable earth-derived pigment. They too are very picturesque.

Barns painted any other colour – you’ll have to ask the farmer.

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There wasn’t much activity at Dead Creek. In the distance, the town of Addison, sitting at the foot of Snake Mountain.

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Because he’s very much taller and can see over the top of vegetation, Grant was able to spot a great blue heron, so I handed him the camera to take its picture.

It represented the sum total of all the wildlife we saw. The ducks I thought I spotted turned out to be floating debris.

We are pondering another attempt at catching up with those pesky snow geese this year. We did see a small flock last year, from a distance, so our efforts were not totally frustrated, but we would love to see more and closer.

If only we’d known, we might have seen snow geese in Skagit Valley when we lived in Washington, although it would have been a journey of 3 hours each way which in those days was more than I could easily manage. And we were all tied up with the pussycats.

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If there was nothing to see at ground level, long fingers of cloud stretched out overhead.

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Propelled by upper level wind.

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There is a fair bit of wind at ground level here. As we drove back up to the main road we passed an avenue of trees which is so shaped by it. We’d seen these trees in Winter and early Spring, but never in full leaf.

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This reminds me of vainly trying to control my coif on a windy day!

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To finish up, here is a dead tree at Dead Creek which houses ospreys.

This time of year an empty nest.

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