To me, these films never get old. You can tell it was recorded by a man because the camera focuses on things: buildings, cars, signs. I wanted to look at the fashions but the lens doesn’t linger on people.
Still, it’s lovely to watch.
[H/T: Small Dead Animals]
Yesterday morning I’m sitting by the front window, drinking coffee, reading my fave online blogs when I hear the POP! POP! POP! of a repeating rifle blast. I’m used to the distant sound of gun fire but this was uneasily close to home. I look out the window and on the hill across the county road I see Bambi’s cousin limping over the crest.
I run upstairs and wake up law enforcement Hubby with my breathless, “Gun fire…close by…limping deer…” Peeking over the bed covers, eyes half open, he mutters, “As long as they aren’t firing from the roadside, they’re not doing anything wrong.”
It was Day One of New York’s rifle hunting season and I was the first victim. I’m not anti-hunting. I’m just not used to hunting ACROSS THE STREET.
I’m a suburban girl who is used to this kind of hunting:
Yesterday, we had our first snowfall of the season. Didn’t amount to much but made the neighborhood magical this morning. (Note: I’ve been reading too much L.M. Montgomery when I use “magical” in a sentence.)
Front porch. This morning.
Two weeks ago I met this guy wearing leather chaps in 70 degree weather. Two days ago he became a local celebrity when he called OnStar saying he was drunk and didn’t want to drive home.
Yesterday he was driving by the house. Welcome to my neighborhood.
Listen to the OnStar call.
I grew up ten miles from the shore in southeastern Massachusetts. I remember two hurricanes, Gloria and Bob. Gloria knocked out power for a week and Bob knocked over our Catalpa tree in the backyard. I can still see that Catalpa bending over, nearly kissing the ground for a good three hours before the CRACK of the trunk announced its’ final death throttle.
Silly me for thinking that nestled in the hills between the Adirondacks and Green Mountains, far from Long Island Sound, that our humble abode would not be lashed with torrential rains and blustery winds from Irene.
So today, Thursday, I’m going to drive down to the local Hannaford’s to pick up water, batteries and food that doesn’t require refrigeration (just in case). I’ll be one of those earlier Yahoos and not the latter Yahoos emptying the shelves like a chicken with her head cut off.
You knew this would happen…I present to you those crazy boys from Deutschland:
What does a woodchuck sound like when struck by a 2007 Matrix on a country road in upstate New York?
Something between a SPLAT and a THRUMP.
Posted in New York
From the Glens Falls’ Post Star:
A Queensbury woman has been charged with felony attempted assault for allegedly trying to stab her boyfriend with a steak knife, police said.
I just liked the headline.
When one buys a house, usually one never sees the seller again. Usually. That’s our case. Our 1840s homestead used to sit on acres of dairy land. Over the decades (can I say “centuries”?), the owners have subdivided the land. I know of three homes in the neighborhood that sits on the once great fiefdom.
By the time our seller acquired the homestead, 7 acres were left. He kept 6 and sold us 1. (Sigh.) His intentions were to build a home on his acreage. Yesterday, the digging began. It was interesting to see a dowser take a few steps and watch his rod drop straight down in the same spot; no matter which direction he walked.
Today, with our permission, utility lines will be dug across our land. A man needs his cable and AC, I suppose.
We got used to the views from our back windows: the lake, the trees, the distant hilltops. I don’t think all of this will be interrupted but to see a roof top and lights from a once quiet and dark space is disappointing. I wish he had built before we moved in then we would have never known The Other.
Yup, still no excuses on the no blogging thing. Well, perhaps, a small excuse…
The new header photo depicts a tiny spot on God’s green earth that is a hop, skip and a jump from our new permanent abode. The family is nestled in a small hamlet near the Vermont border on the Empire State side.
Our hamlet has more going for it than most other upstate NY hamlets. It still retains it’s post office, a baptist church and a convenience store that isn’t a Stewart’s. If you’re thinking “Lark Rise to Candleford,” I could see the similarities to our hamlet 80 years ago when a mill, two stores, a one room schoolhouse and a casino (actually a dance hall) maintained a higher population.
It’s a great place, full of stories (similar to Candleford, the Post Mistriss knows EVERYTHING) and natural beauty.
Schoolhouse, upstate NY
Country Road, Black and White
We have been living in temporary digs since June. There are upsides and downsides to the situation.The downsides: our belongings are in storage so we are surrounded by items not our own. If I’m stuck in the house for more than a day (because of weather or illness), I MUST get out. I don’t have my books to read or furniture to rearrange. The rental has a fully stocked kitchen except for a coffee machine. Instant coffee makes me very sad.
Our rental is surrounded closely by neighboring homes. Two weeks ago, I was sitting in the living room and noticed a shadow form from the window behind my head. I turned to see a woman looking down at me. Okayyyyy…… I closed the shade.
We park our car in the motel parking lot next to the rental and sometimes potential lodgers catch me as I’m getting out of my Matrix and ask me questions even though I’ve told them I don’t work for the motel.
“How much are the rooms?”
“Do the rooms have cable?”
“Will I get a deal if I stay for a week?”
What part of “I don’t work here” do you not understand?
The upside: what makes it all tolerable is the incredible niceness of our landlords and the very lovely walking path along the Old Champlain Canal that is a short stroll away.
Old Champlain Canal, NY October 2010
Old Champlain Canal, NY October 2010
Old Champlain Canal Lock, near modern Lock 5, NY
Posted in New York
The Recovering Protestant 