September 7, 2010. Tuesday.
Situation: Yesterday late afternoon, after a long and delicious nap, and while Moi was showing Ezra the sashes of the windows our previous blue heeler, Spot, had chewed up to see if he could replace them, I decided I would be of some usefulness and try to saw up the two sumac trees that had fallen on our trash pile. I easily found the limb saw hanging on a nail in the outbuilding, and the trees sawed up a lot easier than I expected. Mway followed me out to the trash pile, standing and looking at me, dodging each cut limb as I threw it on top of the trash, with the expectation that each one might be one I would toss for her. “She thought you were making her sticks,” Moi later commented. Of course when I was done I did have to throw stick with her in the back yard; the stick I chose to throw, one I found in the music room and wanted to clear out of there, turned out to be half of the “pro-quality” stick, still remarkably in existence and even of use. I work for a few hours at the top of the day, and when I get home, Moi and Mway are taking a nap. I send off an email, then decide I might as well lie down and read myself, perchance to nap a little. No sooner does the portable Thoreau slip from my limp hand, than I’m awakened by the noise of doors. It’s 4:14, and walk time for Mway.
State of the Path: Just before we head out Moi presses me into service to hold the ladder for her after supper, so I feel like I’m suddenly in a rush. Grab the best stick on the bench; turns out to be the birch branch; doubles nicely as a walking stick. Whiz in the walled garden; while Mway searches the top of the barn wall for ground hogs, hear what I’m sure is a black walnut fall. Leaves of black walnuts still overwhelmingly green, but see a yellow leaf or two fall. Spot some more smartweed, then see Moi’s little pink flower, then still some more “creeping bush clover,” their tiny little pea-like flowers so tiny and little I wished they’d just disappear and leave me be. Monarchs (or viceroys), a black swallowtail, bumblebees in the touch-me-nots, a bunch of other butterflies including yellow cabbage or sulfur (spelling correct this time) whatever they may be. Across the swale, spot yet another new wildflower (thought the smartweed might be the last of it); flowers white and aster-like; let’s call them white asters.
State of the Creek: Water below the tree stand gone. But it is water there at the log jam: see a ripple in it. Second pool at the big locusts is no more than a yard long.
The Fetch: Mway keeps it to about ten or so fetches today. Coming back through the yard I hear Moi calling out to me. I look around, don’t see her, call out for her. Then I hear her voice again; sounds like it’s coming from in the house, so I march past the wading pool where Mway leaves her stick, walk up the porch, and go into the door. I find Moi in the music room, painting a window. “What do you want?” I ask. Moi looks at me. “Did you think you heard me call you?” “Yes,” I answer, “Didn’t you call out to me?” “No,” she says.
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It’s likely that Moi, when she gets done with her Red Cross work on the flooded Mohawk River, will be coming backs to floods here. It’s been raining since Dan’s party on Sunday. I called the Dennehy’s this morning to confirm that they can come to our place if they need to abandon their house, which they’ll probably have to do tomorrow. You can hear our creek rushing along from our back yard. Today a certain particular dog and I walked down there for the first time since Saturday. I didn’t bother to slog through the waters overrunning the path, but returned back past the wigwams to the clearing, boots filled with water, walking clothes drenched. In the clearing, a certain particular dog showed no signs of feeling alienated from her work – eventually, cold, wet, and irritated, I had to march back to the house before she wanted to quit.
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