Yesterday, the weather was reminiscent of the mood many gothic novels of the Victorian era tried to evoke. The skies lay misty upon one's form, like a crush in a Ton debutante's debut. The mist arising from the solitary lake rose aloft much like the protagonist's anxiety as they purposely, moodily strode the ominous, gloomy heath.
You know, stuff like that.
Anyway, after whipping up a mighty fine dinner of sourdough pizza, I looked at the corg and asked her if she would like to go for a meander. Obviously her answer was yes, as all I have to begin to utter is the work walk and she goes nuclear, her little feet pitter patter all excitedly as if on cue.
It rained on and off all day yesterday, but honestly, all that did was remind me of my Southeast Alaska childhood summers, rain was just a thang there.
So, with a few sprinkles falling upon our heads, the corg and the Kat set out for a stroll.
Our first traverse was through what I now affectionately refer to as Frog Run Road. The whole track comes alive with dime and quarter sized little frogs as you walk through it. I also might have lamented loudly once as I drove the ATV through the road too, as there were hundreds and hundreds of the little guys covering the rock road. I tried to avoid them, and I think their diminutive size and my knobby tire tread helped avoid mass casualties, but still. Oof.
Well, horrid memory aside, during our walk it's easy to avoid the little hoppers, I even stopped and said hi to a few. The corg doesn't care about them at all. She's very aloof and not Continental at all in that way.
As we moved on down the road we soon encountered Cora's nemesis, the ground squirrel. They love to rise up on their back legs, chirp tauntingly at her, and then, right as her little form gets within striking distance, the insolent fur rags disappear into their den holes.
I think it's funny, Cora, she does not.
Another, lesser irritant to the corg made an appearance too, what my dad, Rambling Ron, likes to call Chittermonkies.
Chipmunks.
Me, I like chipmunks, they are small, sassy, unafraid of a lot of things, and tough. Hmm. I guess that makes sense.
Something that I love here and that the gloomy, still day enhanced is the absolute silence of the place. The only sounds one could hear were the chirping of the birds, the occasional honk of the Canada Geeses on the lake, and well, nothing else. My nervous system is really enjoying this place.
I mean, one does have to be alert as you are meandering through the wilderness, there are predators about, but my form is remembering the lessons of my old life long ago. You listen.
Instead of being assaulted by the noise of civilization you lock into and become one with the noises of existing in Creation. It's kinda more than pleasant. An ebb and flow of the existential tide.
On and on we walked, occasionally stopping to take pictures of flora and fauna (me), or to sniff out a ground squirrel den or explore a deer trail (Cora). After a couple of miles the rain was threatening to increase to deluge status and I told the Corg we better turn around and head home as we, well, I, had a bunch of manual labor like work to complete the next day.
Cora is always amiable to whatever I suggest, save me yelling at her not to roll in goose poop, so she hopped, danced, and switched direction in a most pleasant way.
On the way back I stopped before the bend that weaves around the north end of the lake and snapped a picture of the old barn. It was built long ago when the first person to settle in this magical place arrived. I love the barn. Apparently my fragrant friend the skunk does too. Gonna have to do something about that situation soon.
But, not on a gloomy rainy day I didn't. So I continued on my way.
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