Drive up the road that's pictured above. It's a town road, but in reality it's our drive way. At the top of the hill it connects with a state highway. There's another town road on the other side of the highway directly opposite our driveway/road. Part paved and part gravel, it follows the lee side of the Kickapoo River. To the left of the town road is high ground. Part of a connecting series of ridgetops, smart folk bought and built on this side of the road. On the right side of the road is a steep incline leading to marsh, river and swamp.
The dog and I take West River Road which connects with another main highway that will end up on the outside of town. I need a tank of LP gas. The outside food prep area is shut down. We ran out of gas in a twenty pounder. Canning and cooking inside on hot humid July afternoons is counterproductive to my efforts to keep the inside cool by drawing drapes and curtains.
Ducks paddle back and forth in open areas of water. An bald eagle flies slowly across the flooded low ground on patrol. I'll stop for a moment to deliver sweet corn to a couple living a few miles down the road. I met them when I first moved here as they drove down our lane to greet the newcomers. The Mrs. excitedly gives me a little of the history of our place, the location of her grandparents home and farm across the road from our schoolhouse.
When we moved in the only sign of a previous building was a rubble filled depression in the ground. I contacted the local excavator to haul two truck loads of sand to fill the hole. In late summer the sandy spot is the perfect site for a 10X20 foot white canopy where I dry the onion crop. A few stone blocks pop up here and there. A few hardy peonies planted by Grandma still survive frequent rototilling in garden plot number one. Mr. is a quiet reserved man who I'd see at Wal-Mart. We discuss local events. His wife promises to bring pictures of Grandpa's place and the surrounding area. I am still waiting for the pictures.
Approaching Gordy and Carol's place a weasel scurries in the ditch at my left and runs across the road. I'm driving slow, noting blooming wildflowers. The weasel looks like a mink, however, I've never seen a mink except on a coat so I'm guessing about this dark brown fuzzy slinker. He has plenty of time to cross the road, but as I cross what would have been his path, I hear excited squealing. What the hay. Did he try and double back? I see nothing in my rear view mirror. I may drive back the same way to soothe a fear that he got run over.
Some further thoughts on the Charlottesville riot
10 hours ago