The Name Says It All

Books, Books, Books

Yeah, yeah. Haven't posted in a while... Going to post more... Blah, blah, blah... etc. etc.

I recently told a certain Annie Watkins that she should start updating her blog, to which she responded that I should update my blog. So, here I am writing a blog post. If only Annie would, I don't know, say, take a picture of a valued possession of hers, and then post it on her blog (hint, hint, hint).

Anyways, who knows what this blog even is? I sure don't. Who am I even talking to? Myself? Most likely. What kind of person asks a question and then answers it themselves? I do. But in a larger sense, bad writers and conversationalists.

Well, now that's out of the way, here's a preview of what's to come:
Books, books, books
My newly acquired Fair Isle addiction
The most exciting post about Tulips you will ever read (and that's only a small exaggeration)
Lake Michigan
And photos. There will always be more photos.

In conclusion, I will probably be writing a bit more. Maybe. We'll see.

p.s. I am sick, so that is my excuse for the ridiculous nature of this post.

To Match the Sky

Deserted Mall

It felt post-apocalyptic

Spring Came on a Sunday

So, Spring started on Sunday. Not official Spring, but real Spring. Here's how I know:

On Sunday it was warm enough to go for a bike ride without a coat.
In the evening, we saw a raccoon in our backyard.
There was no snow anywhere.

Monday morning we were woken up by a bunch of birds making a racket. One bird, especially, made sure everyone in the neighborhood could hear him.

That afternoon I experienced my first tornado warning (the sirens blared up whilst we were on the walk pictured above). Allen and I got hit in the face by a thunderstorm.

Last night I sat on the back porch and listened to the frog croaks coming from the bog. I tried to count how many distinct calls I could pick out of the cacophony. I only got to 5.
I think I can do better than that tonight.

It's supposed to be in the upper 70's today.
It's supposed to get above 80 this weekend.
I think I'm going to wear a skirt to celebrate.

This Blog Still Exists....

...... just in case you were wondering.

Simply Awesome

The Open Road.....

I went for a walk today. I decided it needed to become a bike ride.

I saw a heron swimming in the river. It dived under the water.

And a village of marmots. They disappeared into their burrow the minute they saw me.

The weather was perfect.

There's nothing better than the first bike ride of summer....

Technically it's still St. Patrick's Day in California....

For about 5 more minutes anyway...

Green is the best!

Happy St. Patrick's Day!

L'homme n'est qu'un roseau....

L'homme n'est qu'un roseau, le plus faible de la nature, mais c'est un roseau pensant. Il ne faut pas que l'univers entier s'arme pour l'écraser; une vapeur, une goutte d'eau suffit pour le tuer. Mais quand l'univers l'écraserait, l'homme serait encore plus noble que ce qui le tue, puisqu'il sait qu'il meurt et l'avantage que l'univers a sur lui. L'univers n'en sait rien.

Man is but a reed, the most feeble thing in nature, but he is a thinking reed. The entire universe need not arm itself to crush him; a vapour, a drop of water, suffices to kill him. But if the universe were to crush him, man would still be more noble than that which killed him, because he knows that he dies and the advantage which the universe has over him. The universe knows nothing of this.
                               -Blaise Pascal Pensées

Feelin' Bluegrass Today

For Mom

Lysimachia nummularia

aka Creeping Jenny

Ode to Idaho Part II - The Void

Civil Rights Day

Segregation continued for almost 10 years after this song was written:

Here's to all the things in life that have changed for the better!

Ode to Idaho: Part I - Sunsets

To me,

every sunset

seems

more breathtaking

than

the last.

These two were taken minutes apart.

Pictures just can't do them justice.

My Element

I love Idaho. I'll tell that to anyone who'll listen. Maybe I love Idaho a bit too much. I find myself looking for excuses to talk about it. The other day I realized I'm a lot like one of those old women. Yes... one of THOSE old women. The senario always goes a little something like this:

You're standing in the livingroom of a kind-hearted old lady. You notice a photograph on the mantlepiece and decide to make a friendly comment. Something like:

"What a great looking family!" or "That's a nice picture, did you take it yourself?"

Then, before you know it, you've been dragged over to the sofa, and she's plopped 50 or 60 photo albums on your lap. Suddenly she's showing you every picture she's ever taken. Sure, it's kind of interesting at first; who doesn't love that sort of thing in moderation?

But, by the time she's taken you through a detailed photographic chronicle of the lives of her five cats, you're wondering how on earth you'll ever escape.
Unfortunately, that's me when it comes to Idaho. There's nothing I love more than showing people the pictures I've taken there; like somehow if I talk about enough, everyone will automatically feel the same way about it that I do.

Well, I've decided I need to release some of this pent up enthusiasm. So I'm going to sift through some of my old photos and post them in a series I've entitled, "Ode to Idaho: A Photographic Essay on Why It's So Great."
I know what you're thinking... pretty awesome right? Well don't take my word for it! Stay tuned for all the excitement trees and sagebrush have to offer! There will be snow! Open spaces! And the ancient volcanic remains of a now distant hot spot! Hurrah!
Alright, enough of these ramblings! Let me return quickly to the point I was trying to make in the first place (before this post got ridiculous):
Idaho is a part of me. I always feel like a piece of me stays there whenever I leave.
In essence - when I'm in Idaho, I'm in my element.
The End.

P.S.

This is a picture of me in my element.

In this moment, I can't think of anything I would've changed.

Read the following paragraph... if you can

Aoccdrnig to rscheearch at Cmabrigde Uinervtisy, it deosn't mttaer in what oredr the ltteers in a wrod are, the olny iprmoatnt tihng is taht the frist and lsat ltteer be in the rghit pclae. The rset can be a taotl mses and you can sitll raed it wouthit a porbelm. Tihs is bcuseae the huamn mnid deos not raed ervey lteter by istlef, but the wrod as a wlohe.

Linguists think this kind of stuff is really cool.

Turns out you can find beauty anywhere.

A Certain Beloved Jimison-Family Christmas Tree Ornament

This post is dedicated to Allen. 

Happy St. Nicholas' Day!