Ripples
In the soft
And the hard
On the water
A gentle breeze
In the moment
On the granite
Storms and ice
Over aeons
In my spirit
The rock and roll
Of the history of me
Ripples
In the soft
And the hard
On the water
A gentle breeze
In the moment
On the granite
Storms and ice
Over aeons
In my spirit
The rock and roll
Of the history of me
Solitary sentinel
Faces menacing skies
Steadfast
Resolute
Safe harbour signal
Sought in distress
She reclines on the porch swing
Sways with gentle breezes
She loves this spot
Overlooking the bay
Always the picture of calm
Even if the sky threatens rain
Artful reflections
Flow over glassy waters
The ominous clouds tempered
As the wash of a watercolour
On which her mind paints
Stories of transformation
In the morning
A mug of americano
Vapour wafting
With the scent of roasted bean
Then the garden
No more than a thin film
Of rock-strewn topsoil
Spread over a bed of granite
Now the afternoon
Pinot gris
The bottle at her feet
Chills in a bucket of ice
This afternoon
Began earlier than others
Though not the earliest retreat
She may not need
To replenish the bottle
Some thought her broken
Even brittle
But all the brittle
Had broken away
In countless storms
What remained
Was hardened
Tenacious
She’d shed many facades
Until what was left
Was what she chose
To keep
She kept nothing
For perfunctory friendships
Or pettiness
Able to withstand any hardship
She chose carefully
What to stand for
And who
Content in gentleness
She suffered no one
Who drove hard upon her shores
If some thought
Walking away made her weak
She walked away
While they washed out to sea
9:25PM, August 20, 2023 :: Keltic Lodge, Cape Breton Highlands National Park, Cape Breton, Nova Scotia, Canada
A man with a guitar and a good, traditional folk voice plays a variety of songs I might expect, though most I’ve never heard before. Still, the Gordon Lightfoot, Valdy and George Harrison were lovely, as have all the songs I’ve never heard before.
I have to admit, I’m not listening all that closely, sitting on an overstuffed couch in the Keltic Lodge’s lounge. I can’t see him, either, since there’s a pillar obscuring the view.
However, I have power and WiFi here, and those have been in short supply the last few days, especially the power. The battery in the trailer hasn’t had a full charge since leaving Prince Edward Island, and the last couple days I haven’t driven enough to make up for the consumption of the various devices I use daily. So, I’m hovering on the edge of not being able to power the fridge. To keep it going I’ve limited charging phone, computer, batteries.
Limiting the charging means I have to limit the use, especially the power hungry laptop, which is why today’s post is coming later in the day than I’d like, and why I’ll have a hard time posting tomorrow’s Pic and a Word Challenge in a timely manner. The lounge is only open ’til 11PM and it’s now 10:39.
This has definitely been a journey of learning. I look at this photo and think of a couple of things. First: I’m trying to stop for the night before it’s actually night. I didn’t quite make it the night this photo was taken a few days ago. Late arrivals don’t leave any time to enjoy (and photograph) the location with decent light. And while I’ve got light, cooking (and eating) in the dark isn’t a lot of fun, especially with all the mosquitoes and other biting insects that come out as the sun sets.
Aside from that little logistical shortcoming, what I also register is the fact that nearly everything I hold dear is in that rig: cameras and lenses, computer and hard drives loaded with words and photographs, my bicycle, that beat-up but still remarkably reliable, Toyota Rav4.
The teardrop I haven’t made up my mind about. On the one hand, teardropping is hella better than car camping. Quick to setup and breakdown, and I can park it for the night in all kinds of places (for free) that a tent just won’t work. Huge bonus: a thick memory foam double sized mattress. No leaky and too-thin air mattresses on hard, rocky uneven ground. No crouching to clamber/crawl in and out of a soggy tent flap. I really can’t stress what a huge bonus this is.
But as a long-term solution for getting both off-grid and mobile, it’s probably not the answer. I still haven’t figured out a way to be comfortable hanging out if the weather (or the biting insects) are being disagreeable. The trailer’s sleeping area has served on such occasions, but only because there were no other options. It’s fine for lying down, but sitting up just doesn’t quite work.
A better option for this would be a Campervan or Class C Camper, but those consume a fair bit more fuel than the RAV4, even when it’s pulling a 1,200 pound trailer. That may work for future trips, but this one needed to cover long distances in a short time, so fuel economy was a big consideration.
So in the meantime I suppose I’ll have to add some sort of cover to lounge under. I just haven’t decided what form that cover should take. Pop-up tent with mosquito screens? Or just a tarp stretched over a comfortable space? I’ve seen both these work for others. Or maybe something else altogether?
Hmmmm… I don’t have an answer yet. Need to come up with one soon. I’m beginning to find a groove in this teardropping thing. Maybe the answer will make itself clear with a bit more groove?
4:42PM, August 18, 2023 :: Tim Horton’s, Port Hawksbury, Cape Breton, Nova Scotia, Canada
Teardropper’s note to self:
Weather radar is a thing. Use it, preferably before departure, so you’ll know to let the storm move ahead of you, rather than drive for 5 hours in the thick of it. Especially when your teardrop trailer is watertight when stationary, but a tich leaky around the doors when underway. The leaks aren’t too bothersome in a light rain, but under a deluge…. well, it could have been quite unpleasant.
Fortunately, the four shammy towels I’d stuffed around the door bases managed to suck up the bulk of the water. (I squeezed out about a quart of water from them upon arriving in Port Hawksbury.) I’d bought the shammies over a month ago in Montreal for leaks I was having in the galley, but never needed them because it didn’t rain again before I fixed those leaks. It was even on my mind to return them. Thankfully, without any foresight of my own, I hadn’t.
And thank you so much, Ann L’Italien, for the brilliant gift of a waterproof mattress cover. The soaked shammies were right up against it, and the cover no doubt saved the shammies from transferring water to the nearly equally absorbent foam mattress. <mwah!>
Tonight will be a much more comfortable sleep for these two mitigating conditions.
Unfortunately, though there was some great coastal scenery, the rain was just too hard for the Fuji. Too much rain on the lens. Even trying to frame with the phone was pretty challenging, but I managed to get a few shots in the few stops I made, getting absolutely soaked at this one and a couple others.
In the feature photo, that’s not mist or fog obscuring the distant point and fuzzing the car’s headlights on the highway. That’s rain. My raincoat, shorts and hat can assure you that I was getting hammered by it. It’s fascinating that rain isn’t apparent on photographs up close unless you shoot with a pretty high shutter speed, or the rain is backlit.
Lessons learned, and disaster averted by a little luck and and a thoughtful gift. Despite the weather, not such a bad day as much of the scenery was quite spectacular, indeed, due in part to the weather.
Time to roll off and find a camp spot, and hope the ….
…hmmm, looking at the weather radar, the light rain outside is the leading edge of another storm cell coming through. There are some nasty colours in it. Looks like it’ll pass through this area by 7PM, an hour and a half from now as I type this.
Maybe another cuppa, and another blog post??
I’m learning. 🙂
Rain abated
Dimpled sand dries in Rorschach patches
Sky a mottled grey
A single darkened cloud
Mimics patterns in the sand
Some might wish for the sun
To feel the heat on their skin
Or rising from the scalding sand
Secure in the haven of a beach towel
Beneath an umbrella in a sea of beachgoers
But I prefer this solitude
Shared only with the rumbling surf
And the gull idling by
On the penetrating wind
Which tousles my knotting hair
Draw my windbreaker tight against the insistent chill
Rub some warmth into my thighs through the denim
All the while engaging the impression
That I have this spectacular planet
All to myself
I cut a path through the long grass billowing
Well off the trail the others had tread
And composed there a scene
Few travellers would see
Footfalls through the dunes
Skies grey as the sand
And blackened monoliths
Tossed about like stones
From a small child’s hand
There, in the buffeting wind
Amidst the storm-sodden grass
Shielding the lens
From the rain and debris
I gathered dim light
Small hope had I
This photo could be…
Worth soggy shoes
And cold, wetted socks
My pants would drip water
Later
When twisted in knots
First, back to the car
All shivering raw
Engine now running
With hands to the heater
Hoping to thaw
Now months and months later
At home nice and warm
Editing photos I took in a storm
To my delight I discover
They came out… alright
Slate grey sky
Slate green sea
Ancient conifers
Snuggle up to the rocky shore
Recalling, perhaps
Distant ancestors
From a primordial ocean
Even I can imagine
With my scant sixty years
From this perch over Boiler Bay
The sky like the snow
Sullen and sullied
The latter a victim
Of spring thaw
The collected detritus
Of winter storms
Revealed beneath
Retreating drifts
While the clouds
Speak with the voice
Of ill wind and
Malcontent climate
But the lake
Ahhhh
The lake sparkles blue
And even the worrying breeze
Does little but kindle its glimmer
A beautiful scene
After the ranger’s warning
There would be naught
But the clouds to see