Another American Adventure: midsummer bounty

Wednesday, July 24, 2013

midsummer bounty

Blackberries are ripening ...

Orange fungi ..

...pretty little flowers ...

Finally someone has made a portion of our favorite off the road walk, passable. For more than a year now it has been so wet that I would sink several inches into the mud while trying to get around this corner.

Jubilee rinses her feet off.

2 comments:

BarbaraJuly 24, 2013 at 6:45 PM
I love blackberries plucked off the bush! Great to see how the seasons follow one another at Knob Hill. I hope Jube still enjoys his walks there.
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beth cioffolettiJuly 24, 2013 at 9:30 PM
yep, I think I ate that blackberry! Jubilee is doing ok. She seems to still be able to follow the path though I have to keep an eye on her. And as far as I can tell, she enjoys it all. Maybe not as much as swimming, though.
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"In those first days, people said, a squirrel could run the long length of Pennsylvania without ever touching the ground. In those first days, the woods were white oak and chestnut, hickory, maple, sycamore, walnut, wild ash, wild plum, and white pine. The pine grew on the ridgetops where the mountains' lumpy spines stuck up and their skin was thinnest.

"The wilderness was uncanny, unknown. Benjamin Franklin had already invented his stove in Philadelphia by 1753, and Thomas Jefferson was a schoolboy in Virginia; French soldiers had been living in forts along Lake Erie for two generations. But west of the Alleghenies in western Pennsylvania, there was not even a settlement, not even a cabin. No Indians lived there, or even near there.

"Wild grapevines tangled the treetops and shut out the sun. Few songbirds lived in the deep woods. Bright Carolina parakeets - red, green, and yellow - nested in the dark forest. There were ravens then, too. Woodpeckers rattled the big trees' trunks, ruffed grouse whirred their tail feathers in the fall, and every long once in a while a nervous gang of empty-headed turkeys came hustling and kicking through the leaves - but no one heard any of this, no one at all."

Annie Dillard, An American Childhood.