Archive for January, 2011


Restoreth My Hull

January 25, 2011

It’s sixteen feet long and in need of some work.  Should eventually get me from here to there in style.  I’ll try to keep my progress public. 

“I, rather, with the leaping trout,
Wind, among lilies, in and out…”
-Robert Louis Stevenson, The Canoe Speaks

And the island keeps getting better.


Hey, Middle Sister

January 24, 2011

“In the cabin the fisherman’s daughter,
The strangely beautiful fisherman’s daughter.”
-Heinrich Heine, The North Sea–First Cycle

I’ll keep taking you along if you’ll keep coming.  You’re good company, and with you, small fish are whales.  Papa needs that sometimes.  Maybe you need it too.

You bring your mud boots and those curls; I’ll bring the fishing stuff and the candy.

I’ll bring the kleenex next time, too.


Ambition Bites the Nails of Success

January 21, 2011

I built two sawhorses in preparation for my project.  In a few days, something cool is going to start happening in the garage.

“…Which should be to the larger plan,
What the child is to the man…”

Any guesses?


In Summary

January 17, 2011

To recap:

Since October 12, 2009, I bought this:

Which gave me a view of this:

Which inspired me to get one of these:

Who turned in to one of these:

Which meant I had to build this:

Also I managed enough of this:

To help me afford a trip or two across the island for stuff like this:

Before I had to go collect five or six of these:

To feed them:

Also got a baby boy.  See previous post for evidence.

If I remember anything else worth mentioning from the past 463 days, I’ll post it here.  If anything good happens from here on out, I’ll post that here too.

Till then, there’s a project I’m working on.  I’ll write more about that later.



January 14, 2011

Eight GBP, fourteen Aussies of true Alaska buckskin and sheep horns, born to ride the white water in search of calm water to part the deep water and clear the holding water.  An alpine crawling, muskeg slogging deer getter with a flair for wing shooting and standing dead wood.  Up in the morning to search the skyline; up at night to hear the wolves, he waits for the equinox to tip the planet so he can know past doubt that all is well.

And all is well.

Mama’s in awe; sisters are smitten; and Papa’s proud as a thundering grouse in Spring.

Welcome to the river, Son.

I love you.