Hi Mike,

My old buddy Joe, a long-standing member of the Fogies Five (and an even longer-standing member of the “B.A.D.” club when we were CU grad students), and I went on a hike up to the alpine meadows of the Crater Lakes cirque, 30 miles west of Boulder. Along with us came Wayne, Joe’s postdoc. Wayne is from the Phoenix/Tucson inferno, and hasn’t had much of a chance to cruise the high country. The hike up to Crater Lakes exceeded all of our expectations. After 3 miles of steep hiking through the woods, we reached timberline, and found one of Colorado’s finest alpine meadows. We lolled around among the flowers, and would still be up there (I’m writing after dark), were it not that threatening thunderclouds and lightning drove us out and down the trail. We hiked on home wards through a refreshing hailstorm and found Boulder wrapped in clouds, teeming with rain. Wayne carried back a rapidly melting chunk of a snowfield from the cirque, so he can show it (re-frozen) to his Arizona family, many of whom have never (!) seen snow.

Another great day in the Rockies!

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Ed

This guy fished for much of our stay in Plymouth. Here he is at six in the morning patiently casting for anything with gills.

To the left of the guy above, and out of the suns rays, this guy caught the same number of fish. Nada.

 

Hello,

My daughter Hannah is back from her week with the American Legion, Girl’s Nation on Capital Hill. This link has their schedule with photos from every event. (She was in the Federalist Party.)

This link to Time Magazine’s picture of the girls meeting the President Bush. Hannah is in the 3rd row, 3rd from the left. She’s the one with the raised balled fist. She assures me it was not in hostility, although I’m not completely convinced. She has great stories that I will share later.

Jen

Hello,

My daughter Hannah is back from her week with the American Legion, Girl’s Nation on Capital Hill. This link has their schedule with photos from every event. (She was in the Federalist Party.)

This link to Time Magazine’s picture of the girls meeting the President Bush. Hannah is in the 3rd row, 3rd from the left. She’s the one with the raised balled fist. She assures me it was not in hostility, although I’m not completely convinced. She has great stories that I will share later.

Jen

The view from out motel balcony in Plymouth. That’s Diane in blue wading out into the sea.

Adam alerted me to this short piece in this morning’s NY Times. It’s a gem.

SMALL FARM REPORT

By Verlyn Klinkenborg

Here is how things stand at midsummer. One of the Tamworth pigs is tame enough to be scratched behind the ears. The other isn’t. Two of the white geese have clubbed together and banished the third white goose from their society. The lame Ancona duck has taken refuge under the old chicken house. We would put her out of her misery, except that her misery is her life. The old Dominique rooster seems to be in a vertiginous state, always leaning and nearly always dozing. During the listless heat of the day, the chickens all lie in the dust beneath the pickup. The horses stand in the hickory shade, incognito in fly-masks, tails flicking.

The vegetable garden has gone feral. The walking onions, the chives and the blueberries are the only signs of civilization there. The less said about that the better. Hopes are high for next year. The crop of chipmunks is incredible. There have never been fatter woodchucks. The pasture is filled with the trial cawing of young crows. The swallows nearly clip me with their wings as I throw hay down from the loft. The bees are populous. The pasture at dawn is covered with spiderwebs that look like the footprints of ethereal elephants. The scarlet bee-balm is in bloom down by the mailbox, and the thistles are purpling. The hollyhocks are coming into blossom and also rotting in the leaf, as they always seem to do.

The days still come in order. Gray light collects in the bedroom long before dawn. Then comes a bleached noon and nearly always the threat of a late-afternoon thunderstorm. The darkness is notated by fireflies, who have been unusually numerous — or is it unusually bright? — this year. The crickets are now whining away, as if they were reeling in August. I am laying in all the thinking I can against a time when summer is in short supply.

My annual goldfinch photo.

The guys have been launching rockets ever since they were, well, boys. I’ve watched Daryl and Matthew’s rockets take off vertically, then as if controlled by some unseen force, change directions and crash into the tree they were hiding behind. In this movie they pause while a plane flies overhead and you think how silly. And then you watch the missile launch and you think oh my god.

After a short mid-summer break the crew is back at work, this time painting Goose’s house, which compared to ours, must feel like dessert. If time permits, they’ll move on to our barn and then Robby’s barn with a stop in between to demo our master bathroom.

Adam’s Photos  of Dan’s party,  and Adam’s  limerick delivered in both Spanish and English.

The plan: Surprise Dan
The reason: He’s sixty
The ruse: Ask him to help me work at my house while his party gets prepped.
The sketchy part: Get him back to his house by 4:30 PM where the assembled throng awaits.

Dan and Adam arrive at my house around eleven, and after coffee and talk we begin installing replacement windows in my living room. We work through the lunch hour, after all they didn’t show up until nearly noon, and by 2 PM the windows are in with just a few trim details remaining. We break for lunch, and by 2:45 Dan is grumbling about how he’s done for the day. Nay, nay, I say, there is much more to be done.

The problem is, when Dan’s decided he’s done enough work, he always then leaves. Like a launched cruise missile, you can’t deter him. I know because we have a long history of working together. I call Linda to make sure our timing is right and she says keep him until 4 PM. I say I might have to break his legs and she says ok.

We go back to work, Dan finishes the last window around four, and I think we’re in the clear. Except that I head for the bathroom and when I return I find Dan stretched out with his eyes closed in Diane’s new reclining back chair.

“Dan, I’m going to take a shower,” I say.

“Fine,” he says.

“All I’m saying is I won’t be around in case you LEAVE,” I say.

“Fine,” he says, and proceeds to ask Matt for and then play with Matt’s new iPhone.

“Matt, where are your contacts”? Dan ask as he taps on the touch screen.

Oh nooooo, I think to myself.

Fifteen minutes go by (I imagine the assembled crowd back at the party site is getting restless) and I call Linda. “Linda, he hasn’t left yet but he tells me he’s going to in ten minutes. That gets him back to your house in twenty-five minutes.”

Sure enough, Dan finally leaves and Diane and I rush to change into our party clothes so we too may have some of those tasty appetizers catered by La Provence. We’re showered and dressed in ten minutes, and as we skate through the kitchen to exit our house in comes…. DAN.

“What are you doing here?” I try not to shout.

“I forgot my cell phone,” Dan replies.

“I would have brought it to you,” I say, almost letting the cat out.

“To my house? “ Dan asks.

“Yeah, we’re going to Bob and Mary’s for dinner.” Bob and Mary live near Dan, and I feel quite proud to come up with a reason to return the phone and to explain our pressed shirts and polished shoes.

Dan leaves the house, takes forever to get back into his car and out of the driveway, and I call Linda with a final update before we hit the road.

Was Dan surprised to see his street lined with cars? Damn right, he was.

Thanks to many, but first to his son Jim who initiated the event.

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