  
Taken by Goose with my camera.
Two Green Trucks
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Author Archives: michael
Two Panos
This one of Welsh and Dickey mountains in the Waterville Valley where Goose and Kristen hiked last week.
And this one of the Adirondacks where Mother Goose worked when she was a wee lass.
Risk
Please go here and read Goose’s latest.
Elk Action
Mike,
Beth and I just can’t stay away from those elk! Yesterday we took another trip up to Rocky Mtn Nat’l Park, this time in the late afternoon at prime time. We saw Big Daddy bucks herding their does, Big Daddy chasing young bucks away from their herds, and two competing Big Daddies sparring. Plus lots and lots of bugling, grunting and keening (sorry, still no sound). There were so many elk near and on the road we had to stop and wait, like in Ireland when the sheep cross the road. It was quite a show!
–rakkity
***********
Guffaws From the Western Peanut Gallery
Michael,
My cousin Patrick, who was born, raised, educated, and river rafted (his day job) throughout the mountain west, says that, “Lest you be guffawed upon as an upstart, transplanted Easterner, you should use the nomenclature, bulls, cows, and calves for elk (not bucks, does, and fawns).” So, fearing unrestrained guffaws from my western cousins, I suggest you use this revised album:
Goose and Kristin
The photo below is a slightly altered version of this one posted on Goose’s blog.
The Earth From The Moon
Michael,
The Japanese satellite Kaguya, now in lunar orbit, as we speak is taking high-resolution shots of the earth (see attachment). The scuttlebutt is that Kaguya will proceed to take time-lapse pictures of Earth, showing its rotation and its phases from new to first quarter to full to 3rd quarter and back to new. Perhaps surprisingly, this has never been done before in all the years (38) since the Apollo program, and including the Apollo program!. So in a few weeks time we may be looking at movies of earth on Youtube.
-rakkity
This Morning
This morning was something. A little snow
lay on the ground. The sun floated in a clear
blue sky. The sea was blue, and blue-green,
as far as the eye could see.
Scarcely a ripple. Calm. I dressed and went
for a walk — determined not to return
until I took in what Nature had to offer.
I passed close to some old, bent-over trees.
Crossed a field strewn with rocks
where snow had drifted. Kept going
until I reached the bluff.
Where I gazed at the sea, and the sky, and
the gulls wheeling over the white beach
far below. All lovely. All bathed in a pure
cold light. But, as usual, my thoughts
began to wander. I had to will
myself to see what I was seeing
and nothing else. I had to tell myself this is what
mattered, not the other. (And I did see it,
for a minute or two!) For a minute or two
it crowded out the usual musings on
what was right, and what was wrong — duty,
tender memories, thoughts of death, how I should treat
with my former wife. All the things
I hoped would go away this morning.
The stuff I live with every day. What
I’ve trampled on in order to stay alive.
But for a minute or two I did forget
myself and everything else. I know I did.
For when I turned back i didn’t know
where I was. Until some birds rose up
from the gnarled trees. And flew
in the direction I needed to be going.
Raymond Carver
Something Old, Something New
Goose’s Truck
I’ve been having fun teasing Goose about his new truck which sits at home while he’s away at college. The other day I told him that his mother wants him to take her family van back to school while she drives his truck.
His reply: Over my dead body.
Today’s IM
Goose: what’s up mike
Me: hi
Goose: how’s it going
Me: very well
you
Goose: i’m doing well
cant wait to go home
Me: I bet
I’ve been driving your truck all over
to the dump
filling it full of hot asphalt
Goose: WHAT!
Me: that kind of thing
mostly off road
Goose: ohhh
Me: into gullies
Goose: of course
nice
Me: giving it a work out
Goose: nice
Me: maybe you’ll need to paint it when you get home
Goose: when i get home I’m going to run your truck over
Goose's Truck
I’ve been having fun teasing Goose about his new truck which sits at home while he’s away at college. The other day I told him that his mother wants him to take her family van back to school while she drives his truck.
His reply: Over my dead body.
Today’s IM
Goose: what’s up mike
Me: hi
Goose: how’s it going
Me: very well
you
Goose: i’m doing well
cant wait to go home
Me: I bet
I’ve been driving your truck all over
to the dump
filling it full of hot asphalt
Goose: WHAT!
Me: that kind of thing
mostly off road
Goose: ohhh
Me: into gullies
Goose: of course
nice
Me: giving it a work out
Goose: nice
Me: maybe you’ll need to paint it when you get home
Goose: when i get home I’m going to run your truck over
Coming to a Town Near You
Matt just informed me that Westboro Baptist Church is coming to Acton to protest the Laramie Project on November 3rd. Is this a photo op or what?
From their website:
Acton-Boxbourgh High School 36 Charter Rd. This is for the Laramie Project. This is a pererted, tacky showing presented by the Fags to help generate sympathy for their abominations. This is not accurately told because Truth is FAllEN in the streets of Doomed America. Now listen up. According to Matthew Shepard’s killers, “their crime was motivated by drugs and money, not hatred of gays” (his sexual orientation, his faggotry). By the mouth of these two murderers, you find that this faggot Matthew Shepard was not killed because he was a fag, but because he was not willing to pay them money for drugs. It was motivated by drugs, for crying out loud! How do you get “Hate crime” from “drugs”? There is no logical connection, and still, God’s Standard does not change. Fear Him! He will cast you into Hell like Matthew Shepard if you follow in his idolatry and sodomy! See our Pastor’s Sermon titled “The dwelling place of the image of God’s Jealousy”, on August 19, 2007. God hates fags! God hates fag enablers! Therefore, God hates the Laramie Project, Dennis and Judy Shepard (for raising their son for the Devil and continuing to enable more children to go to Hell with him), and the Satanic, Pro-gay Media, which has institutionalized a Sodomite Zeitgeist in the people of Doomed America. America is DOOMED. Amen.
Cowboy Poem
Michael,
Last Friday I was invited to a 60th birthday party of one of my climbing buddies, Fred T. Fred and I climbed together at Great Falls (in VA) and Seneca Rocks (WV) for many years. Then he went west to Boulder, and started climbing the big stuff. I visited him several times, and we climbed all manner of cliffs and mountains. Then Fred had a sudden change of lifestyle. He wrangled at a dude ranch with a few 100 horses for some years, and started “horse whispering”. He could get a “raw” horse to be ride-able without any beating or pain. Now he has that as a side business in addition to his LEED consulting work.
Fred’s party was cowboy dress-up, and after scarfing down the grub, we were supposed to read “Cowboy Poetry”. So I read a cowboy poem, which I had written up the previous day. There were lots of smiles on Fred & Sandy’s faces, so I guess it worked.
(Greg is Fred’s son, and Sandy is his horseback-riding wife.)
For Fred on his 60th
Young Fred in the ’80s was a honcho of stone and the ropes
When I met him ascending Great Falls’ steepest slopes.
Soon he was leading me up Seneca’s hard limestone routes
And I followed him, sure, but I quaked in my boots.
All too soon Fred moved out West where mountains are high,
Both summer and winter he soloed right into the sky.
He invited me out and we scaled Crestone Peak,
The cliffs were so sheer my “Up Rope” was a squeak.
We simul-climbed Spearhead with Greg’s expert help,
Then we shimmied up Sharkstooth, which we topped with a yelp.
He led me up peaks with black ice and Big Air;
I reckon that’s why I’ve lost most of my hair.
While I worked to retire and settle into the west,
Cowboy Fred took up horses with vim, vigor and zest.
Sandy his sweetheart has softened Fred’s edges,
Riding into his life, she lured him down from the ledges.
At last I reached Boulder with freedom to potter
And Fred borrowed some horses for me and my daughter.
Our horses liked trotting but enjoyed a good lope,
My trotting is spotty, but with lopes I can’t cope.
Of old there were moments I’d match Fred’s moves on the rocks,
But his moves on a horse really knocked off my socks.
And now that old Fred’s reached late middle age,
Let’s doff him our hats as he rides off in the sage.
9/23/07