Kayaking in Fish Lake

Just back from kayaking on Fish Lake. It is the best thing in the world...kayaking with a couple of happy loons, a young eagle, a mature eagle, more sunnies than I can fathom, 5 geese lazing, hundreds of white lillies, thousands of mating dragonflies, and quiet, but for the sounds these beings make and the occasional splash of an oar in the water.

Storms continue...

The other night, I think it was a few nights before the vote on the debt ceiling was finally reached, there was a big thunderstorm which ended in what I am calling "heat lightening", because that is what it looked like.  The flashes were far away, but not necessarily low on the horizon, so I don't know if it was really heat lightening, but it was a hot night, and the local storm was over.  Only the lightening remained.  I stood there startled to see the power in the sky.  I could look at nothing else, but those flashes.  It was like the fireworks celebration on the fourth of July.  I could only go "Ooooh" and "Ahhhh".  I wondered about that great power, looking at that ceiling up there and all around me on this dark night.  As if we think we can harness nature!  Every flash revealed a little more of the great dome of night, and just as quickly took the image away.  We are tiny dwindling lights on earth, dimmed out by the hubris of our lawmakers, pathetic in our search for light from them.  I'm feeling powerless.

First big storm

This morning, before coffee, a big wind storm hit. One hive out of ten blew over and two hives lost their covers. The corn and the tallest plants look like they are done for, but maybe they are ok. We didn't loose any trees, but we had to saw our way out when we got to the township road to get into town for coffee and news and power. Big trees are down. It's a sad sight.

After further inspection of the woods, we find that we lost some big oak trees, a couple of big spruce, and many poplars. All the sunflowers and dahlias and dill and tomatoes and eggplant are blown over. The big prairie plants, like goldenrod and bee balm and joe pye weed are down, but they will probably revive. The vegetables may revive. I'm networking at the coffee shop in town with a smoothie and taking ice and gin and tonic home. We may not have power for another day or so. We do have a generator, but only for emergency electric needs.

First Kayaking

It was windy, so we put in at a small lake where Jacqui fishes in winter, small enough that there weren't any whitecaps. I had worried that I'd feel claustrophobia, so she got me a big wide long kayak. The kayak glides easily and lightly in the water. I sit, balanced and amazed at the sensation of calm I feel. I stroke the water and feel the force, moving swiftly across the lake. 

first swarm

The English Spot basks in the sun on the deck. Rosy wanders on the lowest part of the deck's frame, his old wings lifted slightly as a warning against the imposing rabbits. Dora will impose herself upon anyone's calm.

We're getting wind. The clothes on the line are flying. There are tornadoes reported in other parts of the state. It sounds like the farmer across the road is finally planting, his tractor grinding to a stop and start, and now a constant distant roar. An occasional gunshot down the road...this is my quiet afternoon on a holiday weekend a couple of hours after our first known swarm of the season. 

You don't always know when a swarm is coming, or even if it has happened, but there are signs if you keep a good watch over your hives. You may see bearding, as in the photo at the top of this posting. The bees will hang out on the face of the hive on very hot days or if they are crowded. Crowding is a sure sign of a swarm to come. When you inspect inside the hives, which should be done regularly while the bees are collecting, you will see conical shapes built on the bottom of a frame. Those are the chambers where a new queen may be being prepared for a swarm. The bees have rules, but I find the whole thing terribly mysterious.