You can see the reflection of the camera in this shot; it’s the mysterious globs of color in the upper left corner. I thought at first I’d just Photoshop that out, but it adds to the mystique, don’t you think? That lemon-yellow smudge is actually my fingertip: I’m covering the flash so it won’t reflect in the window glass and look like a nuclear blast over the trees. It lit up my finger instead. (If you’ve ever taken a picture where the camera flash is reflected in the mirror or window glass, you know what I’m talking about. What is it with camera manufacturers and flash? The flash seems to go off in every conceivable setting short of shooting the noonday sun. Oops, says the camera, I’m shooting a blast furnace now, better set off the flash! Maybe the camera companies are in cahoots with the battery companies: Since the flash uses so much power, let’s make the flash go off in every single picture and burn through batteries to boost sales for our our battery buddies!)

Anyway, I started out exulting in the relatively heavy pre-Thanksgiving snowfall. Wow. Is there anything prettier than fresh snowfall in the forest? To my over-eager eyes, this seems to augur well for a really horrific winter. The kids and I were discussing this morning how lamentable it would be if we woke up one morning and the snow level was up to the middle of the living room window. “Sorry, all snowed in; can’t come in to work this month!” Bring it on! Yahoo! Of course, that’s what I thought last year when we received measurable snowfall in October. The rest of the season turned out to be a dud.

Well, one can always hope, and give thanks for the snow one does receive. It’s so pretty. Mmmm.

I feel like I’m always bragging about our lives up here. I hope you don’t feel that way. I don’t think it’s bragging to be happy with your life and you like sharing that with others. It’s a nice thing look at your life and think, hey, I wouldn’t change a thing. (Except my job, but I’m working on that. And paying off the mortgage, of course.)

Here’s a sunrise from a few weeks ago. The great thing about sunrise is that it generally happens every day.* You don’t have to live in a  beautiful land in order to enjoy a beautiful sky. All you have to do is get up early. Oh, and have an east-facing window.

This shot is actually taken from our bed, which is perched before a large window on the second floor that looks out over our view. I woke up early on a Saturday (I wake up early every day; that’s in the wiring), glanced out the window, and ran for the camera. I kept shooting every so often as the light changed, until Jess was awakened by all the clatter. When she looked out the window, she knew whence the noise.
The best part of a morning sky like this is that it could presage a stormy day, as in “Red sky in morning, sailors take warning.” Let them take the warning; I love the rain and I’m not in a boat.

The main peak in this shot is, of course, Wanderer’s Peak–so named by Emma when she was 10. We like that name lots better than the real one, “Billiard Table Mountain,” which was obviously given by somebody who’s never played billiards. Ever since I climbed it two years ago I feel like it’s my mountain. Others climb it too and that’s fine, but it’s my mountain. Next summer I’ll take the two oldest girls up to the lookout out of view on the right to spend the night, then cross the ridge next morning and summit the mountain. Eventually I’ll take everybody up there. But in the meantime it’s just nice to see the sunrise over top.

*I meant “generally” as a joke, but look at this.

Saturday mornings usually mean a big day ahead: lots of cleanup, lots of laundry, some special projects inside, and a couple of big projects outside. I may have to tinker with the cars or swing the ladder up against the house; I will have to make bread and refill the woodpile on the back porch (36 cubic feet of wood for a week’s heat—not bad, I’d say). Saturdays are always busy. Later on maybe I’ll take the kids exploring or settle down for a little reading. But at our house, it’s work in the morning, play in the afternoon. The morning sunshine feeds ambition—I’ve got things to do.

But just now, on my way past the dining room, I see these cold jars basking in the fresh sunshine, and I have to grab for the camera. It’s like music in the light. It’s analgous to our lives, maybe. It’s a homemade life, but it’s as fresh and delicate and real as a piece by Satie.

Wish you could see it better, but that's life in the woods, folks

Steller’s jay? Jeller’s stay? This is English; you can never tell how something is supposed to be written. I used to pride myself on my spelling capability (even though I lost the 6th grade spelling bee on “asterisk”, a word I’d never heard before, but I’m not emotionally damaged, waaa!). But now that I’m getting old and decrepit—I’m 40 as of last Saturday—I’m more cautious about spelling. Teh turht is, it is psosilbe ot raed Egnlsih qiute raedliy eevn wtih sracbemld wrdos bcasuee of hwo oru bnairs wrok. Cloo, huh?

But enough about my ineptitude (for the moment). I wanted to show you a pretty picture of Stellxr’s jays (where “x” represents the trick vowel) (or was that “trick fowl,” ha ha!) that have been swarming our bird feeder all winter. Ain’t they purdy? I remember seeing these birds for the first time at Yosemite National Park when I was 11 years old. Their intense blue plumage, black heads, and crest are distinctive; as is their call. I think it’s somewere between that monkey call you hear on old Tarzan jungle movies (“aaak-gakakakakak”) and a train wreck, which is what most jays do (a short, grating call: “aaakchghhh”). This concludes my bird-call lesson of the day, especially if I’m wrong.

I’m thinking about posting only three days a week. What do you all think?

This actually happened almost a week ago, last Friday, in fact. The snow stayed in shaded areas for upwards of four days. It’s been cooooold out there! January weather, sometimes. Way too cold for October, and I’ve been burning firewood frequently.

That said, we’re back to more normal fall weather now. It’s welcome; I still have a lot to do before the real snows start!

Well, nothing’s more important than fatherhood. So I set aside my magazine, we slipped on our shoes, and out we went.

Of course Honey had to come too, with her bark-first-investigate-later eagerness, and immediately sprang the motion-detector light above the driveway. So Abby and I went to the north side of the house and made out the Big Dipper, which she can see from her bedroom window. Polaris was hidden behind the tall trees, but then the driveway light went out, and we moved back in front of the house.

God made the stars visible to teach man his place. The Milky Way stretched in an arc directly over our heads across all the visible sky, from Wanderer’s Peak in the east to the west behind our roof. It silences me to contemplate the cloudy edge of our galaxy, as I stood in the dark holding hands with my daughter. There are no more thrilling sights on earth, I think, than black conifers stretching up toward a starry sky. In that majestic distance one looks across more miles than there are pine needles on our land. I pointed out Casseopia, and the Pleiades rising above Wanderer’s, and a few bright spots I believe are planets. Then, when the wind had chilled us, we went back into our cozy house and went to bed.

If there is no other justification for living in the country, the night sky alone might be enough.

(PS. I couldn’t find a starry-night image I liked for free, so I built this one in Photoshop. Don’t look too closely; it took me about 12 minutes.)

Some of my immediate family gathered last week to spend some time together in the mountains. On Thursday evening we hiked up Rock Canyon past the old beaver farm, up past the abandoned mine with its cascading waterfall, and in the darkening twilight we ascended the switchbacks to Rock Lake in what became the darkest part of the night—just before the full moon rose.
I took this shot the next afternoon. That little form in the lower right is Emma, who had gone out onto a rock in the afternoon and sat down contemplating. Of course I whipped out the camera. You don’t see the humps and broken crags of Rock Peak 3000 feet up to the left, nor the vertical granite slab of Ojibway Peak to the right, but a camera can’t get it all anyway. This trip was a fitting end to an eventful summer.
(I had planned to climb Sawtooth Peak in a couple of weeks, but unless I can get a few more folks along I don’t want just two of us to attempt a steep climb up a remote mountain without a trail. I may have to bag it till next year.)
That morning we had hiked to the opposite end of the lake, climbed up the cascade feeding the lake, and progressed toward St. Paul Pass just beneath the far saddle you see here. It was a rough trail, and after lunch we were ready to head back. Then we spent a few hours in the afternoon picking huckleberries, which were surprisingly thick near the lake. We picked over two gallons in a few hours, which is saying something when you’re picking these little berries scattered amongst the leaves. When we got home on Saturday, Jess made three huckleberry cream cheese pies—one of the foods they’ll serve in heaven.
Autumn is coming. This morning I went out to hang up a batch of laundry and the thermometer read 41 degrees. The shrubs and mountain maples around our house are turning yellow. Yahoo! Fall is my favorite season, except when it’s springtime.

Well, I finally recovered our Utah vacation pictures off my camera, which now seems rather to eat pictures than give them up. I’ll have to get a new card with all my spare money. Anyway, one of them is this one of the Manti Utah Temple, where Jessica and I were married 14 years, 4 months, 19 days, 23 hours and 56 minutes ago (I think our wedding occurred at 11:00 am). We go back here every year, since Jessica’s parents live nearby.

Maybe some people think the happiest day of your life should be the day you get married. Well, that was a great day for us, but happiness comes to us on ordinary days. Yesterday Jess left me a phone message at work telling me how much she appreciated me going in to work every day so she and the kids could stay home (and can salsa and nectarines, which she did). This morning I was thinking of something as I put (homemade) maple and blackberry syrup on my (homemade) pancakes and she spoke up with the very thing I was thinking of. We both laughed.

The sun came up brilliantly this morning, illuminating the trees down our mountain and in the valley that are just starting to turn color for fall. Jess helped me make the bed and then went down to take care of the poultry, as I got ready for the day. When I left for work, Sarah came running up for a hug, and Jess grabbed me in the laundry room and hugged and kissed me (and told me she liked the smell of my aftershave). It’s just an ordinary day, and we’re just ordinary folks. But we have a happy life.