Day 1 - 4 September 2008
How's that for inadvertent synchronicity? The roofing crew we contracted with to replace our 17-year-old roof arrived at 7:45 a.m., the third day of work on the roof. Admittedly, because of the stifling, unremitting heat, they worked the first two days, from 7:00 a.m. to 2:00 p.m., then 3:00 p.m. Too knocked out to complete the job in the time they initially promised. Day three just happened to coincide with the day, that very morning, we had long planned to set off for a week of hiking in New Hampshire.
The roofers hadn't much left to do, though. So while we finished our packing, then slipped out of the house before 8:00 a.m. for a ravine walk with Button and Riley - for an hour of exercise, pre-trip - then came back to close up the house, they were just in finishing mode, the roof done. So they and we left at the same time; 9:30 a.m. Just a trifle later than we'd planned, but no big deal. 'Byes, and thanks all around, big cheque signed and handed off.
Montreal traffic was, as usual, jammed with traffic. But beyond the city the drive became pleasant. Our passports, and the dogs' veterinarian attestation to vaccinations got us past U.S. Customs at Derby Line. Soon after, we had a brief walk-about at the first Vermont rest stop, then shared our late breakfast, laid out on a picnic table. Peaches, bananas, peanut butter and honey on croissants, tea, and coffee, a complete restorative.
Irving spurned the tea I'd made up in our big thermos, opting instead for what he said was superior coffee (at that time in the very late morning/early afternoon, refusing anything earlier in the day, anything would have tasted "superior") on offer inside the Vermont information and courtesy shelter; a choice of four blends. He used his own travel mug, went back for a re-fill, caffeine-free the second time around. Nice state welcome.
Thus far, we'd driven in the cool shade of a complete overcast. A pleasant drive altogether. We didn't at all miss the absent sun during the long drive. At the Franconia Notch, the spectacle of those craggily immense heights were shrouded in a foggy mist of low-lying clouds. We knew the lay-out well. Just the first week of September; already the ubiquitous banks of sumac were verging on a crimson tide.
Fall web-worm had studiously hung their ghastly grey draperies over trees. The wriggling masses denuding the branches of their leaves. Left to their human-undisturbed devices they would, in short order, entirely denude small trees. With this denial of the photosynthesis process of normal seasonal growth, the trees are denied their growth-and-life-sustaining process inherent in their life-cycle.
No one appears to mind their presence. The forestry authorities, knowing full well the destructive tendencies of the creatures, appear to have done nothing to destroy the predators before they'd destroy the trees. Arbourists surely are capable of exercising some ameliorating control. What's even more surprising was the presence of small ornamental trees on private property, half-destroyed by those ubiquitous marauders.
When we finally stopped before our rented cottage, our little dogs became energized, recognizing they were on the verge of adventure, frantic to exit the car, sniff about, re-orient themselves. Our host introduced us to their newly-acquired pets, a pair of dwarf, four-month-old goats. The female daintily slender, black with white highlights. Large, moist, intelligent eyes, and a curling tail.
She left the little house she shared with her brother, curious about the presence of two other animals, our little dogs. Her sibling, tinier even than she, with his chocolate-brown coat, vanilla spotting, and even fluffier tail - which they each revolved like tiny windmills in anticipatory greeting - seemed hesitant to approach too close. Loathe to leave the comfort and security of his home.
He appeared the size of our miniature poodle, our fifteen-year-old Button. He was recovering, it was explained to us, from an intestinal infection. He might have represented the runt of the litter, but it was also discovered that his size and slight weight was likely attributable to the infection he was being treated for, which had doubtless inhibited his growth, despite his hearty appetite.
Finally, we emptied the car of its cargo, set everything up in the cottage, then left again, to the Hannaford supermarket, to shop for our week's worth of food. to fill up the cottage refrigerator for the week ahead. Resulting in a late dinner; time enough however, to tune in to the self-celebrity bumph of the Republican Party's anointing of its presidential candidate.
The roofers hadn't much left to do, though. So while we finished our packing, then slipped out of the house before 8:00 a.m. for a ravine walk with Button and Riley - for an hour of exercise, pre-trip - then came back to close up the house, they were just in finishing mode, the roof done. So they and we left at the same time; 9:30 a.m. Just a trifle later than we'd planned, but no big deal. 'Byes, and thanks all around, big cheque signed and handed off.
Montreal traffic was, as usual, jammed with traffic. But beyond the city the drive became pleasant. Our passports, and the dogs' veterinarian attestation to vaccinations got us past U.S. Customs at Derby Line. Soon after, we had a brief walk-about at the first Vermont rest stop, then shared our late breakfast, laid out on a picnic table. Peaches, bananas, peanut butter and honey on croissants, tea, and coffee, a complete restorative.
Irving spurned the tea I'd made up in our big thermos, opting instead for what he said was superior coffee (at that time in the very late morning/early afternoon, refusing anything earlier in the day, anything would have tasted "superior") on offer inside the Vermont information and courtesy shelter; a choice of four blends. He used his own travel mug, went back for a re-fill, caffeine-free the second time around. Nice state welcome.
Thus far, we'd driven in the cool shade of a complete overcast. A pleasant drive altogether. We didn't at all miss the absent sun during the long drive. At the Franconia Notch, the spectacle of those craggily immense heights were shrouded in a foggy mist of low-lying clouds. We knew the lay-out well. Just the first week of September; already the ubiquitous banks of sumac were verging on a crimson tide.
Fall web-worm had studiously hung their ghastly grey draperies over trees. The wriggling masses denuding the branches of their leaves. Left to their human-undisturbed devices they would, in short order, entirely denude small trees. With this denial of the photosynthesis process of normal seasonal growth, the trees are denied their growth-and-life-sustaining process inherent in their life-cycle.
No one appears to mind their presence. The forestry authorities, knowing full well the destructive tendencies of the creatures, appear to have done nothing to destroy the predators before they'd destroy the trees. Arbourists surely are capable of exercising some ameliorating control. What's even more surprising was the presence of small ornamental trees on private property, half-destroyed by those ubiquitous marauders.
When we finally stopped before our rented cottage, our little dogs became energized, recognizing they were on the verge of adventure, frantic to exit the car, sniff about, re-orient themselves. Our host introduced us to their newly-acquired pets, a pair of dwarf, four-month-old goats. The female daintily slender, black with white highlights. Large, moist, intelligent eyes, and a curling tail.
She left the little house she shared with her brother, curious about the presence of two other animals, our little dogs. Her sibling, tinier even than she, with his chocolate-brown coat, vanilla spotting, and even fluffier tail - which they each revolved like tiny windmills in anticipatory greeting - seemed hesitant to approach too close. Loathe to leave the comfort and security of his home.
He appeared the size of our miniature poodle, our fifteen-year-old Button. He was recovering, it was explained to us, from an intestinal infection. He might have represented the runt of the litter, but it was also discovered that his size and slight weight was likely attributable to the infection he was being treated for, which had doubtless inhibited his growth, despite his hearty appetite.
Finally, we emptied the car of its cargo, set everything up in the cottage, then left again, to the Hannaford supermarket, to shop for our week's worth of food. to fill up the cottage refrigerator for the week ahead. Resulting in a late dinner; time enough however, to tune in to the self-celebrity bumph of the Republican Party's anointing of its presidential candidate.
Labels: Peregrinations, Personally Dedicated
posted by Pieface @ 5:49 PM
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