Hello, everyone! We’re back home in the Upper Peninsula.
We traveled approximately (according to Kiah) 1,260 miles since last Thursday. We returned last evening from visiting relatives in Lower Michigan.
I’ve barely sat down to breathe since arriving. You know. Work by 7:10 a.m. Help fill the woodroom. Taxes. The garden overfloweth. The suitcase remains unpacked. The first load of clothes have been washed. Company hath visited.
These pics are old ones. Old fungus. Passe fungus. Fungus which has now shriveled and dropped away. Fungus from July 30th, to be exact. It bloomed in yellow splendor, living on a waning soft maple tree next to the old scrap pile. (Barry says the tree has been waning since we built the house back in 1983.) It’s so windy today the maple might collapse, thinking (in its dying confusion) that a tornado hath struck. Trees are–as usual when the wind howls–collapsing all around in the woods.
I have a bunch of travel photos lounging on the computer, but no time to download and edit. Not yet. The zucchini takes precedence. It demands to be made into zucchini relish–but I’ve lost the recipe. Must search on-line for a replacement recipe.
Why is summer always like this? In the winter time we yawn and wonder what to do next to fill our long white days. In the height of summer there is often no time to breathe, to relax, to get bored.
I am pondering fungus. The gift of fungus. The challenges of fungus. Sometimes in life we celebrate wildflowers and wild raspberries. At other times in life, we need to focus in on the beauty of fungus and discover its gifts…