Roll ye old River...

Frothing, mudded rivers grasp at their banks, intent on taking tree and rock along in their fearsome ride to the sea.

It is awesome, and raucous!  The power, the speed, the potential, is for me, a water sign, intensely attracting!

The East Branch of the Westfield River has a large watershed.

In the book, 'Only One Cummington', William M. Streeter writes of these waters, "flowing on ledges of mica slate, soapstone, chlorite, actinolite and talc".

I have been to an old, tiny mica mine near to the Knightsville Dam.  It is strange to imagine this flaky material, or the soft talc forming resistant ledges!?

Water falls, water floods, water flows!  The remaining snow in the woods is melting, the incessant rains are pouring, this increased flow of water causes me to take the high road, the long way around to come and go from work and home.  Waters are over the road on my usual route.

Water is very familiar to this area.  In the Pre Paleozoic Era (50 to 75 million years ago), this was a great expanse of water, more than likely part of the sea!
(The Geological History of the Connecticut Valley, by William J. Miller.)

Years past, I lived in Butler County, Pennsylvania.  In early spring, we would drive north to the upper Monongahela River.  The ice floes were almost the size of trucks, and were all jammed up with each other.  Floods would occur behind this jam.  Should the jam manage to move downstream, it would, and had taken out bridges!.  Each spring The Engineers would dynamite the ice jam, to facilitate the flow of smaller pieces, and release the backup or waters.
This is what we drove to see.

Then, we would race down to Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, park the car, walk out onto a bridge.  From this vantage, we watched.

Whole mature trees, docks, cabin boats would swirl by, or accumulate in snags as this water pummelled itself continuously against the reinforced river banks, and the bridge supports! Exciting!

Just downstream of these Pittsburgh bridges is the confluence of the Monongahela and Yogiogheny Rivers, forming the Ohio.  At the confluence is Point State Park.  Here was Fort Pitt, and the rich history of settlers, soldiers, and Native Americans.

It was said that the Huron, and the Iroquois knew how to canoe and portage all the way to the Ohio from the Great Lakes, by way of the Monongahela Watershed.

I welcome the waters, the sculpting force of ages.  I celebrate it!

Signs of spring, and What?!!!

These several weeks, there has been much talk of signs of spring.  For me the thrill has been the liquid throat call of the red-wing blackbird from Pepper's Marsh. The abundance  of  free flowing water, in its' cacaphonous rush to the Connecticut River and then to the sea!

What I did not expect...  Driving home on Fairgrounds Road, which follows the East Branch of the Westfield River some, is wooded, windy: there in front of me was a woman standing in a wheeled rig, holding the ropes to a dog team! These white, fluffy dogs were repeatedly veering off the road, possibly seeking softer earth for their paws.

This reminded me of an Autumn in Vermont, beside the Connecticut River.  Aunt Irene and I were enjoying tea and conversation in the living room.  I was enjoying the scenery.  Down the paved road came several students from Dartmouth College.  They were on roller skates, in ski position, using ski poles to push themselves along! Dartmouth College Ski Team, in training.

So, can I expect, some winter day, to see bathing suit clad people doing backflips into snow!

Green is gaining ground over the dead yellow-browns of lawns.

Spring...continued. 

I went to the Sugar House on Sunday.  On the way to the South Face Sugar House, a Grouse hen slowly crossed the road in front of my car.  With each step, her head bobbed forward.

It was a cold day.  I parked the car, and there was snow falling! 

Spring?

Spring's Opening Curtain

Rivers roil,

ravage river banks.

Nature rushes

to be ready

for Spring's Opening Curtain.

In every rill and rivulet,

every branch and brook,

waters dance and leap;

Over rocks

Over water

as a can-can dancer

swishing petticoats

The  woodlands tune up

 with the tones of

red-brown,

and purple-gray

in tender branch and bramble.

But, where is the conductor?

Delia Nash

Spring! Colors! Smith bulb show

A myriad of colors and welcome fragrances, entrance you as you walk through the greenhouses at Smith college.

This is an Annual Event. Each March they open the Horticulture Greenhouses to the public.  Each year, I go!  An Artist's Date!

Within are gathered an array of blooming bulbs.  Freesia is my favorite fragrance! There are several Orchids, and a multitude of Tulips! 

Here and there are groups with harmonizing colors, over there, and above may be an arrangement of deep contrast to excite you! 

Plenty to see, and breathe!

A welcome signpost that Spring will be soon, and there will be flowers and trees in bloom, soft moist air, and birdsongs!

After my lingering walk through the greenhouses, I went for a walk at the pond where I found an old friend!  We had a wonderfu visit. 

                   

Just love this serendipity!

How many shades of yellow are there, anyway?

Wearing a camera around one's neck is also a way to have fun, be helpful, and meet people. 

Twice, I was asked to take photos of people with their cameras!

As you can see from the bottom photo, nature is not shy!                                                   

Yipes Stripes!

Which one is your favorite?

Wind whirls wildly over the winter

Wind whirls wildly over the white world.

Moonlight makes magic of the mountain meadow.

She comes.

Thirst tempts her through the thorny thicket.

Brook bounds boldly past bright birches.

She comes.

Picks her path on padded paws,

past pine trees.

Eyes, ears alert to evenings activities.

She comes.
Rounds the rocks, head raised.
Drinks deeply of dark waters, defying danger.

They come.
Beyond the brook, beckoning to each other.
Stand in shady snow, searching the serene scene.

She watches.
Tilting their tawny necks, long tongues lap racing water.
A rough cough, then retreat from the raging river.

They go.
they wend west, white tails down.
Puncturing snow with pointed hoofs.

She goes.
Wind whips wisps of white powder into punctured snow.

Delia Nash, 2010

The Fishing Academy

Imagine that!  Well a nice man named John Hoffman did several years ago.  He decided that his love of fishing could be beneficial to children, children that might otherwise have nothing to do, could use their time to get into trouble, or be out on the streets.

I first met John several years ago, through my daughter.  He often took her out onto the ocean to fish.  See earlier post about how fishing is genetic.

He has maintained this dream, this effort for many years, and is seeking our help. 

John's Fishing Academy will be having an Auction to raise money to continue.  Could you contribute something wonderful to entice bidders, or attend and seek out that something unusual for a good cause?!
http://www.thefishingacademy.com/

On this site, you can view photos of children fishing, from various events.