Fixation with frogs?

What makes a person fixate on a particular subject? It seems I go in spurts, lately it has been the beach, rocks, shoes, and frogs!
Frogs..... Maybe it's because the frogs have been startling me as I walk by the ponds, and obviously I startle them, as they quickly dive into the water. I freeze, spotting another, resting on an old lily pad, with it's large eyes glistening in the sun. I raise the camera and focus, and plop, it's gone! I'm patient, and as still as a statue, I wait, and sure enough, I see the eyes pop through the surface of the pond and I snap the photo.
Today, my Grand Daughter Anna, asked if I would walk down to the pond at the bottom of the hill, in her back yard, with her and her friend. They wanted to see if they could capture a frog or tadpole with the small nets with long red handles they were toting.



I said sure, and grabbed my camera, put on my green Muck boots and off we went. The pond is quite deep and I was a little nervous about the girls getting too close to the edge and mentioned: "That if they fell in, they were on their own, due to the fact, I would be too busy, snapping pictures of the whole event". They became quite cautious!



While the girls were screaming about the small fish that were darting back and forth, there on the brown floating reeds from last year, was a nice big green frog, just sitting there begging me to take his portrait.

I was afraid to take my eyes off the girls and took a couple of quick shots of the accommodating frog. The girls spied the frog and reached with their nets, splashing them down, at least six feet from where the little guy was sunning himself. PLOP, and he was gone. I could see tad poles swimming to the surface, gobbling the bugs that were sitting on the water, then quickly diving back down to the bottom. The girls caught two tadpoles and had them in a bucket. My four year old grandson came running down the hill, and I knew there would be issues, James has no fear and would want to get right up to the edge of the pond. I tried to convince the girls it was time to head back up to the house. While walking through the knee high grass, little James, flushed a Mallard hen, obviously sitting on a nest. James froze, and I explained there must be a nest and that we had to be extremely careful not to step on it. Just one foot in front of James was the nest, snuggled in the deep grass, hidden from the crows and nest robbers.



We counted eleven eggs. I took a few snap shots so James could show his Mom and Dad. We made our way up the hill, hoping we hadn't scared the mother duck too badly. The wild strawberry blossoms were everywhere as well as the small white bell shaped flowers of the wild Maine blueberry. What a great place for children. My daughter Heather and her friend Susan, tell stories of me "forcing" them to pick the wild strawberries for hours on end when they were young. In reality, it was only a request, to keep them occupied and it was only two cups, to make a batch of wild strawberry jam, that they couldn't wait to try. Funny, how life comes around. Here I am, enjoying the same things with my grandchildren, that I used to do with my children and loving every moment.



As we came to the top of the hill and up the garden steps, I looked down into the small frog pond in the garden, and there on the edge was a small brown toad, just waiting for his picture to be taken.

A Frosty Morning Walk

On Wednesday, May 13th, I awoke to the bright eastern predawn glow through the french doors of my second floor bedroom. The soft light gently waking me to a view of thick mist hanging over the meadow. A few minutes later with my eyes fully awake and taking in the quiet that was clearly visible, I quickly rose, dressed, grabbed my camera and jacket and left for a morning photo shoot.

Off to Ruffingham Meadow. The water was like glass and the mist hung softly near the shoreline. A perfect reflection of the tree line was mirrored on either side of the mist and there wasn't a sound. The birds were still huddled in their nest keeping their newly hatched babies warm.

According to the thermometer in the car, it was thirty four degrees. I drove further down the road, parked the car, donned my boots and walked into the woods, one of my favorite places to be. The sun was now above the horizon and the frost on the new leaves, wild strawberries plants, and fiddlehead ferns was beginning to melt. Bending down to get close up photos of the ice crystals, I could watch as the tender fiddlehead sprouts wilted as the sun warmed them, they were doomed, sad, but all part of natures way.

The birds began to sing their morning songs, chirping away, flittering here and there, looking for tasty morsels to bring back to the fledglings anxiously awaiting their buggy breakfast. I walked past a beaver lodge, and obviously they were sound asleep, there wasn't a ripple anywhere to be seen. I climbed over the hill and through a wild raspberry patch, the thorns catching my jeans,. I had to stop and carefully pick the thorny branches out of my leg, ouch! I thought about a place I used to go to bow hunt. A natural rock formation at the top of the hill that formed a perfectly comfortable arm chair. I remember leaving a padded heated seat, wrapped in a plastic trash bag there years ago and wondered if it was still there. When I arrived at the spot, the rock formation was still there. The heated seat was gone, and trees and bushes obscured the view of the swamp and field that I had so long ago watched as the white tailed deer grazed in the early morn.

Looking to the north over the tops of the brush, I could see the tall dead tree on the next ridge, I was excited to get there. Climbing over rocks, dead trees, and through the thick alder clumps, I found a small deer trail. I followed the trail across the bottom land, sometimes having to circumnavigate the swampy area and then take a right, heading up the hill, through an area that had burned about ten years ago. The fire had started by a lightening strike and with luck, the smoke had been spotted early by a neighbor and the fire department, quickly extinguished it with Indian tanks. Although there were still signs of the fire, new growth was now about five feet tall and lichen was growing on the dead falls.
Reaching the tall dead tree at the top of the ridge, I climbed on the huge granite rock, with a flat top that sits to the left of the dead tree. I've spent many hours on that rock taking in the view to the south east. I could see the Northport and Camden hills from there. On many occasions I've camped there alone, under the full moon in two feet of snow and had my morning tea sitting on that granite rock, streaked with quartz, watching the sunrise, contemplating just how very lucky I am, just to be.............alone, in the Maine woods, my sanctuary.

Aiming for the Stars

It's been raining off and on all week here in southern New England, leaving lot's of time for day dreaming and planning future adventures. Family members mention their "Bucket List" over dinner, and I always ask......What's on your "Bucket List"? It occurred to me that I should take the time to write down what I would like to accomplish before I leave this earth! So here's my wish list, and although it is no where near complete, the list includes chapters in a book yet to be written. I'm aiming for the stars!

Spend three weeks hiking Cusco and Machu Picchu, Peru

Work for a year in Antarctica

Publish a book about my Alaska adventures

Organize my 35,000 photos (YIKES)

Spend some time in the desert in the fall

Do more fly fishing

Acquire a good used commercial bread mixer

Teach my Grandchildren about the wild outdoors

Live off the grid

ME

Blogging......

Blogging......I suppose it's the same as keeping a journal, a diary or whatever you would like to call putting your thoughts on paper. Hummmm.....I have been writing my thoughts and experiences in emails, to share with family and friends for the past five years and have just now considered opening my private thoughts to the internet. Kind of scary, once posted, you have released your words that cannot be retrieved, to be left forever floating in cyberspace for the entire world to read. Millions do it, but this is about "my" life, my opinions, my experiences.....oh, what the heck.....I'll live on the edge and go for it! After all "I AM THE DRAGON"

"The Shoes"

Shoes, I never thought I'd EVER purchase a pair of shoes so wildly beautiful. Me, the woodsy girl, hiking boots, sweatshirts, and jeans. Not the typical middle aged Grandma with coiffed hair, polished nails and Talbot clothing. I'm more comfortable in jeans, wool socks, turtlenecks and fleece. BUT, while out perusing garage sales and thrift stores with my sister, I came across "The Shoes" in the back corner of a thrift store, quietly, (as quiet as shoes can be) sitting there and my eyes caught their beauty. My eyes were locked on those shoes, the colors, the style, they were the most beautiful shoes I think I've ever seen, I had to have them.
BUT, what in the world would I do with them. I can't walk in the woods with them or even spend an hour in them without my feet barking back. I can't drive around in my car with them. They wouldn't do shopping in Target or the grocery store. I turned the shoes over, and the price was fifteen dollars, that was a lot! I slipped out of my flip flops and tried them on. They fit like Cinderella's glass slippers. I had to have them! I walked around and around in that thrift store while my sister and her daughter tried on clothes, beautiful clothes, but I was fixated on the shoes. I showed them to the shoppers and their mouths fell agape, yes, I had to have "The Shoes". I thought, well.... I could wear them to my Dad's 90th Birthday party, yes, that's what I'd do.
So, the shoes are sitting on the bureau, waiting as patiently as I am, for the 18th of April when they can be worn, displayed, admired, and danced in. Both the shoes and I will be in our glory!
At least for one day, I'll feel like Cinderella, the shoes will be exploited and admired and then will be retired to the closet of the camper. My feet will welcome the comfort of my flip flops and work boots but I can always look in the box, in the back of the closet, at the shoes that took my breath away in the dark corner of the thrift store.