My Secret Wilderness Fishing Spot

 I didn't spend all my time in the swamp.  When the weather was nice, I would go to my secret wilderness fishing spot.  I suppose there is no harm revealing it to you guys, since you are unlikely to invade it, and I haven't been able to get out fishing in years anyway.  

I seem to remember that you guys are seeing cormorants in Chicago these days.  This photo was taken in 2011 or 2012.  That's our papermill in the background, where I spent 23 years working until they closed down in 1990.  They were back up and running by 1993, but without me.  They couldn't kick me off the river, however.

Uncle Ken asked me, "How many miles is it?"  I assume he meant from Cheboygan.  It's only a quarter mile east of the city limits, but the east side of town never did develop much, so you hardly notice when you cross the line.  The address is 3470 LaLonde Road.

Living in da swamp

 Thanks for the pics Beagles.  Just hearing you talk about the swamp and all the hard work and hard times it made me think of it as dismal.  But looking at it in these photos it was beautiful.

That sweep of white in the winter. The golden hue of spring with the Canada geese standing all majestic and no care in the world stance.  And then the bright green of the summertime and the living is easy.  

How big was it in miles?  Can I get your address again so I can google earth it?  

Yeah I guess you know enough about my life to tell that it is pretty biographical.  Things didn't happen like that but not that far off.  As I was writing it seemed kind of depressing, the guy was near the end of his rope and he had that grim attitude towards life.  But I have to recall it didn't seem that bad at the time.  At 40 I guess I still felt pretty young.  I couldn't get a job in Champaign but coming to Texas the boomtown with my recent certificate in the promising field of data processing, it was exciting Man.  

In retrospect sending my cat through that Emery thing seems kind of risky, but at the time it seemed like the reasonable thing to do and I never expected them not to take her off the damn plane in Austin.  I did have a neighbor named Mona who liked to be called Mona Lisa and we did eat popcorn and drink beer on the walkway outside her door, and maybe she wasn't that frisky but she did run off with the Rotel and the Hot Tomato bass man.  

And there was the woman who married and then was abandoned by the Laird, and I did have that moment when I thought oh hell, why don't I just fall in love, but when she looked back up at me I did think of a joke to tell and the subject never came up again.

I can't say that I ever had much of a plan for my life, just do whatever comes next.  But you knew from way back when you were in knee pants that you were gonna live in a swamp and hunt and fish and do all that outdoorsy stuff that you loved so much.  Here's to you Pal.

A Tough Nut to Crack

I've been looking through my photo collection for things that I thought might be interesting to you guys.  I found this one of my wood splitter in action.  I must have taken this shot because it was particularly difficult piece.  

 Did I tell you guys that my wife went to the emergency room a couple weeks ago with a gall bladder infection?  They shipped her to Petosky for the operation.  A few days later they transferred her to a rehab facility in Charlevoix for extended recovery.  She is coming home on Friday, but not for long.  An opening is coming up in an assisted living facility, also in Charlevoix, and we are next on the waiting list.  We might be moving in as soon as the end of this month.  

Comin' Through the Rye

This was one of my annual activities back in the day.  I would work up this field, about 1/3 of an acre, in front of my deer blind and plant rye grain.  I would usually do this sometime in August so that it would be up and growing before the November seer season.  This photo was probably taken about two weeks after planting when I went back out there to spread fertilizer.  

The field would not produce grain until the following summer, but that was okay because what I was after was fresh green grass in November when it would be an unseasonal treat for the deer.  I don't know how much the deer valued the grain because they have plenty of natural food that time of year.  I would mow the field before working it up and replanting next August.  

Breakup in Beaglesonia

Breakup is the time of year between winter and spring.  The snow and ice are melting, but green up is a long way off.  Breakup usually occurs sometime in March, while green-up usually waits until May.  Ironically, the time in between is our wildfire season.  After the snow melts away, all the dead vegetation from last summer dries out.  Wildfires, however, are usually not a problem when you live in the swamp.  

I used to kid my wife about living on waterfront property this time of year, but she never did buy it.  That's because our intermittent marsh dries up in the summer, not enough to cultivate, but enough that it can be mowed to keep it from reverting to trees and bushes.  My plan was to develop it into year-round water so that the ducks and geese that dropped in for a visit during breakup would stick around for the fall hunting season, but it was not to be.

Beaglesonia in Winter

 

This is our driveway after a moderate snowfall.  We are looking from the house towards the county road.  You can't see the road from here because the driveway makes a sharp turn to the left just before it meets the road.  I configured it that way to take advantage of the highest ground available.  Total distance is about a hundred yards.

Here's me sitting on the tractor getting ready to start plowing.  We are not looking down the main driveway here, we are looking across the parking and turnaround area towards one of my tractor trails that leads to the deer blind, about a quarter mile away.  

That was a good story the Uncle Ken posted the other day.  It sounds like something close to his real-life experience, perhaps slightly embellished as we creative story tellers tend to do.

  

A-Hunting We Will Go

 

I took this picture one morning on my way to my deer blind.  When I was quite young my father took me with him on several deer hunting trips to Freesoil, Michigan.  We stayed with a family of farmers who rented out a few of their spare rooms to hunters.  They lived across the road from the Manistee National Forest, so we could walk to huntable land, loading our guns as we exited the farmhouse.  I thought that was so cool and vowed that I was going to live in a place like that when I grew up.  My dad claimed that this was impractical in the

modern world, and maybe he was right, but I did it anyway.