at the fair

 Well here I am at the Renaissance Court Christmas in July art fair hawking my wares.  I was there from 9am to 4pm, kind of a long time to be sitting there with nothing to do but eye a sparse and disinterested crowd and check my email and various posts every five minutes.  Well that was the morning, at noontime things began to pick up and I sold enough stuff to make up for those slow and boring morning hours.

Was not able to unload my tiger though, or my of the other 18x24 paintings which I had modest success with (sold maybe 1 out of 16) back in my hay days at the Ten Cat.  It was a party then.  I would be drinking beers and regaling my guests and serving them some kind of vittles.  My corn muffins were a big hit among those who didn't mind a little burnt spot or two.  I was kind of a moderate frog in a very small pond.  But I managed to get some of my crowd, those who didn't see it coming and snuck away, out to the front of the joint where my masterpieces were on view and give them a little spiel and get out my message of peace and love, which is what it is all about.

The paintings at the art fair were priced from 20 to 50, but I also had some prints that I sold for 2 or 3 bucks.  That was maybe 25 years ago that I was taking those printmaking courses.  They were kind of fun because instead of pushing a little brush across paper you got to carve, give acid baths, slather ink over a big old stone, and best of all to push a lever crushing your paints into your rock, metal plate, or block of linoleum. 

And of course you get to make 25 or so copies all slightly different due to the amount of media you put out.  But what are you going to do with all those copies?  They are going to sit on the plastic shelving that lines both sides of your bedroom for 25 years and finally haul them out to the big art fair and use them as loss leaders.  Well that's life huh?

Speaking about life I just finished watching 7 Up, which is where these British guys made this doc about a dozen 7 year olds of various economic status and what they thought about life and whatnot.  It was just going to be a one off but then 7 years later they dropped back on those kids again, and then seven after that, and seven more and so on.  

Interesting series because of the changes in their lives every seven years and how they feel about it.  Think about it, what if you had to sum up the last seven years of your life in a 3 hour long interview that you knew would be boiled down to 15 minutes?

Try it yourself, what were you doing and what were you thinking when you were 7, 14, 21, 28 etc?  And what does it all mean?

I don't know either.

Just wanted to talk a bit about the art fair, and about that tv series (hard to find anywhere but You Tube) and then I thought I would sneak away so that I didn't have to admit that at 81 years I'm still a bit fuzzy about what is the meaning of life. 

Those Were the Good Old Days

These photos date back to 2006 or 2007.  In the first one, I am mowing one of our hunting trails and my faithful companion Splash is running security patrol out in front.

Here's a better close up of Splash.

 Ah, those were the days!

My wife came home from the rehab hospital Friday.  The bad news is the opening in that assisted living facility in Charlevoix did not pan out for us.  Apparently, the current occupant decided that he wasn't as ready to leave as he thought he was.  The good news is we're still next on the list for any openings that do occur.  

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.