About 3.5 miles into Tuesday’s lumber, I was approaching my go-to area along the river for seeing osprey and/or eagles. It’s been a minute since I last got an image of either, so I was pretty excited when I quietly rounded the corner and, through the leaves, could see an osprey perched on the opposite side of the river.
After an uneventful and rainy weekend, I was looking forward to getting back in the woods early Monday morning. And, as you might expect, that’s just what I did.
A good summer month of lumbering for me is roughly 120 to 130 miles. July was not one of those months.
A combination of extreme heat and humidity, Canadian wildfire smoke, appliance repairmen in the house, and an intense battle with the black dog had my July screwed.
After the mood I was in last week 1, I was surprised to have such a good weekend that featured a whole lot of not much.
Today I’m doing something I’ve wanted to do in years past, but never really got around to doing it: a photo gallery from the first six months of a year of lumbering and photo creeping. Which, of course, will be followed by the second six months come January.
It’s taken me close to two weeks, but I finally had a lumber that produced some OK images. Not great, but OK enough that I dig them.
I woke up Thursday morning at 5:20, fed the dog, and thought about the morning’s lumber. Something was telling me to skip it, and after a few minutes of internal discussions, I decided that I was not one to argue with “something,” and pulled the plug.
All aboard the Depression Express (TOOT! TOOT!), next stop: Crazy Town!
No, I’m not going to bore you with tales of the random fits of depression and anger that I’ve been dealing with for a few days now, mostly because I can feel it ebbing away like a lost erection into the soft man-FUPA of life. Also because I don’t know what the cause of it was, other than being bored with life, not sleeping well, not enjoying who and what I’ve become/not become, and wanting the world to normal up for just a gahdamn minute—ONE MINUTE!!
But, like I said, ebbing and shit. So, into the woods, Fat Man!
If you listen closely, you can hear it; it’s the sound of me exiting a cocoon of gelatinous, depressive slack like a birthed Orc. Only it smells worse and looks even worse-er.
Wednesday’s lumber was more of the same, with my aging ass in the woods and on the trail at 6:05 AM to avoid the worst of the day’s stifling heat and humidity.