A Trifecta?

The weather started cooperating again this week. Little windy for Tuesday Ride - I was the only one for the slower ride. I rode Valley View trail up to IWCC.
Yesterday was a little better. Went to Trail Center to ride (not sure if Indian Creek trail would be open). Rode Riverfrom trail to Northway and back. Would have ridden more, but it was cloudy and getting cool.
Today, was a really nice day. By noon, it was light wind and 55 degrees. My mountain bike was not shifting right, so stopped by Xtreme Wheels to have it checked out. From the shop, I rode over to Lake Manawa on the paved bike trail. There, I wanted to look at the condition of the mountain bike trail.
Out from the parking lot, the trail looked good to ride. Rode West Sidewinder, frequently the driest trail. Most of the trail was dry, with a couple of slightly soft spots. Coming out of the trail, I hit something that bent the de-railer. Did some work to getting the bike ridable to get back to the shop.
After the second repairs of the day, the wind had been picking up. Decided to ride over the the Wabash Trace. Rode about 2 miles up the Trace to check out the trail conditions. The trail is mostly dry and firm. Some places are a little soft. As usual, the surface has been damaged by earlier riding under wet conditions. There appears to be some horse hoofprints - not as bad as last year. Also, damage from motorized vehicle spinning wheels under wet conditions.
As Zack called it - a Trifecta -- riding on pavement, in the dirt, and on crushed limestone.

Abstract Ice at Hollow Rock

Okay, just in case anyone has been looking for a little more perspective on the last two ice shots I've posted, here is a wide-angle view of the wave pool that contained that eye-catching ice. Hollow Rock is in the background.

Taking a break

End of school today (and I'm not chancing even waterproof mascara for the ceremony), then one child off to France this afternoon, the other starting a holiday job next week, and I'm heading north for a week to see my Dad and to breathe the Speyside air. So I'm taking a blogging break, and when I come back I might indulge myself by enjoying other blogs for a bit rather than being on photo opportunity alert.
The Albertine rose in the shot above symbolises this time of year for me. It grew in my parents' garden, and now I have it in mine. At my primary school we would take in flowers for the teacher on the last day of school - as happens the world over. It was rather coals to Newcastle, as everyone had whopping gardens by Edinburgh standards, and no shortage of their own flowers. Still, it was the thought etc, and in those days no-one would have dreamt of BUYING anything. On the last day of Primary 2 I remember very clearly standing at the classroom door waiting to go in, holding my bunch of Albertine roses with their stems wrapped in silver foil. I remember the polished herringbone parquet of the corridor, the brown varnished wood of the classroom door, the bare grey floorboards of the classroom. The room was suddenly huge and echoing, with all our artwork taken down the day before. And I was suddenly conscious of the moment, aware of myself standing there with my bunch of roses, and aware too that I would never live this moment again.
So I'm taking a break to immerse myself in just enjoying the moment.

PERFECT day on the Pigeon River!

We went paddling on the Pigeon River today and the conditions couldn't have been more perfect! We saw barely a ripple on the water the entire time we were out there (well, other than the ripples created by our paddles and kayaks!). Here is a picture of Jessica enjoying the incredibly calm and beautiful water of the river today.

Double Dog Dare

Double Dogwood, Cornus florida.
The owner didn't know the specific variety name, but said that it came from Hanna's in Birmingham.
-----
The Circus of the Spineless is up!
And don't forget the Friday Ark.
-----
You can still register to win Susan Wittig Albert's newest book in the China Bayles herbal mystery series, Nightshade. But hurry, Rurality's drawing ends at noon today! Click here.

I say Cataba, you say Catalpa

Sometimes things are just different here in the south.
It wasn't until I was 18 and had a roommate from New Jersey, that I realized that only southerners use the term fixing to. At least in the sense that means "about to".
Similarly, our Cataba (cuh tah buh) tree is a Catalpa tree to everyone else.

To be precise: the Southern Catalpa (Catalpa bignonioides).
The caterpillar of the Catalpa sphinx moth (Ceratomia catalpae) feeds on catalpa leaves, sometimes defoliating entire trees. But it's also "treated with mystical reverence and respect by southern anglers," since according to most grandfathers it's the bait of choice for catfish and bream.
Bream is of course pronounced "brim". Around here, anyway.
This site has it wrong though, I think, when it comes to the explanation of why we pronounce it Cataba or Catawba.

In another display of regional pride and colloquialism, many fishermen in North and South Carolina use the names "Catawba worm" and "Catawba tree"-- misnomers that arose because the Catawba River flows through both states.

It's not just Carolinans. My grandfather in Georgia said Cataba, and Alabamians do too. Maybe Carolinians add more of a "w" sound though, I'm not sure.
There is also a Northern catalpa (Catalpa speciosa), which is very similar, apparently to the point that some botanists think the two species should be lumped together.
Another somewhat similar species is the non-native Royal Palownia (Palownia tomentosa) (a.k.a. Empress tree or Princess tree), which has purple blooms.
Oh, and one more thing. To many southerners, there is scarcely a thing more irritating on earth than a fake southern accent. If any actors read this, I beg you - I implore you! - to never try imitating a southern accent. Please. I almost had to walk out of the theater during the previews of Cold Mountain. Unless you're Holly Hunter or Beth Grant, I don't want to hear it.

The luxury of doing without

Remember when it was actually a big deal when watermelons arrived in the stores and farmer's markets in the summers? I can remember being really excited about eating ice-cold slices of sweet watermelon right about the fourth of July- and the anticipation of it was as good (or almost as good) as the watermelon itself. That absence of melons in the fall, winter and spring enhanced the olfactory experience when they came into season. Now, because melons apparently ship well from warm climates (the thick rind and relatively long shelf life assist with this), watermelon tastes pretty good year round. And as a result, it lost some of its magic.
Thankfully, we haven't figured out how make winter tomatoes taste like summer tomatoes. And although I'm all for horticultural innovation, I hope that breeders and growers never figure this out. There's nothing I dream of more than a tomato sandwich on white bread made with tomatoes ripened in the southern summer sun. Tomato sandwiches should only be eaten when you're wearing a short-sleeved shirt while in the shade of a porch. I don't think a tomato sandwich (no matter how good the tomatoes) would taste as good while wearing a sweater sitting by the buck stove.So there's my plea. No good tomatoes in the winter. Keep them mealy and tasteless.
This idea transfers into the landscape as well. I'm tired of azaleas the bloom in the spring and fall. I don't want a garden where every plant blooms all the time. If all plants flowered year round, they'd lose their magic. Just like watermelon did.
I think we've forgotten than doing without can actually be luxurious. The anticipation makes it something to be acknowledged and savored when they come into our worlds, much like a vine-ripened tomato.