Long ago my arborist son brought home four cedar poles. “Let's use them to build a shed around the well,” he suggested. Holes were dug and the poles set, and there they sat. Four, forlorn corners waiting to be connected to one another. I toyed with all manner of materials as I pursued our rustic dream.Then came the hail storm and the roofers. Presto, I had tin, and old tin is a time-honored rustic material.

I’m building a door for my little pump house shed. I’m using recycled material. Mostly old fence slats. For the first time in my woodworking life I’m also using glue. I have no idea why this is the first time, but it finally dawned on me that almost every time I see a woodworking video the host is gluing something. It must work.

It’s day two of the new year. Yesterday, I stepped out into the great unknown of 2025. One day. Relatively uneventful. The big news was the first day hike at The Great Falls of the Potomac. I have now seen the falls on four rivers – the Niagara, the Sioux, the Pedernales, and the Potomac. And I have walked along two named river gorges. The Potomac and the Rio Grande. Not bad.

Rain. Nice. Soft rain, too. The rain barrel that was nearly empty yesterday is now full. It would be good if it fell all day, but I have a feeling it’s a short term thing.

Sunday was a day of rest for me. I did find and fix a leak in the pool plumbing. Courtesy of a Mockingbird.

I’m doing a pretty great job at tearing up things. I spent most of yesterday digging out 80 lbs of dried cement from an old post hole. The post in question had rotted.

Hooray for first frost. It came last night. The grass was dusted with bits of ice this morning. It didn’t last long. The sun saw it’s duty and did it. It’s good to feel a little cold in the morning, however.

I’d love to wake up in the morning, go outside, and see frost on the ground. I need some fall weather. A sweater. A jacket. Something that says the days of high heat are gone.

I watched the comet last night. Tsuchinshan-ATLAS. It was in the western sky, just after sunset. It will be there for at least another ten days.

It feels nice when the air of the day you greet is sweet and cool as it is this morning. It gives you hope that softer weather is on the way.

I took down most of the old swallow nests yesterday. Washed the wall. Swept away the debris. Today I’ll do the back porch. I’m done with swallows. Next season they’ll need to find a new home.

As I’ve started studying the geology of the lands I hike, I’ve really come to love the size and the scope of the story I see.

When the waters come, mountains bow down before it. When the waters come, shorelines turn their back and recede.

I like it that I can step into my back lots, look up, and see the stars. Maybe not as many as I might see at Big Bend Bend or the Guadalupe Mountains, but still stars in the night sky with the Milky Way clearly visible.

I usually refer to my Barbados Cherry in the singular. But it is time to admit there is now more than one. In fact, I find it hard to really put a number on the number of plants that now comprise what I should rightly call my Barbados Cherry grove.

I remember when my daughter first went to visit Maine with her new husband. It was summer and Maine was beautiful, and she opined that they could live there. And her husband said, no, because of winter.

It used to be that only the wealthy could flee the seasons, and mostly it was summer. Houses in the Hamptons. Hotels in The Catskills. Mansions in Newport. Then came the car and a burgeoning middle class. And people started fleeing all the seasons.

It stormed at my house yesterday. Twice. The second time harder than the first. The rain was horizontal, flying along on the wind. There was a veritable river running down the dog run.

I’ve said this before and I’ll say it again. It is oddly invigorating to dig, trim, and work with trees and plants. I did it again yesterday and I’ll do it again today.