Saturday, July 6, 2024

Fritillarying the summer away

It’s finally stopped raining long enough for me to do a second grass cutting of the season in the back yard. I was also going to mow our ditch where the dogs do most of their business but an orange butterfly, with spots, a fritillary I think, landed on some of the yellow wildflower/weed blossoms that would have been mown into oblivion. That deterred me from ditch mowing today.

Earlier, the Better Half and I headed off to the farm to pick up this week’s community supported agriculture [CSA] share. The share box contained:

  • GREEN CABBAGE
  • EITHER CARROTS OR GOLDEN NUGGET CHERRY TOMATOES (I think we got carrots)
  • SNAP PEAS
  • KALE
  • BEETS WITH TOPS
  • SCAPES
  • BABY ONIONS
  • SLICER CUCUMBER, and
  • CILANTRO

During the drive we got a look at a couple of whitetail does and a few small flocks of wild turkeys. All in all a pleasant way to start a weekend.

photo of a box of fishing flies, mostly parachute Adams
box of fishing flies, mostly parachute Adams
Photo by J. Harrington

Yesterday we threatened, or promised, depending on your viewpoint, to spend more time engaged with fly-fishing. Last night, while (re)reading Peter Kaminsky’s Fly Fisherman’s Guide to the Meaning of Life, we reached the chapter on A Fly Fisher’s Essential Reading. I thought you might enjoy seeing what and who's listed:

  • In Our Time, Earnest Hemingway
  • Trout Madness, Robert Traver
  • A River Runs through It, Norman Maclean
  • Tarpon Quest, John Cole
  • Fy Fishing through the Midlife Crisis, Howell Raines
  • Superior Fishing, Robert B. Roosevelt
  • Spring Creek, Nick Lyons
  • Hatches, Al Caucci and Bob Nastasi
  • The Fly and the Fish, John Atherton
  • Fishing wth McClane, A. J. McClane

I was pleased to note that I’ve read about half of the titles listed and other works of several of the authors listed. Once I’ve confirmed whether or not a couple of titles are lurking somewhere on our book shelves, we may add one or two of these to an upcoming Christmas list. 


Speckled Trout


Water-flesh gleamed like mica:
orange fins, red flankspots, a char
shy as ginseng, found only
in spring-flow gaps, the thin clear
of faraway creeks no map
could name. My cousin showed me
those hidden places. I loved
how we found them, the way we
followed no trail, just stream-sound
tangled in rhododendron,
to where slow water opened
a hole to slip a line in,
and lift as from a well bright
shadows of another world,
held in my hand, their color
already starting to fade.


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