virtualDavis

\ˈvər-chə-wəlˈdā-vəs\ Blogger, storyteller, flâneur. G.G. Davis, Jr's alter ego…
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Rain, Beavers and Mother’s Day

Drip, drip, drip,… Three days in and ten days to go. Feels like the forty days and forty nights. Sort of. Or that Ray Bradbury story where everyone’s going dipsy from the incessant rain on some far flung planet.

Headed out for dinner last night at Turtle Island in neighboring Willsboro, NY. Headed up the 2+ mile dirt drive way through the soggy woods. New leaves so green they were vibrating in the mist. Near the end of the road we approached the last of three ponds where we’ve been staging a turf war with a family of beavers for weeks. At least three times in the last week I’ve had to dismantle the dam he’s attempting to build across the road. And each time the beavers have rebuilt the dam, and attempt to annex the driveway as part of their swelling habitat. As I approached last night, I realized that they’d finally succeeded in building the damn about eighteen inches high all the way across the road. I stopped at the edge of the flooded section. A medium sized beaver was a couple of feet from us, clearly annoyed that we were going to dismantle his work once more. Even once he retreated several yards he swam back and forth menacingly. We pushed through the dam and headed on to dinner. Upon returning later in the evening he’d already rebuilt the area we’d breached. I had to accelerate enough to get my little four wheel drive Subaru to punch through once more. We drove through more than a foot of water!
Fishing-Boat, Vermont-Shore
This morning I snapped this photo of a resolute fisherman trolling along the Vermont shoreline undaunted by the rain, cold and fog. Slowly motoring along, almost imperceptibly. I was Skype-ing with a friend in Taipei, catching up on adventures and scheming an exciting and long overdue collaboration. I’ve been daydreaming ever since abbreviating the call to snap the pic, daydreaming about the quirky creations we’ll compose. I hope…

It’s Mother’s Day today, time to wish mine well for birthing me thirty four years ago. After all, I am sort of the one who “made her a mother” as first born, right? We’ll see what she thinks about that!

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