old wire road

February Burn

2012-02-07T17:26:00.000-05:00

We finally conducted a controlled burn of the field. It went well, but unfortunately I couldn't be there to watch the Forestry Service do their work. The large longleaf pine must have burned spectacularly since the bark is blackened nearly to the top.

Moss in the swing. Daddy on the drums.

The live oaks survived the burn nicely with only the lower branches being affected.

Giles wearing his mother's vest in the pre-burned field.

Moss and Giles survey the aftermath from the comfort of their new 'wagon.' Gone are the days of a simple red Radio Flyer wagon. Now, there are about 10 different wagons with several options each. I tried to just buy a metal red wagon, but the marketing experts are pursuasive and the twins have weakened my defenses. Here, Moss and Giles ride in all the luxury that makes the 'Radio Flyer Comfort Wagon' worth every extra dollar. Sort of.

Liquidation Via Ebay

2012-01-23T16:35:00.002-05:00

Manu Katche Drum Kit

As we continue to simplify and streamline our life we are letting go of things we don't use, don't need or can't bring with us on our new adventure. Some things are easier to let go than others. Easy to go was the drum kit. Though fun, it was neglected and well, I have not the time nor natural ability to be the next Stewart Copeland. Or Keith Moon. Or Clyde Stubblefield. So, off to Minnesota it flew.

Cutmaster Acetylene Torch and Regulators

These were easy to let go of. 15 years ago I spent my days off welding in a Cape Canaveral garage. As strange as that may seem, it pales in comparison to the widespread interest and bids placed upon this torch and regulators. They now reside in Colorado.

Selle Italia Flite Trans Am Saddle

It always seemed masochistic to sit on this seat for more than 2 minutes. I know all the cyclists of the world will resoundingly inform me that I'm not in proper physical condition to accomodate its needs. No. Kidding. I probably will never be in the type of condition that this saddle requires. I've stripped my old bike down to it's parts and each piece is being auctioned off. This is still active with 13 watchers and 40+ views.

Holgaroid

This holga meets polaroid camera had a pleasant life with me but, I never fully adapted to its finicky needs. The toxic fixative that you need to apply to your developed photos must be the stuff that caught the Cuyahoga River on fire. A woman in San Diego was quite excited by this beast. I wish her luck.

1966 Airstream Caravel

I thought I would be sad to see her go, but the Caravel's departure had the opposite effect on me. After six years of home restoration on OWR and a year of sleep-deprived fatherhood I decided to take on the restoration of a beautiful 66 Airstream. Clearly, I had completely lost my mind. We went on two trips and the Airstream performed wonderfully; I did not. It was supposed to be a way for Cymande, Moss, Giles and myself to go on family trips. It was the perfect size for the four of us. It turns out the two trips we went on were frought with domestic peril and drama. It brought out the stress and insanity of twin parenting. It was the object that most represented my inability to relax, to be present and to enjoy life's simplicity. One recent Sunday it drove away to northern Georgia. It looked beautiful driving down Old Wire Road and into my past. I see a family-sized tent in our future.

Tiffany & Co Elsa Peretti Silver Bean Necklace

It was a graduation present (grad school) that I purchased for Cymande in Boston. This and the matching earrings set off a bidding war that brought it almost to the price you would pay at Tiffany. There are many other items for sale as we continue to liquidate our possessions. This is in preparation for a move to Gainesville. I know that is big news and I delivered it as the fourth sentence under a picture of a necklace. What will happen to Old Wire Road? That is a perfectly good question that we may answer in the near future. Doors are opening. I have a new job with Pediatric Cardiology at UF. The adventure continues. We'll keep everyone posted. I've been thinking though: will the blog need a new name?

Christmas 2011: Roses and Simulated Snow, Not Stinkhorns.

2011-12-25T22:05:00.001-05:00

Moss and our 2/3rd ornamented Christmas Tree.

A few days before Christmas the morning sky turned our field pink.

We started a new family tradition this year: Christmas Eve at Stephen Foster State Park.

The bell tower. When you heard a Christmas tune via the largest set of tubular bells in America it could only mean one thing...simulated snow.

Simulated snow seemed to be comprised of one part water, one part air and one part dishwashing detergent. This didn't stop countless children from gathering around the faucets while they were covered in a sudsy simulated snow flurry.

The boys were content spending Christmas morning in the bed of their grandparents pick-up truck.

Our chickens are looking plump and healthy.

A new pile of sticks in the field. This reminds me of the hay bales found in the salt marshes along the North Shore of Massachusetts.

Moss and Giles at Alligator Lake.

On Christmas morning I went searching for the traditional Christmas Stinkhorn (see previous Christmas posts), but I found none. So this year the Christmas rose will replace the Stinkhorn.

Santa brought the boys a cardboard box house which arrived in a large cardboard box.

We had our traditional bagels and lox Christmas breakfast.

Grandpa, Moss and Giles read Ferdinand (their favorite right now).

Candies from Brockton, MA and bread from OWR.

Moss examines a beetle. You can probably hear him say 'Bug!"

Giles exploring the field.

Moss under a live oak. Get it? Moss under a live oak...ok, it wasn't that clever. Merry Christmas to all our friends and family. It was the best ever...

Thanksgiving in Ajo, 2011

2011-11-29T21:05:00.001-05:00

The Crater Range, North of Ajo.

6:17 AM, Thanksgiving Day. Holiday cheer had not yet arrived to the Continental desk at Gate A11, JAX; I doubt that it ever did. Before the flight attendant snidely scolded us for our tardiness, she gazed upon the disassembled stroller, the car seats balanced upon the over-the-size-limit bags, the twins, Cymande and I with an expression that seemed to say, “there is no plane designed that can accommodate your unique set of problems.” The airplane milieu wasn’t any better: the 45-ish man in front of us yelled at a 92-ish woman, “OK grandma, sit down!” She was not his biologic relative. Things improved though, Moss and Giles fell soundly asleep. We arrived at HOU for our connection to PHX with just enough time to board. As the plane lifted off I could feel the heavy colloidal mass, which was once a diaper, shift position. Then, I felt a slow deep warmth sink into my lap. 30,000 feet above the earth and moving at 550 mph I was soaked in Giles’ urine.

After landing, we drove our rental car southwest toward Ajo and the waiting Grandparents. We passed through Gila Bend. This town has achieved modest notoriety lately due to Prince Harry learning to drop bombs from his fighter jet at a nearby military base. Gila Bend also achieved some press after the Mayor allegedly warned Harry not to “fornicate” with the local girls. We passed through the intriguing Crater Range and arrived in Ajo.

Thanksgiving dinner was warmly waiting when we arrived. The boys were greeted by their excited Grandparents and an arsenal of homemade and home-modified toys. This inspired Giles to master the pronunciation of ‘car,’ ‘papa,’ and ‘nana’. Moss worked on ‘fan’, but settled for ‘fen’ (who needs toys when you have a ceiling fan?).

I love Ajo. I don’t have the mettle to live there, but it is such a unique place to visit. We befriended a one-legged man from Mississippi and his cute feral son at the playground. We attended the open studios at the Curley School where we had some type of intuitive chakra analysis performed by an ex-New Yorker/color-designer/artist (and of course it was precisely correct). There was a youthful grey-haired ceramic artist wearing Chuck Taylors and listening to Marvin Gaye. If you are interested in living a modest creative life and want to live way out in the desert, the Curley School is waiting. Or perhaps you enjoy mines or dioramas, or men talking about mines, or men talking about mine dioramas; the Phelps Dodge Mine in Ajo provides all your mine wants and desires. We visited the library and walked around the downtown plaza that was interestingly covered with a lumpy and stinky layer of cow manure. My parents said it was the result of 'community service'.

Saturday, Nana and Papa babysat and we travelled to visit our friends Julie and Jamie in Tucson. We travelled through the Tohono O’odham Nation which is about the size of Connecticut, but lacks the Audis. Ajo Road winds through beautiful desert covered with saguaro and organ pipe cacti. It eventually led us to a Circle K where we met Julie and Jamie for our evening walk in the desert. They took us to King’s Canyon where they revealed their semi-professional desert-guide status. Julie and I attempted to catch-up after not seeing each other for 15 years, but mostly we talked about the birds and the killer bees. We visited petroglyphs and an ancient outhouse. We walked by the light of the moon, by the light of the moon, we walked by the light of the moon...sort of, until we needed the Iphone flashlight app. Then onward to El Charro,the first mexican restaurant in America (really) and it was delicious. They dry meat suspended from a pole that towers over their restaurant. During our visit with Julie and Jamie I managed to take only one photo featuring either of them, and this is evidence of great conversation with great friends over amazing food and margaritas. Sadly, it had to end. The two hour drive back through the desert was full of loud hip-hop, roadside cattle, coffee and Cymande soundly asleep.

The next day we were visited by Cymande’s Uncle George, Aunt June and Aunt Carolyn. Papa, Moss and Giles put on a great patio show for everyone (and my father even managed to provide lunch). The Grandparents then bravely offered to babysit all night while we slept in the casita/little dude and a very rare full-night’s sleep was had. Thank you!

Our short trip to Ajo ended on Monday as did the pancake breakfasts, the onion rings, the on-call babysitters, the free laundry service and the Gambel’s Quails. The travel excitement didn’t end there though. Our connection in Atlanta featured an ATL employee telling me that she was going to call the police on me (twice!). The days of lap children are officially over and it will be worth every damn penny. We arrived home at 2AM.

Giles and Papa trade stories and hats.

Gambel's Quails outside of the kitchen window.

Cymande, my Desert Dandelion.

Garage in Ajo.

The Copper Mine in Ajo.

Open studios at the Curley School.

Giles in the Curley School.

Julie and Cymande.

Petroglyphs.

Our hike in King's Canyon ran a little late.

Papa, Moss, Nana and Giles.

Church of the Immaculate Conception in downtown Ajo.

June, Carolyn, George, Cymande and I.

Cactus garden the the front yard.

Giles and Nana.

Everyone packs except Moss who tried to escape through the bushes.

Happy Birthday!

2011-11-08T21:27:00.001-05:00

I'm so happy to be on this journey with you.

Sea Flowers

2011-10-27T13:27:00.002-04:00

Rockport from Granite Pier. We returned to our adopted-ancestral home for the second-annual Cape Ann vacation. What you can't see from this photo is the American Academy of Pediatric convention that we attended for a few days. Have you ever seen 2,000 pediatricians fighting over a tote bag? Do you want to?

Essex, our first stop after arriving on Cape Ann. Cymande enjoyed Farnham's clam chowder in the drizzle while ignoring the heap of fried clams, onion rings and fries. Just a few steps away, Moss and Giles slept in the rented Impala.

Giles intently focuses upon steering an immobile antique tractor. He held the course.

Russel Orchards, Ipswich. Moss was excited and happy to meet the turkeys of Russel Orchards. I encouraged this relationship until he pointed at his new friend. He looked at me in horror after the turkey sampled his plump index finger; clearly, this turkey was not his friend.

Giles enthusiastically heads for the duck pond; Ross watches apathetically.

Giles enjoying himself at Russel Orchards: cider donuts, playful pigs, conspiratorial turkeys, rocks and bits of straw.

Early morning breakfast at Sugar Magnolia's in Gloucester. We just didn't feel it this year...dark, Metallica playing at 7am, ignored by our waitress and heaps of bland food.

Moss, Giles and Cymande at Good Harbor with Twin Lights on the horizon.

Ross and Giles at Zumi's in Ipswich. Moss and Giles tore the place up while Ross and I drank our weight in cafe mocha. Thankfully there were many courteous patrons that returned my wayward children. Ross displayed his years of parenting expertise.

Moss and Giles on Bearskin Neck.

Unintentional abstract signage on Bearskin Neck.

Across the street from the Ocean View Hotel on the Back Shore in Gloucester. Cymande and I stood here 10 years ago after we were married at the Ocean View. At the time we imagined that the cement residues were symbols of Mars and Venus. I still entertain this thought.

Front Beach, Rockport. The family enjoys a post-Tuck's candy and coffee on the beach. Cymande said 'Rockport smells like sea flowers.' Shortly after we made our way over to George Anderson's gallery for our first real art purchase. It will look great in our new Seattle/Ipswich/Gainesville home.

Pilot Hill, Gloucester. Giles and Moss visited Carley, Gerry, Danielle and Dot. Giles demonstrated his spit-finger stone throw.

Appleton Farms, Ipswich. Giles reaches into the unknown.

The Great Meadow, Appleton Farms, Ipswich. I pushed the boys through mud and over rocks with determination. I had a goal. I met my goal.

Appleton Farms, Ipswich. Moss inadvertently poses for a cute Autumnal picture. He was mostly chasing Giles from pumpkin hole to pumpkin hole. Pumpkin hole.

The pine grove at Appleton Farms. Unseen is a small pond to the right where I hallucinated a scuba diver, but it was just a Canada goose feeding. Did I mention that Moss woke me up every 2 hours throughout our vacation?

Jenn prepares dinner. Giles wanted to say, "More quinoa!" but he mostly pointed, yelled, "drock" and shoveled heaps of dinner into his mouth.

The new guitar room at Jenn and Daniel's house.

Shameless self-promotion on the stairs.

Stavros Reservation, Essex. Ross, Moss and I turn our backs to the glorious Essex River Estuary. Ross asked about the stone structure atop the hill and I told him some rambling tale. Well, I looked it up and it was a pump house for the Burnham Farm in the 1880's and/or a lookout tower for Burnham-owned coal barges approaching Newburyport. You decide.

To the left: Castle Hill and Crane beach. To the right: Hog Island. In the grass: half-eaten peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

October Weekend

2011-10-13T22:05:00.000-04:00

Saffy looks up at the big round moon.

Take a good look at those chickens. A very efficient and deadly predator has been stalking the coop from dusk to dawn. Here Moss enjoys a few last fleeting moments with future fox food.

Why must we get our hairs cut mummy? Whyyyy???

Breakfast at Sisters in Haile. Giles enjoys juice.

Ponte Vedra. Giles attempts the controversial and dangerous, again.

Undertow. Sandy cliff. Ultraviolet radiation. Just another day at the beach.

The beach tent. Something that I should have invented.

I saw it written and I saw it say...

2011-09-14T21:33:00.000-04:00

2,606 Days

2011-09-07T08:53:00.000-04:00

The Heat (Stupid) Storm

2011-08-09T16:21:00.002-04:00

A mass of hot humid air positioned itself over the Southeast as we set off on our 1,200 mile roadtrip. Maybe a vacation in August wasn't the wisest of plans. Our route was meticulously plotted via Google maps; avoiding all major highways, it included passages such as "travel 644 ft on Sycamore Road." This was to be a trip through the rural South with the dual goals of seeing friends in Chapel Hill and visiting Asheville. This was also our first major trip with our '66 Caravel Airstream.

Our first day of travel brought us to our halfway point, Barnwell State Park in South Carolina. A pleasant, but incredibly hot place to sleep.

Our next day of travel included a stop at Pearl Friar's Topiary, a 3 acre psychedelic Max Ernst-meets-Dr.Seuss lawn in Bishopsville, SC. He began his topiary using discarded shrubs with the intention of winning "Yard of the Month" to combat racial stereotypes concerning African-Americans and lawns. His topiary is now an international destination for lawn enthusiasts. It attracts a diverse crowd and while we were visiting the topiary we met a woman on her way to visit "Mr.Button." Apparently, Mr.Button lives nearby. With temperatures near 100 we had a quick stroll and picnic. In my great first act of Airstream towing bravado, I maneuvered between highly sculpted bushes in Pearl's driveway much to everyone's horror.

We arrived at our campground on Lake Jordan (near Chapel Hill) after a long hot day of travel. We managed to find the best campsite on a small pond and Moss and Giles went crazy with their new freedom. Rocks were determined to be non-food items. Moss woke early everyday which allowed him to watch beavers swim leisurely in the pond.

Our campsite at Lake Jordan was about 15 minutes from downtown Carborro. This allowed easy access to civilization for the culturally challenged. The only problem with our arrangement was the 9pm curfew.

Moss bathes while Giles watches.

Our vacation plans were adjusted to avoid the sweltering daytime heat. We found refuge in the Morehead Planetarium and Science Center at UNC. Moss pointed at the constellations and Giles slept. Above, Cymande and the boys hanging out with James Polk in the rotunda.

Giles and Moss at the Ackland Art Museum store where our friend Ron Liberti is showing his posters and prints. The boys enjoyed the show but they equally enjoyed the bus stop outside.

Soleil really bought into my short story, "The Heat Storm," which is loosely based upon the book/film "The Ice Storm". Instead of dysfunctional 70's family life and a cathartic winter storm, the heat-generated malaise is the antagonist in a small college town where ennui, stupidity, lethargy, sweat, thirst, political gridlock, body odor and mystery take over as air conditioners fail and people are forced to find comfort in unusual places. Strangers meet in the shade, the mall, the planetarium and Neal's deli (why didn't I buy that t-shirt? damn it!)

Moss at the Biltmore Estate. We stayed at a private campground in Asheville...the only thing that separated it from an internment camp was the fee. The river was nice, the resident alcoholics were a bit scary and a bit ruddy, but the bathroom...oh the bathroom. If you ever take a shower and there is a sign proclaiming 'Do not remove the shower head. Direct questions to management," you might want to question whether proceeding with the shower is the best option. Reminder to self: State or National Park campgrounds only.

Clearly, the boys were excited to see the Vanderbilt mansion in Asheville. They already had a great time eating sweet potato pancakes at the Tupelo Honey Cafe and though the mountains brought some cooler temperatures, the Vanderbilts cut corners and never installed the god-damned central air as they promised.

On the way out of North Carolina we took a side-trip to Judaculla Rock. This is a sacred Cherokee religious site and the rock is covered with amazing and beautiful petroglyphs dating up to 2000 BC. It is also a sacred Airstream-3-point-turn-on-the-side-of-a-mountain site.

Giles and Cymande enjoy the mystery of Judaculla Rock. Then, the excitement really began: three hours semi-lost on switchbacks up and down mountains until we finally reached Route US 441 South. 441 brought us home. The Heat Storm Road Trip seemed pleasant enough at the time, but in retrospect and in keeping with the short story idea: nothing was what it seemed. I'm glad to be home...and the weather has been improving.

July

2011-07-25T15:52:00.005-04:00

The field has been alive with birds this Summer. We had our usual bluebirds nesting in their boxes. Cardinals, tufted titmice, carolina wrens and chickadees nested around the house and even in my toolbelt. We had a small covey of bobwhites and a blue grosbeak family that recently fledged (and are taking daily baths in our fountain.)

Moss and Giles take their daily fountain bath.

We braved scortching temperatures to feed the retired horses of Alachua. They have all manner of retired horses: blind, deaf, lame and even ol' crooked face horses.

Stage one of the airstream restoration project has begun: removal of the diamond plate that the previous owner installed as trim/rock guard. Installing the diamond plate was much easier than removing it. I've been cursing his name for weeks now.

We attended the American Dream art show in Gainesville. Ron Liberti (who was visiting with his friend Robin from Carborro, NC) had work in the show. Moss and Giles had the best time running around the large concrete floor.

Moss was racing across the floor when he suddenly stopped at a large painting of a gas station with cars fueling up. He pointed excitedly and kept repeating, "AR, AR, AR!"

Ron's wall of posters.

For our first trip with the airstream we decided upon a short trip to O'leno State Park in nearby High Springs.

Morning walk at O'leno.

Compost

2011-07-06T23:11:00.000-04:00

Rick Scott, Tea Party CEO of Florida Inc

2011-06-16T19:49:00.000-04:00

Gov. Rick Scott has a Tea Party dream...someday Florida will be an enormous barren plain upon which you may do whatever you want whenever you want. Pesky 'big government' will no longer worry about the air you breathe, the water you drink or the creatures that inhabit the state of Florida. Developers and corporations will manage Florida's growth and environment. Wealthy children will have high quality education. The poor will create their own social safety net and crowd their children into buildings formerly known as "public schools."

Background Check

Rick Scott is a criminal. Before he deciding to turn Florida into a industrial park, he was the healthcare CEO of Columbia/HCA. He resigned after pleading guilty to massive Medicaid fraud (and 14 felonies) which led to the largest fine in Medicaid fraud history ($1.4 billion). He pleaded the fifth 75 times. After he stole millions from US taxpayers, he decided to run for Governor of Florida and thereby proved that the Tea Party has no legitimate philosophy. Elected by 26% of Floridians (winning by 61,500 votes) he has acted like he won a landslide mandate election. He promised a variety of crazy-ass things while running for election and now, he is delivering.

The Peoples' Budget

Scott's disastrous budget was recently signed in The Villages at a closed "private event" funded by taxpayer money. For a photo-op he shipped in students from charter schools (run by his friend Jonathan Hage which receive millions in taxpayer money) from 60 miles away. The children waved signs and looked happy (and a bit insane) as he cut $3 billion from public education. He didn't allow protesters or anyone "liberal looking" at his public taxpayer-funded event. Several seniors and others were escorted out by sheriff's deputies. They were not disruptive. They just looked like liberals.

The War on the Environment (or Let No Crisis Go to Waste)

When House Bill 7207 was signed into law it destroyed 25 years of growth management in Florida. The Department of Community Affairs (DCA) which managed growth has been eliminated. The effort by Gov. Scott and his Republican super-majority demonized growth management while pretending deregulation will create jobs. Florida currently has over 400,000 vacant homes, billions of square feet of empty office space and millions of undeveloped commercially-zoned acreage. Historically, the DCA approved 97% of proposed projects. Furthermore, the Florida House and Senate has been Republican controlled for 14 years with Republican Governors throughout. Regulation and protecting the environment was never their priority. Regulation did not cause Florida to be number one in home foreclosures. Most would argue that 25 years of deregulation of the financial markets at the federal level coupled with Florida's already weak environmental laws brought us to where we are.

Additionally:

HB 7207 kills concurrency which forced developers to help fund new roads, schools and parks to accommodate their projects. The costs will now be passed onto taxpayers. This amounts to public funding of private development.

County Commissions, full of good ol' boys, fraught with conflicts of interest and lacking long-term vision will be making major development decisions that will have environmental impact far beyond their counties.

Water Management Districts which could have abated the destruction had their funding slashed and the Governor overturned decisions to buy property that would protect water supplies. This was a carefully orchestrated decision that will likely be the first step in a water grab from the the water-rich rural communities of North Florida to the overdeveloped water-poor communities in South Florida. There has been talk of a water pipeline. The Springs of North Florida, the Santa Fe River, Suwanee River and many others are all at risk.

Everglades restoration efforts that began in 1971 have been gutted, defunded and management handed to the anti-environment legislature in Tallahassee. The South Florida Water Management District's ability to manage the Everglades has been reduced and the federal/state funding partnership is now in jeopardy.

Florida Forever was one of the most successful land-buying programs in the country. It purchased environmentally sensitive land and protected it against development. It was supported by Republicans and Democrats. Jeb Bush was one of its biggest defenders and even vetoed cuts during economic downturns. Scott proudly set Florida Forever's budget at zero.

Voting and public participation in grassroots petition drives have been dealt a blow by a far reaching election bill. This makes it exceedingly difficult for the public to stop what Gov. Scott and the Legislature has done to our future.

Perhaps the worst part of the new anti-environmentalism (at the state and federal level) is the false choice that is being presented: You can have environmental regulation OR a vibrant economy. Reasonable people understand that this is nonsense, but it works politically, especially during a recession. Politicians use this lie to weaken environmental laws, to threaten the EPA and to deny science. If you look at the current line-up of Republican presidential hopefuls you will see how radical the new anti-environmentalism has become. There are not two sides to this issue. There is no choice. Habitat destruction is morally wrong.

There is much more to complain about regarding Scott's plans for Florida. He slashed school funding and is funneling money toward voucher programs to fund private schools. He eliminated all funding for PBS and NPR. He is resisting anti-gerrymandering legislation passed by an overwhelming majority of Floridians. He is privatizing Medicaid (which is already diminishing access and the quality of care for some of my most vulnerable patients) and he wants to drug test all public employees and welfare recipients. Oh and by the way, he founded a drug testing/walk-in health clinic chain called Solantic in which his wife is a major shareholder.

I encourage anyone that has floated down the Ichetucknee River, visited the Everglades or any of Florida's natural places to call the Governor and tell him what you think about his plans. They will politely listen. His number: 850.488.7146

If you are Florida resident please call or write your senator and representative (click on link to get info) and please attend your County Commission meetings when necessary. The 1000 Friends of Florida link below has a useful growth management alert system.

Organizations that help protect Florida

1000 Friends of Florida

Audubon of Florida

Florida Forever

Sierra Club of Florida

A Tribute in Grass

2011-06-12T21:37:00.001-04:00

Castle Hill, Ipswich, MA

Old Wire Road, Lake City, FL

Happy Birthday Giles and Moss. One Year on Planet Earth.

2011-06-07T20:55:00.001-04:00

The Rapture Will Be Paved.

2011-05-29T11:35:00.001-04:00

This entry is a bit of a mess. It contains a little bit of everything for everyone and especially for those of you that enjoy asphalt, a little folk music and the supernatural. Old Wire Road unpaved.

Early one morning (well, not really that early, actually more like 15 minutes late for work) in October I was driving down Old Wire Road and I noticed that during the night a small fleet of earth moving equipment was dropped off which could only mean one thing...

After unknown years Old Wire Road was to be paved. I have mixed feelings regarding this. Though driving three miles of dirt road everyday sounds romantic, less romantic is the dust and/or mud covering every surface of every possession.

I promised you asphalt and I deliver. The entire project took about 6 months and during that time I learned about lime rock, dressing and those giant vibrating steamrollers. I actually never knew that they could vibrate until now.

My first entry of this blog in 2006 began with a photo similar to this, but unpaved. Of course, last night we watched our first impromptu drag race that dissipated as quickly as it formed. The deputy arrived approximately 1 minute after everyone left.

Giles contemplates walking at the grandparents house. He still considers it a novel, though inefficient, way to get around.

Moss reading nonfiction, specifically about the letter B.

A sign of the apocalypse? I'm sure everyone noticed that 'the saved' didn't, in their actual physical body, ascend to a partly-cloudy well-lit Heaven on May 21st. There were some disappointed lunatics in Lake City that were circling Florida preaching the word. I'm looking forward to the Rapture though (rescheduled for October 21st). Ichetucknee Springs water clarity will be drastically improved and I'm assuming that Florida's bronze-age Gov. Rick Scott will be transported away (because he's against all those fancy ideas that college educated/rational people believe in) along with all his anti-intellectual disciples.

It was our first visit in seven years to the Folk Festival and it was great. Moss danced and Giles pointed at every guitar and said "AH!". He loves guitars.

I urge everyone to visit the Stephen Foster State Park if not for the lovely setting, then for the dioramas. Each diorama (built in the 1950's) depicts a Foster tune. This is 'Jeanie with the Light Brown Hair.' The details are amazing and they often have subtle and creepy moving parts. You can also cringe at the racial stereotypes and Steven Foster's view of the South in the mid 19th century.

Moss staying cool during an intense session of peek-a-boo.

Five weeks, Nine Guests, Pure Madness

2011-04-24T22:53:00.002-04:00

Giles performs his nightly post-bath/pre-pajamas dance

Nana and Papa's campsite

My father took the chalkboard to an entirely new level this year. Topics included: trash picking, weed whacker repair, fried clams, donuts, a tornado, and our recently acquired 66 Airstream Caravel.

We had a picnic with both Grandparents at Stephen Foster State Park and looked at the antique tractors. I think it's worth the price of admission just for the 1950's dioramas depicting Stephen Foster songs. This photo is in front of Lake City's town hall (after a morning walk around the lake).

My father and I picked up the airstream in Daytona Beach and on the way home we stopped at Essex House Famous Fried Clams. It seems that the owner is actually from Essex, MA. It tasted just like Woodman's but the clientele was a bit different...

We celebrated my father's birthday with a full house. The Yorks and our friend Allison spent a week with us after my parents departed from their month-long stay on Old Wire Road.

For the man who has everything.

Yes, that is Ross in the back of 'Big Ooz'. It wasn't enough that I brought the Yorks to the ultimate redneck activity in Lake City. Ross had to enhance the experience by riding in one of the stock cars with his family. I believe he is pointing at Charles, a gesture that means something like, "In your face/I'm riding in big ooz/what the hell have I done?"

The Yorks return to the bleachers. Soon after they left a small portion of the bleachers collapsed. This seemed to briefly worry the large pink-blanketed wheelchair-bound man sporting a gangster bandana, but he was too busy laughing at me to let it bother him.

Post-race conversation at the end of the driveway.

Full moon over Old Wire Road.

Sam is a young child expert. The York boys actually helped us take care of our boys while they were here. Thanks guys.

My father troubleshoots yet another problem. The table saw had accumulated a little sawdust over the past year. He also repaired my weed whacker and mower.

Lula sits with my father as Giles attempts to join them.

Pasture off of Old Wire Road.

Sam tempts Buckley and Lula with bacon.

My parents set off for Ajo after their month of service.

Ross displays his free diving skills as he explores the Ichetucknee head spring.

Giles and Moss attempt their escape from the Burley while the Yorks play some steamy hot badminton.

Lunch at Satchels in Gainesville.

Moss and Giles in camouflage.

Ross fights off a Giant Ground Sloth at the Natural History Museum.

Apalach/St.George Island

2011-03-23T16:58:00.001-04:00

St. George Island, Florida.

With a mouth full of sand-encrusted mango Moss waves to his mother.

The modern world has finally caught up with my desire to relax on the beach without any sun exposure...the beach tent.

Giles had his first bite of ice cream (it was actually gelato). His pleasure was suddenly snuffed out with an ice cream headache. He wearily demanded more.

Within five minutes of arriving at our rental house Moss tumbled face first onto a bed frame sustaining an abrasion to his face. He then fell face first onto the tile floor. I prematurely declared the weekend a total disaster. Things improved dramatically after the initial injuries.

Cirsium horridulum. Purple thistle growing in the yard of our rental on St. George.

Boss Oyster in Apalachicola. We had oysters raw in the half shell and the boys had cheese grits. My father noticed that they were advertising 'oil-free seafood' (the BP oil spill was a few hundred miles away) and he asked if there was a deal on the seafood with oil.

Giles enjoying some crumbs while looking out on the Apalachicola River.

Dredging the Apalachicola River.

Commerce Street, Apalachicola.

Cymande, Nana and Papa discuss chocolate. Giles and Moss await a decision on the gelato.

Cottage on St.George Island (this was not our rental).

Giles and Nana amuse each other while I prepare my famous pea, zucchini and cheese omelette. The omelette is available in an edible version and also, a wearable version.

Early morning walk on St.George.

Moss distracts me from my vacation cable viewing (no cable on Old Wire Road yet). I learned interesting things about gold mining in Alaska and how some guy named Bear eats unspeakable things in the rain forests of Borneo.

On our way back to Old Wire Road we stopped off at Wakulla Springs. We sat around the lobby and pretended that we were staying at Lake Quinault Lodge or the Mt.Washington Hotel.

A boat-tailed grackle (Quiscalus major) over the Apalachicola marsh.

Scanned Objects, March 2011

2011-03-16T22:47:00.000-04:00

Post Cards

2011-02-19T15:35:00.024-05:00

Cape Ann, MA 1947

Front Beach, Rockport, MA

reverse: Front Beach and Observatory Point, Rockport, Mass

Carver's Pond, Bridgewater, MA 1913

reverse: "I'm a long way from home - Bridgewater. It reminds me of ? Hope all's well. You may remember I always do things well on Tuesdays. Greetings, Abe"

Post Office, Lake City, FL

Red Barn Restaurant, Lake City, FL

reverse: Red Barn Restaurant, 2 miles South of Lake City on US 41 & 441. Amid good courts. Air Conditioned. "Just Good Food" on beautiful Lake Hiawatha. Mr and Mrs Leo R Law, Managers. Phone Lake City 9154

Whispering Pines Motel, Starke, FL

reverse: Whispering PInes. 4.5 acres of beautifully shaded grounds. Modern Guest Cottages, each with private bath and auto shelter. Panel Ray Heat, Electric fans. Dining room serving excellent food to our guests. Tel 450. Mr and Mrs TR Connell, Owners. On US 301 and Fla 200. 3.5 miles south of Starke, Florida

Lazy Lodge Motel, Lake City, FL

reverse: Lazy Lodge Motel. 13 miles South of Lake City. US 41 and I 75

The Next Floridian Environmental Disaster

2011-01-31T13:33:00.003-05:00

The abandoned Trinity Hospital in Jasper, Florida. Like the new Governor, Trinity Hospital was making money by fraudulently over billing the federal government.

Last Summer, the Deep Water Horizon exploded, sank and subsequently pumped over 200 million gallons of oil into the Gulf of Mexico. When they burned off the corralled oil we could smell the toxic stench in Lake City. We all endured the embarrassing 'junk shot,' the ineffective 'top kill,' and the 'lower marine riser' for several months to solve a preventable disaster. There were known problems with the rig, there was lax regulation and blatant disregard for safety but, it was an accident. We can be thankful that it was not planned.

The next great environmental disaster to strike Florida is Governor Rick Scott and this one is being meticulously planned. The people of Florida (49% of the 42% that voted, which equals 20% of Floridians) voted for the Tea Party favorite, Gov. Scott. The Tea Party thought "Oh let's endorse a guy who ran a company that committed the greatest Medicaid fraud in history because that is fiscally responsible, right?" The irony doesn't stop there.

Rick Scott is worried about regulation, all kinds of regulation: no regulation, imaginary regulation and some of the most lax environmental regulation in the US. To combat any regulation that would hamper any development, no matter how destructive or unneeded, he has proposed something that only an anti-science, anti-environment Tea Party radical would. He is going to merge the state's environmental, growth management and transportation departments and call it, drum roll please...The Department of Growth Leadership. Is anyone feeling like an 8 year old yet? This new agency will be mandated to equally weigh any environmental protections with job creation. Since Florida already has some of the weakest environmental regulations this bodes poorly for our fragile ecosystems.

Other ominous signs from Gov.Scott include:

His selection of environmental department heads. Instead of scientists or conservationists he appointed businessmen, a former executive of the St.Joe company (the second largest land owner in Florida) and a former executive of a shipyard in Jacksonville.
He already has suspended all rule making and regulations pending his review.
He has proposed eliminating the State's regulatory power over major residential and commercial development. This includes 'streamlining' the wetland permitting process that is already only 45 days long. Wetland? What wetland? Endangered species? No such thing!
I'll call his next proposal the Tea Party Delight and it demonstrates the infuriating magical thinking that he and his supporters engage in. He wants to end concurrence. What is concurrence you ask? Concurrence requires that developers pay for infrastructure upgrades to accommodate increased population and usage (roads, sewer, etc). By eliminating concurrence who pays? That's right, you and me, because that is fiscally responsible...
He wants to end oversight of Developments of Regional Impact. This has major implications for my community. Florida is famous for enormous developments that often impact areas outside the local community by draining aquifers. This oversight also protects less developed regions from being used as water supplies for poorly managed urban sprawl.
He wants to stop local governments from enforcing more restrictive regulations than the state. So much for 'We the People.'
He wants to prohibit counties from suing each other over water supplies or upstream pollution due to strip mining. There have been proposals for water pipelines to South Florida in the past. Gov. Scott who won these rural communities with his anti-government zeal now proposes to stop protecting our springs and rivers. I wonder how the people of Columbia County will feel when they have no recourse if the Santa Fe and Suwanee Rivers become water supplies for the Tampa Bay area.

One would imagine with all this whining about regulation that Florida has been unable to develop for decades. Reality check Gov. Scott: 300,000 vacant homes in Florida. I repeat: Three. Hundred. Thousand. Vacant. Homes. Only in Florida...

ps: in case you were thinking he is a unique independent thinking libertarian type: he is also opposed to gay adoption; he is anti-choice; he favors a Arizona-style immigration policy; he is a climate change denialist; and he is apparently still up to his old tricks. Solantic health clinics (which Scott founded and is the primary share holder) is being investigated for Medicaid/Medicare fraud. Oh the irony of a tea party wingnut making millions by over-billing the government...

On more than one occasion I asked my patients to sign out of Trinity Hospital against medical advice and come to our clinic and I would readmit them to a proper hospital if necessary. I never had to admit anyone. One patient had been hospitalized for three days with strep throat (and no, he did not have rheumatic fever. He had strep throat.) Gov. Scott might want to check out this property as a new Solantic clinic site.

Post Number 101

2011-01-23T21:04:00.001-05:00

The Twelve Days of...Oh Hell, I Give Up.

2010-12-28T20:48:00.001-05:00

On the first day of Christmas, Gio brought himself to Old Wire Road. Additionally, he brought with him tales of the Peruvian rainforest, covetous bird scientists, masked gunmen, unsanitary rice and beans and all manner of ex-girlfriends. We expected nothing less.

On day two, Moss needed a bath.

Day Three...Giles' acute glaucoma resolved and that was exactly what we asked ol' St. Druid for. Thanks to everyone that made a positive contribution to his well being, especially: Dr.WTF, Shands UF, science and all his well wishers.

On the forth day of Christmas, Gio and I took a paddle down the Ichetucknee River. Two limpkins, five river otters, ten kingfishers and an osprey in a cypress tree...

On day five, I gave up on the entire '12 Days of Christmas' motif. Allison visited us from Portland and brought gifts from the civilized world. Thanks for brightening our holiday.

Gio courted various surgeons and rock climbers online. Who could blame him after three months in the Amazon Basin eating E.coli infused beans with members of a Columbian drug cartel. I expressed to him my concerns with women who start their online dating profile with the sentence, 'I love rock climbing.' I have nothing against rock climbers (except their muscular bodies and funny shoes). As an old friend of mine would say, "please don't say, "I love rock climbing."'

I promised Gio that I would get him some time with a wild manatee. Instead, we visited a zoo. I tried to promote the zoo by relating heartfelt stories of how the imprisoned beasts were all rescued from certain and painful deaths. I almost convinced myself, but I feel Gio never bought in. He did manage to shoot a nausea-inducing composition of a vapid Bald Eagle standing in front of Old Glory. And yes, Cymande is feeding Giles in the reptile exhibit.

Air: 50 degrees. Water: 73 degrees. Steam.

We were again the only visitors to the park for several hours. When we were pulling our kayaks out of the water we met an entomologist. Somehow, we started talking about ascariasis or giant human roundworm and she explained how she found one, well, in her stool. Which allows me to state for the millionth time: no one might actually read this blog, but I have the number one or two google image hit for ascariasis. I had so much potential in this life...but here I am..giant human roundworm...I always had a thing for parasites.

After we visited the Florida Animal Prison we found the most amazing Italian Deli in Inverness, The Little Italy Deli. The owner berated Gio for being an Italian vegetarian. The food was unbelievably good, a rarity in Florida...I felt like I was back in Gloucester being scolded for ordering incorrectly at Cafe Sicilia.

Count them: 12 manatees, one for every day of Christmas. Actually there were several others that were in the manatee hospital, but they don't count because: A. they were not wild and/or B. they were manatee specters.

Elves!

The Mysterious Case of the Thanksgiving Hyphema

2010-12-23T20:51:00.001-05:00

Working in pediatric primary care as a nurse practitioner, I am presented daily with both the best and worst that humanity has to offer. There have been tragedies and joys that often defy description. Ethically, I feel I can never mention these things here, nor have I been compelled to, but over this past month I had a case that was so interesting and educational (for both parents and clinicians alike) that I'm inspired to break my own self-imposed censorship. It helps that the patient is my son. While I'm not particularly thrilled with advertising Giles' medical history I know this will help someone. So, here it is...

He is usually a neat eater, but he was obviously not feeling well. Note the hyphema on the right lateral iris and the hyperemia.

Past Medical History: 6 month old full term male. Fraternal twin A. Delivered C-section. Breast fed and recently started on baby foods. Vaccines up to date. Mild upper respiratory infection 2 weeks previous to current illness which resolved with supportive treatment. Normal newborn screening labs. Taking vitamin D, no other medications.

History of Present Illness: Giles was in beautiful Beaufort, SC visiting his Grandparents for Thanksgiving. He was having a great time and for the first time ate a little mashed potatoes. Nothing seemed amiss until the day after Thanksgiving when we noticed he had a pink right eye. We assumed it was conjunctivitis and we assumed it was viral. We were wrong.

We drove home on Saturday and noticed that Mr.Giles was not feeling like himself. He was grumpy and his eye looked like "let's take him to our clinic and have a pediatrician check him out." He felt it was likely conjunctivitis and likely a virus. It wasn't, but we primary care people all think alike. We were wrong.

The next day we went to see a local ophthalmologist, Dr.Nothing-is-Wrong, where he was diagnosed with a grade 1 hyphema (blood in the anterior chamber, where the iris is). It was theorized that he hit himself or his twin hit him in the eye. Dr.Nothing-is-Wrong felt that the odds of another cause would be very rare and he would have other symptoms. He prescribed prednisone drops (for inflammation) and atropine drops (to keep the eye dilated). No pressure of the eye was taken.

Giles wasn't feeling any better. He continued to sleep either all morning or all afternoon and woke throughout the night. His eye looked about the same. He was acting weird. We started to entertain all kinds of horrific scenarios and it was scaring us.

We followed up with Dr. Nothing-is-Wrong who stated that his eye was looking good, that he had a hyphema that was resolving and to continue the treatment plan. He tested his pressure and it was normal but, as we now know, this was probably false. We asked if his lethargy, somnolence, and irritability could be contributed to the hyphema and Dr.Nothing-is-Wrong said, "It is not his eye giving him those symptoms." It is at this point that Cymande almost demanded we go straight to the ER, but I felt that if Dr. Nothing-is-Wrong said nothing was wrong then nothing was wrong. He was wrong.

(Note: We had read in several pediatric ophthalmology textbooks that somnolence is often associated with hyphema and that it often results in a rule-out sepsis work-ups (foreshadow). This was mentioned to Dr.Nothing-is-Wrong and he seemed underwhelmed.)

Over the next 3 days Giles got worse. He was more somnolent, more irritable and acting strange. It was rare to get a smile out him. Finally, he refused to wake up in the morning. So, off to the University of Florida ER...

Upon arrival we were put in a private room where the ER resident, Dr. Something-is-Wrong, took the history and looked very worried. First, she called for an ophthalmology consult and the resident adult ophthalmologist arrived and was soon followed by her attending. They examined him and confirmed that he indeed had a hyphema, but they were unaware of it creating symptoms like his. Then the ER attending arrived and said 'We are worried about him.' Which made us even more worried. The work up: Head CT: no brain tumor or eye tumor. Labs: no obvious bleeding disorder, no obvious infection, no obvious metabolic disorder. Urine: clean. Diagnosis: Hyphema and Suspected Afebrile Sepsis.

At 2pm and Giles was still sleeping and not really feeding well. The ER work-up revealed no significant illness, but there was no lumbar puncture done. The great unknowns remained: afebrile meninigitis vs afebrile encephalitis. It was decided that he needed to be in the PICU. The PICU team sat us down and went through their thinking process. We felt nervous, but safe. They were thorough, thoughtful and they listened to the entire history. They called back the ophthalmologists and examined him under conscious sedation where his eye pressure was noted to be over 3 times the normal pressure. They stopped any further workup and started him on pressure drops that miraculously brought him out of his stupor. He laughed and squealed for the first time in a week. We squealed with him.

The next day he was transfered to the general pediatric floor and a pediatric ophthalmologist, Dr. I'm-Going-to-Figure-Out-What-The-F%@#-Is-Wrong-With-Him (DR.WTF) examined him. His pressure was coming down and we were discharged. She later examined him under anesthesia and she ruled out all the bad stuff. The working diagnosis is juvenile xanthogranuloma (JXG) of the iris, but we are not 100% on that.

So, the likely scenario is this: JXG caused a friable lesion of the iris to bleed creating a spontaneous hyphema. The hyphema and cellular debris clogged the angle (drainage system of the eye) and caused uveitis (inflammation) which led to acute glaucoma (increased intraocular pressure). This caused a severe headache which led to his somnolence, irritability and near toxic appearance.

Thanksgiving 2010 in Beaufort, South Carolina

2010-11-28T22:21:00.000-05:00

The Day Before Thanksgiving 2010, One Day Late

2010-11-25T09:34:00.000-05:00

Moss and Giles getting all Bass and Drum.

The boys are expressing themselves in new and surprising ways. Moss is utterly amused by me singing 'doo doo doo, daa daa daa is all I want to say to you' and if I follow it up with 'squeak' then Giles squeaks his approval.

The calm before Old Wire Road is widened and paved

Since our very first day on Old Wire Road we have been told that it was going to be paved 'next year'. Next year has finally arrived and with astonishing efficiency they are widening Old Wire with all manner of large and exotic machinery. To remind us that we live in a place where there are little rules or regulations, loggers driving tractors (that cut down a tree in 3 seconds) quickly took down over a mile of roadside trees with cars speeding by the entire time. It was a frightening sight to behold.

Moss is enthusiastic about his bouncy

The final days of Old Wire Road as a narrow dirt road

I've been trying to research the history of Old Wire Road but have found little information thus far. From the information I collected I have pieced together the following: The first telegraph line in Florida ended in the now defunct town of O'Leno and it followed old Route 47 which is parallel to Old Wire. So, I believe that Old Wire Road is the old route of the telegraph line that ran to O'Leno (near High Springs). There is suprisingly little history regarding this topic (as with many things related to Lake City.) Over the years people have built their homes with respect to where the dirt road lies, but not with respect to where the actual property lines exist. Some people are losing their entire front yards and several Live Oaks which were probably 200 years old were taken down for the newly alligned Old Wire Road.

Giles investigates a pumpkin

One last look at the view North from our driveway.

Moss and Giles inspired us to be more festive. I carved pumpkins while they watched.

The Great Idiotic Stump is now history, but the stupidity is alive and well.

Rumble. Boom.

2010-10-30T20:46:00.001-04:00

For several months a mysterious sound has been emanating from beneath our porch. The first night we tried to ignore it and assumed that it was a rodent (notice how accepting we are of rats sharing our house.) Then, it happened the following night and it was loud. It was a rumbling sound, a boom, a persistent rumbling booming sound. At 1AM, armed with a flashlight, I tried to figure out what was going on beneath the porch. I stood outside listening. Silence. I went back inside, turned out the lights and went to bed. Rumble. Boom! Rumble. I pulled the covers over my head and decided if the beast was only going to make noise then I could endure it, but if it tried to enter the house then I would need to get up and destroy it with my bare hands. I lay in bed listening. Boom. Rumble. It sent shivers up my spine. Why was it so loud?

This became a nightly occurrence (that eveyone except myself slept through.) I would go to bed and fall asleep to the rumbling boom of an unidentified monster inhabiting the crawlspace. Some nights, spiked with the insanity of twin-induced sleeplessness, fear and panic would take over as I lay in bed hypothesizing a variety of horrific scenarios that could produce a rumbling boom. Rats are fine, but I couldn't allow a serial killer use my crawlspace for storage. Rumble. Boom. I went outside again with my flashlight accompanied by Lula and Buckley. Again, I found nothing and was unable to locate the sound. I came to terms with the idea that I would just live with the beast unless it decided to come indoors.

Then, just a few nights ago, the sound started up again. I decided to take another look. I grabbed my flashlight and looked under the porch. Nothing. Then, I saw movement. The large plastic vapor barrier started to move. Boom. Rumble. The entire 8 foot piece of plastic was now bouncing up and down. 'It must be huge,' I thought, 'and maybe full of bloodlust.' It stopped again. I watched in horror as one end of the plastic started to peel back. The beast began to emerge...all 10 inches of ferocious juvenile armadillo.

Twin Lights!

2010-10-16T19:06:00.005-04:00

Rockport Harbor

I'm sitting here, five days after returning from our trip to Cape Ann, trying to write a concise description of both our wanderings and my feelings after being reacquainted with our former home. It hasn't helped that the past few days back at work have been too long and fairly difficult, and sure, Astral Weeks is playing quietly in the background. I'm trying not to write an indictment of Florida (it's too easy and there are some places and people I love in Florida.)

A brief history: I first visited Cape Ann in my early twenties and it immediately felt like home. I lived in Essex, Gloucester, Rockport and Pigeon Cove. I met Cymande in Rockport and we were married on the Back Shore in Gloucester. I showed paintings at the Demeri Gallery, Lanesville, Gloucester and Ipswich. Some of our closest friends still live there. I know the shortcuts, where to eat and where all the great walks are. Maybe its the natural beauty or that my ancestors from Newfoundland passed down a coastal-pastoralism gene, but it is obvious: Cape Ann is still home.

And Lake City is home. Our lovely house, full of family and pets, sits in the middle of a field of blooming wildflowers. I love our little island of sanity. It has provided so much and taught me even more. I just wish I didn't need an island or feel the need to build a levy or a moat or a twelve-foot stone wall with turrets around my oasis. Back to Cape Ann...

Jenn and Daniel's beautiful home in Amesbury

When we first planned this trip it was to be a driving vacation. We were going to pack up our Subaru and head North. Then, I panicked at the thought of two babies crying for 24 hours straight as I sped toward Massachusetts. I booked a flight figuring 3 hours of crying is better than 24 hours. As it turns out there was no crying at all. Our friends, Jenn and Daniel provided shelter and a delicious meal on our first night. The next day we walked to a local orchard and had the requisite apple cider donuts.

Moss and Giles get strapped in

Bowie demanding fetch time

The next day we checked into our little Rockport cottage, the Sea Mist. It had everything we needed (except two extra nights that I didn't book in time). Located on Broadway, it was within short walking distance of Front Beach, Bearskin Neck, fried clams, eggs florentine, apple strudel and coffee. Vacation started to reveal the effects of 4 months of non-stop parenting: it became a special treat for one of us to walk to the convenience store after the boys were asleep. Oh the freedom of fifteen minutes on 2000 feet of sidewalk.

Cymande, Moss and Giles napping at the Sea Mist

Breakfast at Ross and Sarka's home in Ipswich

On Sunday morning we all met at Todd Farm for a walk around the antiques and junk. We also spotted the latest in trendy menswear: skinny jeans tucked into english riding boots (something I shall never attempt). Todd Farm is the only Sunday morning ritual I could ever devote myself to and it felt great going back. After Todd Farm, Sarka made us a delicious breakfast, but I must admit that we stopped at Marty's to reconnect with the intimidating staff and the boiling weak coffee and fear not, nothing has changed.

Jenn, Cymande and Giles at Topsfield Fair

Cymande and Giles at Appleton Farms

We spent Monday walking around another North Shore tradition, the Topsfield Fair. The windy cloudy weather nearly tempted us into a BBQ bacon dog, but we were distracted by the fried twinkies. Thankfully, Ross set us up with a pile of veggie tempura (with a side of vinegar...which apparently is "hot this year!") We returned to Rockport to warm up. Cymande started The Yearling which was included in the cottage's library. It's an interesting, somewhat mystical coincidence because it is about life in the Florida scrub where we now live. We are regular visitors to the Marjorie Rawlings Homestead in Cross Creek.

Moss and I at Appleton Farms

Giles and Cymande in the Great Pasture

Tuesday was our Ipswich day. First, we attempted breakfast at Stone Soup (closed on Tuesdays), but instead went down to Zumi's for coffee and bagels before heading over to Appleton Farms. Ten years ago I took Cymande on one of our first dates there (raspberry wine, baguette, and brie in the Great Pasture...how could she resist?) We then met Ross for a trip to the Crane Estate at Castle Hill. We tried to explain to Moss and Giles that if they worked hard, saved and produced all the world's toilets like Mr.Crane, then, they too could have a Grand Allee that reaches the sea (though currently I would consider a job mowing it). After the Crane Estate we visited Russel Orchards for more apple cider donuts and coffee. We picked up some groceries and I bought a copy of A House on the Ipswich Marsh which explains the natural history of Ipswich. The farm animals were well behaved ('Caution Pig Bites!'). Then, back to the cottage for amazing and miraculous fresh vermont camambert and yes, raspberry wine.

Ross, Cymande and Giles on the Grand Allee. Crane Estate, Ipswich

Moss napping in the wind-blown rain. Crane Estate

The end of the Grand Allee. The southern tip of Plum Island is in the distance

The next day we tempted fate by going down the street to The (no longer Flav's) Red Skiff with babies strapped to our chests. They were a hit with staff and customers alike and even seemed to enjoy the excitement of it all...even with hollandaise sluicing down their foreheads. We walked around town and headed over to the Cape Ann Museum in Gloucester. We lived three minutes away from this museum for three years yet somehow never visited. Moss and Giles were utterly satisfied staring at Fitz Hugh Lane seascapes. Then back to the cottage for the bedtime ritual.

Giles endured a bumpy ride on the acorn covered paths of the Hamlin Reservation

Hamlin Reservation, Ipswich

Thursday was another Gloucester day. Breakfast at Sugar Magnolias and off to Eastern Point Light followed by a drive along the Back Shore. The sun was finally out and the Autumn air was blowing waves past Twin Lights and washing them nearly to the dunes of Good Harbor Beach. After our walk we delivered Moss and Giles to a very excited group: Great Aunt Carlie, Great Uncle Jerry, Aunt Debi and their friend Pat. Moss and Giles were thoroughly enjoying all the attention until they abruptly fell asleep on the floor and couch.

Black Beach, Manchester-by-the-Sea

Jillian, Giles, Moss and Cymande. Demeri Gallery, Rockport

Moss and Giles at the cottage. Rockport

Friday was our last day at the cottage and we grudgingly packed our bags hoping that somehow we could stay through Autumn...and maybe Winter. Instead, we moved down the street to the Eagle House Motel and it was totally enjoyable. We spent the day with Jenn, visiting the shops, eating at Roy Moore's and walking Old Garden Path. We walked past my old winter rental on Smith Road and I'm still not 100% clear why she kept my security deposit. Jenn and Daniel babysat while Cymande and I went out to dinner first time without the twins. They didn't even miss us. Cymande had Finnan Haddie, which she wants noted here because it is so exotic sounding and reminds her of growing up in Gloucester.

The ocean off Eastern Point. Gloucester

Cymande and Giles. Gloucester Harbor

My lack of planning finally led us back to the York's house in Ipswich for our final night in Massachusetts. We somehow packed ourselves into one bed. The return flight was uneventful except for the humorless hyper-vigilant TSA agent that proclaimed that the twins' bibs needed to come off and get scanned. If they really were worried about something explosive and/or gaseous Moss and Giles were both packing diapers more dangerous and certainly more offensive. I'll write no more about this; I don't want them to end up on a no fly list. Moss and Giles, Twin Bib Bombers. Bib Bomber Brothers.

Eastern Point Breakwater. Gloucester

Giles and Moss in the backseat

Good Harbor Beach. Gloucester

Family portrait while walking on Good Harbor Beach

On the way to Old Garden Path. Rockport

Carlie, Giles, Gregg and Moss

And of course...Motif #1. Rockport

In the introduction of The House on the Ipswich Marsh, William Sargent opens with 'I fell in love with a field in the Spring of 2001.' I immediately realized that this is the same feeling I have about many areas on the North Shore and elsewhere (particularly Appleton Farms, Halibut Point and many of the Trustees of Reservations properties). When you come to understand and love a forest or field you experience great sadness and anger when it is harmed or destroyed. The North Shore is doing a good job or protecting these areas; sacrificing short term monetary rewards for the preservation of large swaths of undeveloped open spaces "for everyone, forever". I fear this is something that North Florida will never understand or value. I watch this community continually bury wetlands to build yet another hideous strip mall. There is no interest or energy to preserve this place. The locals don't seem to know the beauty of the place. I read the minutes of the County Commissioner meetings as they time after time up-zone light residential zoning to commercial zoning and thereby threaten our delicate Ichetucknee Springs. I told Cymande shortly after we moved here that there is only so much of this destruction that I could bear to watch. How high do the oasis walls need to be? Or should we instead have a small garden of hollyhocks with the cold Atlantic in the air?

Not Quite Fledglings

2010-09-22T21:51:00.002-04:00

Yesterday, I watched cardinals eating these American Beautyberries. The cardinals were also introducing them to their fledglings. This brings me to the topic of peanut butter toast.

This little fledgling has been showing interest in my toast. He is actually totally amused and amazed that I take objects, put them in my mouth, and swallow them. I explain that he is far too young for toast and when he seems frustrated with that I take him for a walk around the field. The cool mornings have made walks much easier; no longer do we have sweaty babies stuck to our sweaty chests.

Every morning our field is blanketed in countless dew-covered webs. I tell the boys that if they want to get their PhD's in one of the life sciences then they need to start thinking about a specific area of study and a thesis. I've discussed with them the possibility of being twin arachnologists and that I'm convinced that there are undiscovered species of spiders in our backyard.

Tummy time...

We took an early morning trip to Alligator Lake. Giles and Moss decided it was a perfect time to nap which gave us a much needed return to one of our old routines (taking a walk...oh, the freedom). They woke occasionally and seemed to enjoy the outing. We are getting better at this, but on the calendar for next week is the start of our vacation which has been given the title 'fool's errand'. We shall see...

Resurrection Fern

2010-09-22T21:21:00.001-04:00

Our Live Oaks support a thriving community of Pleopeltis polypodiodies (Resurrection fern) which is an epiphyte. They are able to lose 95% of their free water during times of drought and are then able to rehydrated during a rainstorm (and resurrect). Typical plants die after losing only 10% of their free water. Part of their magic apparently involves proteins called dehydrins that allow the cell walls to fold in a reversible way. It has been estimated that they could live up to 100 years without water and still rehydrate to their seemingly youthful state.

Early September

2010-09-09T20:42:00.000-04:00

Cymande and Giles on an early morning walk. Please note Cymande deftly managing a baby, a stroller and a cup of coffee.

Mister Moss being plain silly.

One of many boletes that have been popping up lately under the live oaks.

Signs of impending nervous breakdown: 8pm on a Friday decide to pull down your entire home library and arrange it properly by author and category. Oh, Dewey Decimal System...

And twenty four hours later it seems there was never a sweaty-toothed father of twins trying to establish a shred of order in a world trying to rapidly unravel itself. My psychology is too transparent.

Anthony with Moss and Cymande with Giles.

Portrayal of Calm and Peace (a fictional entry)

2010-08-25T20:13:00.003-04:00

We decided to take Moss and Giles for an early morning stroll at O'Leno State Park. It was incredibly hot and Cymande and I in our de-conditioned state barely survived the two hour walk. The boys slept through the entire ordeal. Sleep. Must be nice.

Before my brain was replaced by the circuit board from a vending machine I would have looked up the species and given everyone a glorious tale about this mushroom's lifecycle. Instead: Orange Things on an Old Stinky Log.

Rapids.

Duckweeds languorously rotate as the Santa Fe disappears under the earth.

Storm clouds approached and I thought 'My body can't take much more. Great Gods of the Sky have mercy on me and my family. We are weak and tired and really not too far from home, but it is still a hike to the car and all I have is about 500 calories worth of energy bars to get me through the next 20 minutes."

North Florida is lousy with sinkholes.

Again, this photo's caption would typically be full of useful and entertaining information about this insect's abilities to build this cocoon. Instead we have: a bug vomited all over itself, rolled in Cocoa Pebbles and emerged as a big pretty butterfly! How awesome is Nature?

Kira rubs Giles' head for good luck.

Lucas soothes Moss as he tries to determine if his hand is better than a binky. Currently, it is not.

Helena, Erin and James came for a visit and we all got trapped in the barn by a big thunderstorm. Notice Buckley with his tail between his legs.

Good Boy.

Late July

2010-08-01T21:40:00.001-04:00

Moss and Giles spend a couple hours a day playing on their play mat that has a variety of animals represented abstractly, sort of like little soft totem poles, except that one of them plays high pitched electronic' Mary Had a Little Lamb'. Sometimes, I worry about exposing them to this version of 'Mary Had a Little Lamb', but then I shake the roundish pig with his inner clunky bell and that cheers me up.

Sadly, Nana has left Old Wire Road and is back in Ajo. She was in charge of soothing Moss for most of July. He can be one tough character, but she figured him out.

Tutita, Mark and Sasha stopped by to meet the babies. They came bearing vegetables and gifts. For Mark and Sasha, I estimate that Tutita was born in November 1997 (near the airport on Culebra, Puerto Rico). Thanks to Amy and Tu for her rescue and early care.

Mark, Moss and Sasha.

Sasha and Mark enjoy the balmy environs of the studio in late July.

For the past week Moss and Giles have been babbling reciprocally to each other. We're just hoping that it doesn't lead to reciprocal crying.

In late Summer the spider population not only multiplies exponentially, the individuals get very large. This is a smaller species (tropical orb weaver? I'm not sure) that has caught a broad winged katydid.

Giles unhappy, but not to fear, happiness soon followed.

Mid-Summer brings out the Eastern Hercules Beetles and their corresponding foul odor. They have a powerful and unique odor that reminds me of carrion and an electrical fire. Lovely.

Moss and Grandpop.

Sleepless with Fenn and Chantal

2010-07-19T12:21:00.002-04:00

Everyone takes a morning lap around the field. Chantal and Fenn visited from SanFran and we attempted to keep everyone happy, well-fed, entertained, stimulated, but not overstimulated, at the right temperature with dry diapers. This equilibrium was sometimes successful and at other times less so. Fenn seemed to enjoy the entire experience though.

Giles considers his ability to move his left hand. It works, and my what a cute hand it is.

Our pool. Yes, we broke down and erected the backyard insta-pool. The look on my face while selecting this pool from the variety on display at 'the walmart' was apparently worth the price of said pool. Between diaper changes, I spend my days skimming it.

Fenn and Chantal. It appears that I applied some sort of photoshop filter to this shot. That is actual lens fog. 77 degrees indoors, 98 degrees outside.

Moss taking a bath in the kitchen sink.

Chantal and Giles. Giles is wearing his 'safety pants' that Chantal generously lent us. Nothing says love like sharing diapers.

Giles, Moss, Chantal, Fenn, Nana, Cymande and I went out on a date to The Top in Gainesville. It sounded ambitious and it was. Everything went well though. Fenn played submarine with his ice water.

One afternoon we decided Fenn should get out and enjoy the local flavor. We went to the Ichetucknee head spring to people watch. There was plenty to see, but Fenn seemed as content playing in the tailgate of the rental car. Fenn confided in me that he too is naturally opposed to the Ichetucknee during the Summer, preferring the serenity of a Winter kayak trip. Damn that kid is smart.

Moss and Giles comforted by their Grandmothers.

The First Three Weeks

2010-07-01T09:39:00.000-04:00

Lula and Buckley have accepted their new friends. If a baby cries they often are the first to arrive. Here, Moss sleeps under their supervision.

A morning stroll with Giles and Lula. Some days the twins wake early and demand their needs be met. Food, diaper change, and sometimes only a long bumpy ride in the field will keep them content.

Giles.

We are periodically visited by gopher tortoises that wander from the field.

Faye and Anthony meet their new grandchildren.

Sleep time on the couch.

It's often stated that anyone that heard the Velvet Underground went on to start a band. Here, Moss and Giles, after hearing my VU cover tune consider never picking up an instrument. Actually, they seem to enjoy the guitar.

Connie, Lee and Giles hang out by their 1967 Scotty. My mother has been the designated baby holder for a week straight.

Papa, Moss and Giles.

Moss and Giles. Born June 7, 2010

2010-06-10T16:55:00.024-04:00

Where does the journey begin? 1998, Rockport MA. I was working at a coffee bar and living in an art gallery. I brought Cymande black-eyed susans which she accepted. We moved to Beverly, to Gloucester, and were married on the Back Shore in 2001 with the wide cold Atlantic beside us. We endured graduate school together and somehow ended up in rural North Florida via the National Health Service Corps. We settled into Old Wire Road, restored our old cracker home to a livable state, planted fruit trees, raised chickens, and attempted to balance our careers with the rest of life.

Then, we thought, 'Oh, let's have a baby!' We thought about it and spoke of it matter-of-factly, after all, we saw our friends and patients getting pregnant accidentally, after one try, while on birth control, at age twelve or forty. We were fairly young and fairly healthy people. We enjoyed diets rich in anti-oxidants, donated to the Sierra Club, and provided health care to impoverished children. The universe was practically begging us to have a child. One year passed. Two years passed without conception. A year of basal body temperatures and a thorough map of the menstrual cycle was documented. So, what was the universe trying to tell us? If you know me you probably realize that I don't believe in that sort of thing…no magic, no ghosts, no god telling anyone anything and no universes that speak. The universe, beautiful and seemingly miraculous does not care. Amphibians, earthquakes, gravity, ice cream, lichen, black holes, infertility. It does not care. There was still a question though, 'How do we, who apparently can't get pregnant the good old fashioned way, conceive a child?'

Transfer Day

I prefer my outfit over Cymande's

The answer was, of course, science. Cymande bravely endured a battery of lab work, two examinations of her fallopian tubes and an exploration of all the parts that matter. We discovered the likely problem: narrow fallopian tubes. The egg couldn't make its way to the uterus to be fertilized. Enter the powerful University of Florida IVF team: Turkish reproductive endocrinologist (RE), Russian embryologist and our IVF nurse. They were confident, honest, and we trusted them. As you may or may not know, Cymande documented the entire process here: Here's a quick summary: Via drugs, we sent Cymande's body into a brief, but powerful menopause during which no eggs were created. Then, we turned her body into an egg production machine and instead of making one egg per month she made twenty. When those little eggs were ready to hatch, under sedation, the RE removed about 20 of them with a big needle. Simultaneous to this procedure the embryologist provided me bag of nonacademic reading material and a sterile cup. I then retired to an obscure reading room and…read. The embryologist put the eggs and sperm together and grew them in a dark, warm and mysterious place and watched them with care. We had 16 embryos, but only six survived to be considered for an attempt to be babies. The team decided which two embryos were the best candidates and called us with the plan. The other four were sent to deep freeze. The team gathered together one exciting morning to place them into the uterus while the embryologist exclaimed, "Shooting stars!" We then waited two weeks to find out if it worked.

Moss and Giles

Cymande, third trimester

We had a positive pregnancy test. We would have twins. Infertility makes you crazy though and while I was excited, I was equally worried. We had a couple of scares along the way that thoroughly shook my confidence. A subchorionic hematoma resulted in me being diaphoretic and nearly unconscious with worry. Later, placenta previa scared us into the ER early one morning. The ER doc gave us the dog and pony show (a serum Hcg at 16 weeks? C'mon…The ultrasound revealing two healthy babies was pretty good evidence that Cymande was still pregnant). At 24 weeks, we all got unbelievably sick with gastroenteritis. Cymande got some IV fluids and recovered quickly. Cymande was resilient throughout and made the declaration "We need to believe in these babies!" and I did what I was told. I worried less, but let us be honest here, often there was only one glass of wine between me and a panic attack. We had two baby showers: a planned work/family shower at our house which was just perfect and a surprise shower by her knitting group that produced amazing handcrafted gifts. Friends and family sent us amazing and generous things for the babes. Thank you again. Cymande worked through week 30 but she was beautifully large, sleepy and often uncomfortable. She needed rest. She spent her time at home sleeping, eating, sitting by the fountain, practicing the guitar, watching birds, knitting and preparing for the twin's arrival. We went to the beach in Ponte Vedra and wondered if the babies heard the waves. We waited. One night we had a tornado warning that sent us scrambling from our house and haphazardly into the direction of the storm, but we outraced it.

Moss takes his first breaths

Giles warming up

Moss, Giles and Mum

At 35 weeks we had some contractions and we sped off to Gainesville, but things slowed down. We ate palak paneer and returned home. Another week passed. The birds were amazing. We sat one morning and watched fledgling bluebirds leave their nest. Everywhere we looked there were fledgling chickadees, mockingbirds and cardinals. Powerful thunderstorms turned our fields green. We waited. We got impatient and even a bit frustrated. Just how long were they going to spend inside when there was an entire world waiting for them? Cymande counted all the people that were waiting to meet them. We thought for sure they would come just a bit early because they were twins. We read the data. We were ready. The OB set a date that we thought was so late that it could never arrive: 38 weeks and 5 days. Moss and Giles did not read the data on twins. June 7, we found ourselves driving down to UF for our scheduled C-section at exactly 38 weeks and 5 days without a hint of labor or dilation. Of course we arrived at the time the C section was to begin because of a miscommunication. Our OB (that was once described by our IVF nurse as, "ooooo Earthman!") didn't really care. The C section and day went perfectly. At 10:41 Moss was born and two minutes later, Giles. They were screaming, pink and back to their mother to breastfeed within an hour. We felt the indescribable power of looking into the eyes of creatures so anticipated, familiar, yet new (I know all parents feel these things so I'll spare everyone the gory dramatic details).

Moss

Giles keeping an eye on his brother

Our second day together

Giles

Moss

Our view and the staff at UF were both perfect

Giles and Moss partying on the bed

Cymande relaying the happy news

The past few days have been an essentially sleepless delirium fueled by high doses of hormones and dopamine, but we know family is arriving soon and things will settle into the more predictable rhythms of early parenthood.

Waiting...

2010-05-23T10:09:00.000-04:00

The Art of OWR

2010-05-08T10:02:00.005-04:00

untitled, Ross York, 2003, acrylic on canvas, 20" x 20".

unknown title, Kurt Zimmerman, 1995, mixed, 32" x 9".

Field, Jennifer Brook, 2003, acrylic on canvas, 18.5" x 18.5".

In Time of Rain, J.F. Simmons, 2005, mixed wood burning, 12.5" x 7.75".

Brown-Urban Wedding Invitation, Daniel Urban, 2008, print on paper, 8" x 12".

Timmy?, Soleil Konkel and Ron Liberti, 2006, mixed, 17.5" x 12".

(Installation Title, Hall Haskell House, Ipswich, MA), Charles Chace and Gregg Rogers, ink on vellum, 2002, 36" x 3".

untitled, Jillian Demeri, 2002, oil on canvas, 60" x 48".

Hog Island, Jennifer Brook, 2000, watercolor, 6.5" x 5.5".

Cherry Cough Drop, Elynn Kroger, acrylic, 2000, 17.5" x 17.5".

unknown information, purchased at Todd Farm in 1998, 10.5" x 8.5".

Jean Francois and Beel at Rosemarie, Jillian Demeri, 1999, watercolor, 6" x 4".

unknown title, Charles Van Buren, 2001, mixed, 4" x 3".

unknown title, Ron Liberti collaboration, unknown date, print on paper, 8" x 10".

Trees, E. Cune (?), unknown date, acrylic on board,13.75" x 13.75".

Tim Rusmisel, 2001, ambrotype, 3.25" x 4.25".

Earth Day, 2010...sort of

2010-04-23T19:54:00.004-04:00

Thistle in the Big Field

The fields were partially bush-hogged a few weeks ago. My long-term vision of the property is a semi-managed field and forest. I want to maintain some pasture land that obviously attracts a wide variety creatures while allowing some areas to return forest. Cymande talks about a small wildflower operation.

Toad in the Pine Straw

I'm not sure what to say about this friendly toad. He seems to enjoy living at the base of a fig tree.

Ponte Vedra Beach

Cymande had a brillant idea...a trip to the beach. It was a perfect day of cool ocean breezes and warm sun. Cymande sat in the small tidal pool and watched the jelly fish and crabs float by and out to sea.

Unidentified Crab

This little crab was sitting contently on the edge of a tidal pool. We disturbed him briefly and then he happily floated away as the ocean advanced. High tide drove us to seek higher ground and some lunch.

Not Good Harbor Beach

We talked about a day at Good Harbor versus a day at Ponte Vedra. Each has a unique personality. We're don't remember seeing an abundance of beach umbrellas in Gloucester. My memory of Good Harbor is an eight-hour blistering shelterless day surrounded by people smoking and/or blasting music (I'm trying not to criticize, but smoking at the beach? Honestly...Cymande feels this is a cultural issue, but despises it too.) Cymande has very fond memories of Good Harbor. Ponte Vedra has the blistering sun and the occasional smoker, and less music. We still proudly display our expired Gloucester resident sticker that allowed free parking at Good Harbor. Ponte Vedra = 3 bucks.

Gopher Tortoise

We have quite a few gopher tortoises on our property. Charles spotted this one as we drove home from the beach. I ran out to the field to take her picture and I was shocked by the speed at which she was moving. She was enjoying a nice meal of grass which you can see sticking out of her mouth.

Bullfrog in Swilly River

I think it's amusing that this bullfrog and several others live in our used bathwater.

Pink Spring Cleaning

2010-04-04T18:38:00.001-04:00

Morning Fog

Yesterday morning, around 7am, I woke up to make breakfast and noticed a cloud radiating pink light down to the fog that covered the field. Naturally, I ran for my camera to capture all the pinkness, but upon reaching the field edge the light began to change. I caught a bit of it, but I assure you that about 30 seconds prior to this photo it was all pink wonder.

Azaleas

The azaleas are blooming in the front yard and the blooms seem overly abundant this year. I have a theory about the past winter being a particularly cold one leading to major blooms on all of our trees and bushes. The pears, plums, peaches and even the live oaks seem to be producing huge numbers of flowers. Maybe a coincidence...maybe science.

Lula with Chair

Lula enjoys herself with an all day nap outside the barn studio. This time of year is perfect for her. Neither shivering in the cold, nor digging holes all day to keep cool she is content lying in the partial shade.

Garden Clean-Up

This photo is post-clean up. Earlier in the day the garden was looking a bit rough with good portion being covered in knee deep stinging nettle. Cymande usually manages all aspects of the garden. This year being pregnant with twins and now at about 30 weeks she gets to watch me manage all aspect of the garden. She did direct me and hand me seeds which was quite helpful. I cleaned, checked the irrigation system and planted beans, okra, watermelon, squash, lettuce, cabbage, peppers, herbs.

And the Garden Pond Clean-Up

Earlier I mentioned that we experienced a rather cold winter. We lost a couple of plants, but we also lost all the small fish and invertebrates that were living in the garden pond. This was the first time that this has happened in the past three years. I've heard that there were widespread fish kills throughout Florida this past winter. With all the dead plant and animal material settled on the bottom it was looking pretty bad. I spent a few hours emptying and mopping up the detritus and now it looks quite pretty. I'll reintroduce fish from Swilly River in a couple of weeks.

Inside the Coop

Our five hens are starting to lay again. Of the five hens remaining, two are originals when we started the flock about four years ago. A variety of predators (including us humans) have taken their toll over the years, but I'm impressed with their longevity. I've learned quite a bit about chickens along the way. I can identify a good broody hen (sits for the duration and gets up when a good number of chicks hatch) versus a bad broody hen (sits for a few days and gets up for a few days then comes back, or rolls eggs until they crack, or sits and never gets up and eventually dies). I'm pretty good at identifying predators by mode of death. Coyotes = a small explosion of feathers and no carcass, dogs = small explosion of feathers with carcass nearby, and the most gruesome would be the weasel = attack at night (because I stupidly forget to close up the coop, oh the guilt) and a carcass with its head chewed off and eaten. Most of our chickens have been victims of coyote attack which, while disturbing at the time, are at least feeding a family. The other attacks were just wasteful.

Outside the Coop

We put up a fence around the pear trees which keeps the chickens in a large outdoor area. We did this for a couple of reasons. The first reason is to protect them from coyotes and dogs. The other is to protect our yard and garden. This maybe news to those without a free ranging flock of chickens in your yard: ten hens can and will destroy a vegetable garden in an hour and then happily finish the day scratching away your landscaping. While Cymande was always very zen about it all, this caused me great annoyance and thoughts of mass slaughter. Now we are all happy.

Baby Shower

2010-03-28T21:20:00.000-04:00

March Flowers

2010-03-17T21:52:00.000-04:00

Redbud Blossoms.

Who doesn't love Spring? Swarms of bees and hornets found their way back to our front yard. For as yet undetermined reasons, some confused horticulturist named this tree a redbud. It is pink and fuschia and white, but really not red.

Mr. M and the Belly.

We are not clear if Mr. M is expressing his early love of the twins or he is plotting. Mr. M has a mixed poor record with toddlers. He's furry and attracts interest and this usually results in a screaming and superficially injured child. Luckily, most kids are quick learners, but if they're not then Mr. M is happy to give additional tutorials. He has no sense of humor as you can see in this photo. He is mama's cat, mama is his human.

Daacha

I don't know what to say about this place except thanks. Gainesville has a venue for open format modern art/music/performance. Lake City has Red Lobster.

Pear Blossoms.

The pears trees are showing more potential than ever.

Spring Colors

2010-02-23T21:59:00.001-05:00

Pleasant Pastures

We have decided to go with a new color scheme here on Old Wire Road. We are sticking with classic white but for the trim...pleasant pastures and pleasant it is. We keep referring to the new color scheme as 'Nantucket,' but let's be honest, it is pure fantasy that we share anything with a remote New England island, except maybe a certain type of dementia that develops after not leaving the same small geographic area for months on end. Instead of being surrounded by summering investment bankers vying for a table at some time honored French-American breakfast bistro you can spend 4 minutes trying to figure out what the postman is incoherently babbling about (he's angry that you receive the NYtimes.)

Yes, that is an exam table that I've examined countless patients on...

When you see burly men remove a nearly useless exam table from your clinic and replace it with a decent one you are filled with some happiness. Then, when you go out to lunch and see it on the side of the road, well, then you need to take a photo because that is just strange.

I'm ready for Spring.

I know it sounds stange to be sick of Winter in Florida, but I am. I'm tired of cold fronts rolling in and turning 74 degree sunny days into windy 40 degree days. I'm also tired of the local weatherman saying, 'Alberta Clipper', 'sparking off T-storms', and the general mainstream weatherman concept that rain = bad and sun = good even during a god-damned drought. I thought that weathermen were supposed to enjoy weather not the lack thereof.

That is some ambitious late Winter moss growing on the shore of Swilly River.

Good Boy

2010-01-24T18:29:00.000-05:00

River Rise, River Fall

2010-01-22T22:45:00.011-05:00

A horse trail at River Rise.

Two curious deer.

I took a solo trip to River Rise State Park which is where the Santa Fe finally emerges from its underground lair. It's a pretty strange thing to see. One moment you have a forest of hardwood and saw palmetto and the next moment you have a big dark slow-moving river.

I found this fire-hollowed stump as I blazed my way to the Santa Fe.

A large group of cup or ear mushrooms, but I can't figure out the species.

I started my journey with a bit of confusion. When I arrived, the park gate was locked. I figured, "Oh, the hell with it, I'm jumping the fence," and jump the fence I did. Then I approached an encampment...and yes, I saw movement. Humans with horses somehow had infiltrated the park and set up a primitive camp with a large stable. They were living in trailers.

A sweetgum (Liquidambar styraciflua) seed pod.

Where the Santa Fe emerges from the ground.

Soon I realized that I was the only non-equestrian at the park, the only biped sans odd-toed ungulate, and I began to feel self-conscious. I felt even more self-conscious when I watched some horse people let themselves into the locked gate with a special secret key. Instead of walking the horse trails I decided to blaze my own trail along the shore of the Santa Fe where the indiginous people wouldn't judge me.

The Santa Fe River, post rise.

I was unable to clearly photographically capture the strange hydrologic events that occur at this park. As I walked along the shore I heard rough water, and lest we forget, rapids are a rarity in Florida. The only rapids that I know of in Florida are about 100 yards worth at Big Shoals on the Suwannee River. What could it be? As mysteriously as the Santa Fe emerges parts of it just disappear. I stood before a branch of the river that abruptly flowed underground and disappeared below a slowly churning whirlpool of duckweed.

The rodent-chewed pelvis of some small woodland creature.

River Rise...River Fall.

The equestrian types that I met were quite pleasant and treated me as an equal (I was just missing a vital part). I'm still not clear if bipeds are really welcome or how you gain access without jumping the damn fence. Maybe after I'm accepted by the people of River Rise I too will be provided a key to the park...

Florida Freeze

2010-01-09T16:51:00.002-05:00

Air from the Arctic has reached Florida and has settled directly over our well pump and pressure tank. Initially, I ignored the temperatures outside, expecting things to warm up, but instead everything started to freeze. To remedy the situation we placed some heat lamps over the pipes. This has been an effective technique and aesthetically interesting.

We picked our cabbage and they were enjoyable. They are small cabbage, Farao, specifically.

Charles and I returned to O'leno Park after my recent trip with Gio. Those are cypress knees on the shore of a sink. Cypress knees, contrary to popular belief, do not aid in gas exchange, nor do they provide shelter for swamp imps or produce St.Elmo's Fire. They are more numerous in areas of loose, muddy soil that floods which suggests that they function as stabilizers which is no surprise...they are roots.

Eveyone likes lichen, especially when it's pink or green and hairy.

The road to O'Leno.

This is the old Florida seal which is full of inaccuracies that were slowly corrected over the years. First, notice the young Indian maiden beckoning the steamship. It turns out that she is wearing traditional Apache clothing and doesn't represent Seminole culture. I did notice that in this unique rendering the maiden is not dropping flowers or wearing a headdress and instead her hand is just pointing...or waving...'come ashore, take our land, do what you will with it, build strip malls as far as the heron flies.' In the distance you might notice the Great Florida Mountains which have since eroded into the sea. The palm is the non-native Coconut Palm, which was replaced by the native Sabal Palm. I guess the steamboat is correct. In summary, The Official Seal of Florida-In God We Trust can be translated as: Come all steamboaters to Florida where the friendly Apaches will wecome you to explore the mountains and feed you coconuts from the trees they imported from the South Pacific. Sounds like an interesting vacation.

There was an abundance of birds to watch. We saw black and white warblers, blue-grey gnatcatchers, bluebirds, wood ducks and palm warblers. They were quite vocal even with the cool temperatures. I was able to attract some black and whites using my Audubon Iphone App. The blue-grey didn't need any coaxing and practically landed on my shoulder.

The duck weed is beginning to die off from the cold weather and mixed flocks were busy collecting insects from surface of the sinks.

2010, Happy New Year.

2010-01-01T23:51:00.017-05:00

Phlox bloom in the field, Spring.

Ten years ago Cymande and I celebrated the New Year in Paris and slept on the floor of a train station finally arriving back at our hotel at 8am. Ten years later we were in bed at 8pm. The decade had us in grad school in Boston; living in the semi-idyllic Beverly, Rockport and Gloucester; serving 3 years in the National Health Service Corps in Lake City, FL; and finally deciding to stay on as Pediatric NP's in Lake City. It wasn't and isn't an easy decision. We miss our friends, we miss the little things (independently owned restaurants, hills, normal humans, the rocky granite coast) and we have to endure the local culture (revisionist history, Tea Party ~~Morons~~ Magical Thinkers, 6 foot Confederate flags mounted in the beds of pickup trucks, "Southern Heritage," scientific illiteracy, poor fashion sense and poor dental hygiene.) We miss you New England and San Francisco. We like to think of OWR as an outpost on the frontier.

Dogwood blossoms, Spring.

The past year has been a stressful, yet mostly positive, thrill ride for Cymande and I. We dealt with the psychologic madness, the physical pain and the large sum of cash that is infertility. My thanks to the amazing and highly competent embryologists, reproductive endcrinologists and nurses that guided our way. To follow our journey from infertility to a twin pregnancy, (if you haven't already been doing so) I welcome you to the second trimester. Everyone think June 2, 2010.

Junonia coenia (buckeye) pupa, Autumn in the field.

We were lucky to have so many visitors at OWR to take us out of our daily routines. There was marathon badminton, kayaking, frozen pipes, swimming, savory food, bad films, good wine, and indescribable music. Thanks to Ross, Allison, Gio, Soleil, Connie, Lee, Anthony, Faye and any visitors that I've forgotten.

Elaphe guttata (corn snake) climbing the rose trellis, late Summer night.

There was talk of paving Old Wire Road and surveyors spent months staking out the path of the future road. The surveying was followed by an army of county mowers that thoroughly destroyed all the survey markers. OWR might remain a dirt road forever with this type of planning. Oh, the South...

Ichetucknee River, Fall.

Columbia County, while an insanely and irrationally conservative place, has surprisingly managed to not sell out our springs to water bottling companies or to South Florida. I continue to be thankful for this policy stance. However, the county needs strict regulation of fertilizer use, run-off control and real land-use policies that could reverse the damage that is being done to the springs. Oh, let me guess...they want to do another study to determine what we already know...or maybe have another feel-good meeting of industry and river management people. Regulation with big nasty teeth is what we need. This is a county that allowed a concrete plant within a few miles of Ichetucknee Springs and the construction of a large industrial park practically on top of a major sink that feeds the Ichetucknee. I hope this decade brings powerful permanent protection of our springs.

Our pear trees began producing this year, but we failed to watch them closely enough. They ended up chicken food. Summer.

There have been so many predictable complaints about the past year by so many predictable people. My complaints are more extensive, about the fear-a-go-go decade as a whole. A humorous profanity-laced complaint summary consistent with my feelings can be found here.

To all the good people: Happy New Year and let's make this decade a better one...

Another Christmas, Another Linderia columnata

2009-12-25T17:40:00.000-05:00

Every Christmas the sweet smell of carrrion wafts across the field and we think, "Ah, something has died and the dogs will be rolling in it soon," but alas it is only the Columned Stinkhorn. A consistent Christmas visitor for the past four years, they disappear as quickly as they appear.

Handsome cabbage grows in the garden.

Buckley takes a short break from sleeping on the porch.

Mutinus elegans, or the Devil's Dipstick, produces its own olfactory lure that apparently works to attract a variety of insects. The devil has produced quite a few dipsticks this year, but this was the only yellow one.

Lula keeps dry during a rainy Christmas morning.

Charles is working on a large wall of sketches for a local show.

Without a powerful enough Sun, the solar fountain rests for the winter. The fish don't seem to mind.

Nothing says Christmas like Free Donut.

Art Basel, Miami, sort of...

2009-12-07T20:15:00.016-05:00

The graffiti park where several large finished and unfinished murals could be viewed.

Random street art being created in the Wynwood district.

Cymande and the Miami Mounted Police watch the graffiti artists work. Notice my careful positioning. You have to think like a cop to allude one...no jaywalking on my rap sheet...yet!

The Shepard Fairey Mural.

A small sculpture park in the Wynwood. Cymande would like one of these in the field of our Ipswich property. We have property in Ipswich?

We could have spent days exploring the galleries and art spaces, unfortunately our time was limited and I had developed a criminal record.

This is Not a Mid-Life Crisis; This is Thanksgiving

2009-11-29T22:38:00.031-05:00

My dear old friend Gio travelled from Berkley to spend a week on Old Wire Road. I'm not implying that Gio is old; geologically, he is very young and he has repeatedly assured me that he is not having a midlife crisis. I'm starting to believe him, but that might be due to the lingering hypnotic effects of a wine-fueled outdoorsy week-long ramble.

Gio's first two days were spent developing a deep bond with Charles while Cymande and I worked. To assist in Gio's enculturation of the local dominant paradigm they took a four hour long walk to aquire beer. They were successful. After this experience he was able to fully invest in awakening his dormant inner drummer. Again, success was his. The next day we hosted Thanksgiving dinner with Anthony and Faye in attendance. It was a briney good time. The rest of the week-long visit was spent mostly on outdoor adventure, eating, imbibing, creating a certain undescribable genre of music and watching horror movies from the early 60's.

It was only a week, but it could have gone on forever...or until Cymande keeled over from testosterone exposure.

Gio and I made an excursion to O'leno park where we visited the mysterious water-filled sinks covered in duckweed. These sinks are part of the Santa Fe river which travels underground, emerges nearby and eventually joins the Suwannee River.

This is Jim's sink.

We saw a lovely little blue heron that contrasted with the intense green duckweed. I scrambled along the steep banks (some over 10 feet high) to get a photo, but the little blue protested my attempts.

Gio was introduced to our competetive badminton matches and put up a pretty good fight. He then challenged Buckley and Lula to a version of badminton that only Gio understands.

Our next daytrip was to Paynes Prairie just south of Gainesville. Paynes Prairie is a savanna drained by a system of sinkholes. In the past, the sinkholes became blocked and it transformed into a large lake which eventually drained, stranding boats on dry ground. The boats are gone, but if you're lucky you can see descendants of DeSoto's horses and bison that were reintroduced in the 1970's. It was here that Gio got to check one beast off his wish list.

From the Paynes Prairie viewing platform we watched harriers, glossy and white ibis, and herons work things out. We also watched Charles, utterly bored with nature, sleep on an uncomfortable corner of the decking.

Gio kept a safe distance from the large alligator that slithered beneath the surface. As we approached the pond I thought that someone had carelessly left a tire on the shore, until the tire unwound itself into the water.

We ended the day with pizza and beer at Satchels. Gio and Charles...Cheers!

Gio and I woke early the next day to paddle down the Ichetucknee and the Santa Fe River. We were the only humans on the Ichetucknee all morning. We saw deer feeding on the shore, countless birds and a small group of river otters that swam next to my kayak while munching on snails.

Gio paddles under a fallen tree on the Northern portion of the Ichetucknee.

Further down the Ichetucknee widens and we spent some time with a vocal limpkin, a couple great blue herons, cormorants and a gregarious Anhinga.

A good egret? No, a great egret.

On the Santa Fe I tried to fulfill Gio's dream of meeting a wild manatee. We didn't find one, but as we paddled a passing boater mentioned that manatees were seen at the convergence of the Ichetucknee and Santa Fe on the previous day. So, Gio almost saw a wild manatee.

The next day we volunteered with Four Rivers Audubon at Ichetucknee State Park. We collected wildflower seeds and learned about the sandhill ecosystem. I developed a strong opinion about goldenrod seeds and I refused to collect them.

The joy of seed collection. Notice that Gio is mocking me by not collecting seed and instead attempts to uproot a scorched sapling.

To the novice observer one might think 'kitty litter,' but this is no kitty litter. These containers are full of seeds with scientific names I can't pronounce and common names I can't remember.

Band practice. Gio informed us that he could make us famous and that we could not enjoy fame without him. He is the 'frontman' he repeated. When I pointed out that he was the drummer and that being the frontman would turn him into a Phil Collinsesque figure he just shrugged it off...always the optimist.

On Gio's last full day we decided to kayak the northern portion of the Ichetucknee again.

One of three handsome limpins that we spotted on our second trip down the Ichetucknee.

As I write this Gio is stuck in Miami and is at a hotel for the night. We've been pacing around the house singing songs such as 'That Girl' or 'Lake City Moonshine.' Gio hasn't left yet...the madness lingers.

How to Restore Peace to a Stump

2009-10-28T19:29:00.010-04:00

One of our batshit conspiracy-theorist neighbors has been forecasting the end of days since the election last year. He posted a sign on an old stump that read 'mpeach' approximately 5 minutes after the inauguration. It annoyed me because we live on a lovely tree-lined dirt road. The stupidity was disturbing my peace of mind. Thankfully, 'mpeach' mysteriously and thankfully disappeared. Peace was restored until...

A new sign appeared on the stump. It was getting under my skin until I made my very own sign. I feel my sign conveys a happier future... one with lots of ice cream.

11/15/09 Super Deluxe Update!

Well, it turns out fantasy man doesn't like ice cream after all! My sign has been reduced to a pile of angry splinters. I guess that works as a form of anger management, but honestly, who doesn't like ice cream? It seems almost un-American. How about this sign idea: I don't like ice cream...yum?

Sam Rivers and the Rivbea Orchestra

2009-10-11T20:15:00.003-04:00

It's been over ten years since I last saw Sam Rivers play at the Sapphire Supper Club in Downtown Orlando. On Saturday night we were lucky enough to attend a performance of his big band, the Rivbea Orchestra, in College Park, Orlando. Thunderstorms threatened and Sam forgot the sheet music, but all problems were resolved and it was an amazing performance. There were a few confused folks expecting a Salsa band and not quite expecting the somewhat avant-garde Sam Rivers sound experiments...oh well, too bad for them.

Sisters and Satchel's Pizza

2009-10-04T14:07:00.018-04:00

Sisters in Haile Plantation

I've decided to review two local restaurants that we've become recent fans of. They are located in two separate socioeconomic universes. Sisters is in Haile Plantation, a semi-phony New Urbanism development west of Gainesville, and while a bit contrived, it remains pleasant, tree-lined, dog-filled and very upper-middle class. Sisters serves a great breakfast. I appreciate any breakfast place that actually cares about their coffee and they do, serving Sweetwater, a fair-trade local roaster. Their ingredients tend to be local and organic and they present a creative and appealing menu. This is no simple task, remember we live in Florida. I guess this is why I like this place so much. It could be on any corner in Ipswich or Beverly or Gloucester. Anyway, the food is great and the service is very pleasant. We've had the Blueberry Blintzes and Mascarpone/Banana Crepes (both very rich with appropriate portion sizes), the Eggs Benedict (tasty roasted red pepper hollandaise) and the French Toast stuffed with ham and gruyere. Sit outside and watch all the college professors walk their dogs. If you go on a Saturday morning shop at the farmer's market and buy samosas for later in the day.

Eggs Benedict with spinach and roasted red pepper hollandaise.

Satchel's Van.

Our recently discovered and favorite pizza place ever, Satchel's, is located on the Eastside of Gainesville (which can be translated into the African-American side of town where there is not one bank. Not one.) The environment is very casual, with a pleasant punk-hippy-smarty pants feel. You can eat in the old ford van. The salad is fantastic with apples, sunflower seeds, almonds and their own dressing. The pizza, oh the pizza...so good, too good. Again, remember we live in Florida, but I am pretty sure that this is the best pizza I've eaten. Cymande, however, feels that North Beach Pizza in San Francisco, circa 1990 was pretty darn good. Anyway, the service was friendly and helpful and if you visit us we will take you there.

Lightnin' Salvage, a great junk shop behind Satchel's.

Marjorie Kinnan Rawling's Home in Cross Creek.

Buckley surveys Old Wire Road from the porch table.

A toad, born of Swilly River and now off to inhabit the world.

The new F725 mower, sweet.

Lula sleeps outside of the front door.

Again, Technical Difficulties...

2009-09-29T14:56:00.007-04:00

Well, I had hoped that I could squeeze in a September entry full of wit and interesting phenomenon that have occured since the last entry. I suppose I still could, but somehow without the photo evidence it seems less appealing.

I could describe in agonizing detail how one fine day I was mowing the lawn with my tired old Craftsman mower when suddenly it started making a hideous noise followed by a thick malodorous grey smoke belching from the exhaust, then stopped operating. I tried to turn it over, but more smoke poured out and finally the engine turned into a block of molten metal. The photo might show the mower meeting its smokey demise amongst the pear trees.

Two weeks later, Charles and I drove down to Sebring to pick up a John Deere F725 mower that I purchased on ebay. It required a couple of parts (fuel pump, ignitor), but I do believe that I got a very good deal. A suspiciously good deal. OK, maybe it is stolen, but the guy seemed nice and honest and grateful and he gave us pina coladas. I suggest that if you own a nice mower, such as the one in my barn, then consider locking it up. You might avoid a bidding war on ebay and actually earn the value of the mower if you set a reserve price. I hope this serves as my confession and that all my lawn mowing and ebay sins will be forgiven. The photo would be of the F725 parked amongst the fig trees.

I also planned on finally revealing Swilly River and all its teeming biodiversity. It's been an interesting 6 month experiment. I'm impressed by the number of fish, frogs, toads and insects that stormwater and bathwater support. The photo would show the meandering path of Swilly River.

I might have mentioned a couple of handsome chicks that hatched after losing four hens and a rooster to a coyote attack (there is a price to pay for having the freedom to range willy-nilly.) The photo would show two fuzzy chicks under the constant supervision of their mother.

For those of you not interested the the superficial distraction that I attempt to provide here, or if you are seeking more profundity, or more existential dilemmas, or maybe you are seeking more discussion about reproductive endocrinology then I would have reminded you: Cymande and I have been busy. The photo would be of two happy blastomeres.

Upon resolution of our technical difficulties all these topics and more will be explored appropriately. Until then you will just need to use your imagination. Lawn mowers, rivers, chicks, blastomeres...

Cash for Clunker

2009-08-15T15:59:00.004-04:00

Big Blue Van, you served us well. Yes, you achieved 12 MPG on a good day, and yes, I worried that a tire might explode at any moment, and yes, you scared little children as you drove by the bus stop, but you performed admirably in your tasks. You helped restore our house, hauled a piano, served as a dump truck, pulled down a barn and miraculously increased in value. Thank you BBV and goodbye...

Spanish Moss

2009-08-11T20:22:00.005-04:00

Tillandsia usneoides

Description: Spanish Moss is neither moss, nor lichen. It is a bromeliad with ariel roots and small inconspicuous flowers that propagates through fragmentation, seed dispersal and by birds using it as nesting material. One strand can grow up to 7 meters in length. It is not parasitic, but can obscure sunlight to host trees and can increase wind resistance during hurricanes. It grows primarily on live oak, bald cypress, crape myrtle and sweetgum because these trees leach nutrients which aides the moss' survival. It is home to several creatures including: bats, rat snakes and a species of spider found only on the moss. It is often associated with Southern Gothic imagery, as are several unpleasant aspects of Southern US history...the moss is a lovely silvery green and appears mysterious in the morning fog!

Range: Spanish Moss can be found from the Southeastern US to Argentina. In our yard, it is primarly found in the live oaks on the southern side of our property. It grows abundantly during the humid summer, but thins out during the dry winter and spring.

Human Uses: It was once used as mattress stuffing and is still used as mulch in floral arrangements. It is also used as a textile by some folk artists. It is dried, spun and used in knitting (this art form is almost lost.)

Brent Butler, 1967 - 2009

2009-07-27T23:07:00.009-04:00

Our Friend Brent recently passed away after a long illness. We met him last year at Chantal and Noah's Wedding, but heard about him for many, many years. He was a kind, creative Vancouverite with an incredibly sharp wit. He told us that during his treatments he would use Old Wire Road as a safe idealized place that he could escape to; A place where the chickens roam free, ripe fruit falls from trees and the warm sun always shines. We were honored by this. We tried to keep OWR free of the clutter that innundates this world. We will miss you Brent. The following is the obituary that he wrote:

September 2, 1967 - March 9, 2009. Brent Butler died driving impressively fast on the forbidden highway of danger, showing a clear disregard for the status quo in an inspiring act of sheer, fearless bravado. He looked thin. Brent is survived by his loving parents, Patrick and Barbara, his younger brother, Bryce as well as his many dear friends. In lieu of flowers please consider a donation to the BC Cancer Foundation, Lymphoma Research.

Our Commute: Lake City to Jasper

2009-07-24T21:52:00.007-04:00

Five Points

Winfield

The Bicycle Association

The Suwannee River

White Springs

Hilcoat

Jasper