How do you queue?

I do best on country roads where I may see another car every five minutes or so.

This thought came to me as I drove downstate in increasingly heavy traffic. I knew I had to get off the Cross Island Parkway onto the Long Island Expressway. I used to commute here in my earlier days and was accustomed to the road and its traffic patterns.

Like a good doobie, I got into the right lane early so I would be well positioned for the exit. Then I became annoyed, and even a little angry, as more and more cars pulled into the right lane at the last minute. This made me look up queue theory and traffic patterns.

Apparently it is predictable and even preferred that you wait until close to the last minute to merge. If everyone got into the right lane early, there would be a crawling lane of traffic for miles. By pulling in late, traffic is allowed to flow more smoothly. And here I was chalking it up to entitlement and all sorts of negative things.

So please don’t honk at me the next time I cut you off in a merge. I’m just keeping traffic flowing. Or as Tim likes to say, zapping you.

In the meantime, I will stick to the country, where the biggest problems are deer, turkeys, and even bears crossing the road.

Past peak but not too bad

This could relate to many things, including me, but today I am talking about deciduous trees.

Fall in the Adirondacks is glorious and brief. Catch it while you can. Cold fronts with high winds blow the remaining leaves off the trees, which happened again this year.

There’s often a rainbow after rainy weather and stormy skies.

And sunsets from the cabin are stunning. It’s nice to be home to enjoy these views.

Home just in time

High peaks color

We returned home and were greeted by the trees just starting to change color. We peep while going about our regular activities, often at high speed.

Used to be an iconic red barn here here
Pretty even at 55 mph
Headed downhill to Cascade Mountain
My “fishing hole” where I have never caught a fish
Fire Island Lighthouse

And finally, a lighthouse. I joined my daughter on Long Island and we walked the barrier beach to this beauty. Tim and I spent one winter on Fire Island (heaven) and this was our backyard view!

Why island life?

Not just any island, offshore please. Ideally with only two occupants. Yesterday made it perfectly clear to me why I love these opportunities. In between putting up window grates and storing the multitude of benches that now reside here, I stared in awe at the sky as it constantly changed. Black clouds brought a little rain and then moved to the north.

From the vantage point of a hill atop an offshore island, and safely onshore, clouds, gloomy skies and rain are spectacular.

And you need clouds and rain to form rainbows. As we got ready for dinner, Tim saw a rainbow out front. I went out back to see it and watched it with the current, resident peregrine falcon.

Until he found something to hunt and flew off.

This is the view I wake up to from our bed looking south to mile buoy. There is also the sound of the wind, bell buoys flag halyards.

We have not seen any whales but the boat traffic is interesting. With a Marine Traffic app, many times we can identify the boats and ships we see offshore. It makes them less anonymous as they drift or cruise by.

And of course it helps that Tim and I usually enjoy each other’s company and work well together. I couldn’t do this without such an excellent partner.

Small treasures and big sky

We’ve been busy, shutting down the island in earnest. We often have helpers for a couple of days but the seas did not cooperate this year.

We still find plenty of time to enjoy all the island offers. We spent a couple of hours in the cove that other morning and I found treasures combing the beach.

I tossed this guy back into the sea because he was still alive. I found more snails cavorting and a piece of green sea glass – bingo!

It has been a wet year. The weather station recorded 100 inches of rain! Good for mushrooms.

I heard a strange bird sound the other morning and we found a pair of peregrine Falcons admiring the fresnel lens.

Wonders never cease. A few cold fronts skidded by, hence the lack of visitors, but they created interesting clouds.

And, of course, sunsets.

And sunrises.

Where did all the sea glass go?

Recycling works. In years past it was easy to scavenge sea glass from the sand in the cove.

Not this year. It’s slim pickings. I only found one piece of clear (the most common) this morning.

This is my bounty for the week. And I was hoping to make some jewelry.

Mostly interesting rocks. It is not due to lack of crashing surf.

Back to knitting, weaving and braiding.

Foraging

The island’s apple trees are loaded with fruit but located on a ledge, surrounded by poison ivy. Tim loves apple pie and may be immune to poison ivy so he set off and gathered several.

I decided to make a small “pie” as a test. It was pretty delicious.

The summer garden still has lots of basil, mint and yellow squash.

Perhaps tonight we will have escargot!

clouds and more rolled in

We have had 3 beautiful days, sunny, with a light breeze, but finally are getting some Maine weather. After several days of crystal clear blue skies, clouds and moisture moved in ahead of a cold front.

That’s an amazing part of this 360 degree view: being able to watch the weather roll in. Two scheduled groups of visitors, overnight guests and a working bee, were cancelled.

That didn’t stop a group of 10 or so kayakers from paddling in as part of an outdoor leadership training. We briefly met one of their guides in 2008, June 22 to be exact, when he appeared with a group that navigated here through pea soup fog by gps and the sound of the foghorn.

Yesterday the foghorn came in while Tim was practicing his keyboard. These days sailors have to request the foghorn by using channel 83 on the vhf radio and clicking their heels ( or the mic button) three times. We can’t see the cove from the house and were visited by three Coasties who were here to test the foghorn and take an inventory of stuff they are going to take off the island by helicopter.

One never knows who will pop up here.

And then the sun set.