Frog lines & spritzing geese: Ramble with the Lady

July 24, 2015

The scum thickens, now that the historic rains of June and July seemed to have finally moved out, on the town pond.

Apparently, I am not the only one noticing this. There were lines in the scum on both old clay pits, the kind of lines that are made by somebody working a scum frog through the scum, hoping against hope for a blow-up from a largemouth bass.

 

I had been planning on doing that Monday night, before family plans intervened. But I will get some in.

 

One thing I noticed is that whoever was casting the frog imitation for bass did not overextend themselves, they basically walked to the open spots near the bridge over the neckdown between the two pits.

 

There is frog fishing to come in my future. I think it is something our daughter would enjoy, too, if I can squeeze the time out of her between high school soccer, 4H, Girl Scouts and youth group.

 

All I know, it is one of my favorite forms of fishing.

 

As Lady, our family's mutt, and I set out, the air was thick with the cooing of mourning doves. It felt very summery.

 

As we passed the firehouse, the wonderful smells of cooking taco and burrito fillings drifted on the morning air from the restaurant where the chef/cook fills a food truck for migrant and nursery workers. Good God, it made me hungry.

 

The sprinklers were on at the ball field at the edge of town. So the Canada geese, which have been grazing and crapping all over the outfield for the last week or so, had moved across the road to the little chipping green the guy with the iron company had built. Another place to graze and crap all over on.

 

Apparently, they are not fans of being spritzed while they are grazing and crapping all over.

 

As we crossed the side rail separating the town from the wildness of the town pond, a green heron squawked on the north pit. I could not find it but definitely heard it.

 

Some new berries are growing on the east side of the south pit, but no where near as many as in previous years. There used to be so many berries growing there that people would come from miles around to the pick the raspberries, mulberries and blackberries.

 

We hardly had any raspberries this spring and now the blackberries coming in will not be much more than a snack some morning. I am pretty sure it is the invasive bush honeysuckle pushing out or shading out the berries.

 

Back on the edge of town, the rising sun backlit the grain elevators, which had a new line of rail cars on the side rail. Rather uninteresting rail cars with no graffiti.

 (Hello, Charles Demuth.)

 

The chef/cook was finishing loadking as we circled through downtown.

 

A pair of rabbits eyed us, as we came down the alley behind the bus barn, then they bounced into the safety of the evergreens in the years to the south.

 

The air thickens with the promise of real summer heat.

 

Dog days may be here.

 

 

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