Just east of Fort Shaw, Montana, I pulled onto a side road running along the wetlands where the pictured American White Pelicans lounged. I did notice a small orange windsock, but only fleetingly wondered why a bird sanctuary might need to know wind direction and strength. The long, straight dirt road was just the right distance away to observe yet not startle the floating birds, and a beautiful place for an early evening photo stroll.
After my fill of photos, I backed up my car and turned around to exit onto the highway. As I waited for traffic to clear, a serious, wiry senior lady on her green lawn tractor idled over to my passenger window. Imagine my horror - I, whose childhood farm home included a grass airstrip and varied flying activity - as I deciphered her words from the rumble of her mower motor, “You know the windsock means that this is an airstrip, don’t you?“
Yes, in mere nano-seconds, all manner of “could have happened” thoughts raced through my brain, yet I managed to spout profuse apologies. Thankfully, this watchful airstrip angel let me off with a grace note: “But it’s okay that you were taking pictures”, then revved up into gear, efficiently checked left and right for traffic, and moseyed back across from whence she came.
Thank the good Lord for those who watch over idiots.
We happened to be at the Lumberjack Saloon listening to a friend’s band when the Bikers Against Bullies showed up for lunch at the end of a late-June awareness ride. I had an entertaining chat with Leprechaun, who built this custom Celtic bike from the ground up during spring of this year. He graciously directed us to his gorgeous creation in the bike lineup and gave permission to take photos.
Wishing you fair skies and many smooth miles to come, Leprechaun.
“There, lay outskirts. Through them are windmills lining
A vast expanse of amber sky, and there they are refining
A pure blue wind, tinted such within by turning steel fins…”
- From Sunset Spirals by Elijah Corbeau, poet
Read the full poem here.
“Rest is not idleness, and to lie sometimes on the grass under the trees on a summer's day, listening to the murmur of water, or
watching the clouds float across the blue sky, is by no means waste of time.” ~John Lubbock
, "Recreation," The Use of Life, 1894
“How tiny is your heart of gold
And layered skirts so gay
Dance for me my sweet columbine
Your pretty swinging sway...”
From “Sweet Columbine” by Australian writer adgray
Read the full poem here; click the text links for more from this author’s RedBubble site.
Happy Canada Day!
Surrounded by celebratory reminders - from flapping flags on passing cars to fireworks this evening, - I am especially thankful for this country that still includes “free” in the national anthem.
Not perfect, but still free.
And that means so much.
(Note: This maple leaves and wingnuts photo was taken in Montana, in another beloved country whose song honours freedom.)
