Going Upstream to the Illegal Dump

I had a few tasks I wanted to accomplish today, but that was delayed when I woke to a dream which lent itself to a story for my Code World book. Ideas seem to come in dreams this summer. I got out of bed at a time I am unsure of since my watch doesn’t work, and then I wrote until I had a rough draft of the story. Then I thought it would be a good day to walk to the bridge upstream and check out the illegal dump site.

Accordingly, I set off on what used to be a fairly clear trail only to circle and end up on my own trail to the swamp where I’d photographed the bear prints this morning. I tried the same trail again and had better luck, although there is so much growth there now I am uncertain of the logging roads I used to follow.

Soon I was splashing along in the creek going upstream and fighting the flies. The mosquitoes, perhaps because of the heavy rain lately, are quite bad, and the deer flies are out in full force.OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

The only thing of note on the stream was the blue plastic barrel which is over half full of cement tipped into the stream from a cottage above. If it were empty I would have taken it, but as it is I will have to wait to see if the winter freeze cycle breaks up the concrete. Also, it’s worth noting OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERAthat the beavers have moved further upstream where they have built a rather amateurish dam nearly under the bridge.

There was no exciting trash and actually all there was other than tree limbs and boles was some concrete and an old barbeque. I think I saw the same barbeque at a camp on the way to the main road earlier this year so I think I know who pitched it there.

After I came home I was more than ready for a shower, for I carried in some cedar and the plank Mike gave me on my way from the pallet shed.

Once I was showered, I moved the latest writing pieces, my blog, the piece on Von Neumann machines, and the story “Immersion,” to my computer. Then I watched a few episodes of The 100 before I put the world map on the ceiling and did some cleaning in the new part. The sawdust was getting out of hand and now it is decorating some plants east of the cabin.

I have my golf caddy in the new part and it may be time to think about making it into a bandsaw mill. That is a bit of a project though, so we’ll see how that goes.

Tonight I think I’ll just listen to music and rest on the futon. It is quiet and birds are calling in the distance. I am too fuzzy headed to write and not yet ready to start the procedure of working on the middle book of Blind Fish.

About Barry Pomeroy

I had an English teacher in high school many years ago who talked about writing as something that people do, rather than something that died with Shakespeare. I began writing soon after, maudlin poetry followed by short prose pieces, but finally, after years of academic training, I learned something about the magic of the manipulated word.
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