I took my camera to run my post office errand.
It's a grey and dull day, but the river is rising and I wanted some pictures.
Well spotted, Joanne.
The heron was tall and thin and looking a lot like the reeds.
Then he moved.
I made a U turn at the end of the road.
The heron was still in the water.
I pulled off quickly, turned on the flashers
and began snapping away.
I heard a car behind and checked the mirror.
Not just anyone.
Oh, no. It's the chief.
The heron left.
"Good job, you nailed the Boston clerk."
"Not, bad. I may report it at tonight's meeting."
I pulled into the Brown Rabbit.
The river obligingly flows below.
The upstream view was dull enough,
the downstream view too dull to use.
I met my first Corgi.
She came half way across the green way,
And ignored me for the rest of my visit.
My friend Peggy Jo, one of the Brown Rabbit's principals,
taking in a consignment of plows.
Some spent flowers on the bank.
I'll guess May apple, but don't count on that being right.
After a visit with Peggy Jo
I went downstream to take more pictures.
This is a perfect example of why the First Nations called it the crooked river.
It bends like a snake, making peninsulas of land.
I don't know the history of the piers above, except there were several sandstone quarries in the area and the stone went to market on trains.
I also don't know when the retaining work was done to the river edge,
but again during the heyday of the quarries from the mid 19th to early 20th century.
A block of sandstone on the shore.
I passed this bunch of park guys, walking with clipboards, looking at the river and the trails.
Greeted by Mr. What Did You Bring Me?
And noticed my sister has transplanted my birthday present, complete with the "fork you" deterrent.
That's all! Linda and I are off to Boiling Springs tomorrow, on the great thread quest.
Janice will take a picture of Laura in her twirly dancing dress Friday.