Other bloggers seem to be reminded of epic poetry this time of year. Spring, new growth, rebirth and whatnot.
Not being as well versed in the classics, I just keep thinking of Peter Cook, Rowan Atkinson, and the Will this Wind sketch.
We picked Saturday to clean out the chicken coop and add fresh wood chips. At the same time we refurbished the old watering trough and moved the chicks up there too.
It was calm in the morning, but later it turned out to be the windiest day of the year. Gusts of 50 mph and chips flying everywhere. Hard to say whether it was the pollen or the dust we generated that had us sneezing so much. We put the old litter in a few low spots at the end of the garden. (There's been a little flooding problem. The garden looks more like a rice paddy at times.)
The chicks settled into their new home. They had been too crowded, and were getting pretty stinky in the smaller pen. They grow so fast.
They have much more room now, although at first they were scared and all huddled together in one corner. Overnight the temperature dipped into the 30s, for the coolest night we've had in a while. I ended up wishing we'd waited one more day to move them, since there's no electricity in the coop for a heat lamp. But they came through just fine.
Migrants are on the move! The Martins and Rough-winged Swallows have actually been here a while already. But they're so much earlier than the other spring birds that I tend to consider them more of an advance guard than a first wave.
In the past week we've seen (or heard) for the first time this spring: Barn Swallow, Common Yellowthroat, White-eyed Vireo, Yellow-throated Vireo, Blue-gray Gnatcatcher, Northern Parula, and Louisiana Waterthrush. We saw some Blue-winged Teal that were passing through, and a beautiful Little Blue Heron at the pond. (This time a really blue one, as opposed to the young white one we saw last year.)
Soon our winter birds will be leaving us: the Juncos, Cedar Waxwings, White-throated Sparrows, Kinglets. And the Yellow-rumped Warblers, that we affectionately call Butter-Butts.
We saw our first snake of the year. It was a bit far away to make a positive ID, swimming away from us at a distance, but I think it was a Northern Water Snake.
For the first time the grass looked like it needed mowing. So far we've managed to ignore it.
After a weekend hike, we noticed our first ticks of the year, both on us and in our clothes. Bugs are going to be bad this year since our winter was so mild. Gnats are already horrible.
A sad first too... the first missing chicken of the spring, a Dominique. It may have been a hawk that took her, but I'm thinking coyote since no tell-tale feathers were involved.
Early last spring, coyotes ended up with a few ducks and about a dozen of our chickens. But since we got Jasmine, and especially since she got bigger, we hadn't had any predation. The chickens insist on staying in the woods though, and she can't watch them there and the ducks in the yard at the same time I guess.
In the back of my mind I keep thinking there's a possibility the hen just found a good nesting spot outside the coop, and will show up again with a clutch of chicks... but in my heart I know it's unlikely.
I was also reminded more than once last week of a line from an REM song, "The storm it came up strong, shook the trees, and blew away our fears."
Since first hearing it, I've often thought about that song during storms. But sometimes it's hard to think poetically, especially when you're wondering if your tornado "safe place" is really all that safe.
For the remainder of September, we are staying on Cape Cod - and this year's experience is both a joy and a challenge, since we are getting around exclusively on our bicycles. 
We are staying on the edge of Provincetown, about 2 miles from the town center. Two scenic, but hilly miles. The town bordering Provincetown is Truro - which is not really a town at all, but a long stretch of dunes, salt water marshes and beach-front properties. The next closest thing to an actual town is Wellfleet - and that's 15 miles away. Fifteen very hilly miles.
Needless to say, I am pleased with the bicycle I ultimately chose to take to the Cape: "Graham Greene," my Rivendell Sam Hillborne. Though not optimal for cruising through the center of Provincetown itself, it is indispensable for pretty much any other kind of cycling we do here - from transportational cycling to any destination on the Outer Cape (as the tip of the Cape Cod peninsula is known), to the series of long rides we have plannedin our free time. I remembered this area being hilly from the time we stayed here with our bikes last summer, but I convinced myself that I was exaggerating. But now it is clear that my memory had not been exaggerating at all: It is darn hilly here; hilly with a capital "H"!
Although last summer we rode our bicycles on the Cape frequently, they were not our exclusive means of transportation: we simply weren't in good enough shape to handle it. However, this summer it is bikes only - and even now our physical abilities are being challenged.
Every morning begins with our cycling into Provincetown for breakfast, work, and various errands.
Our bicycle bags are packed with everything we might need for the day, including camera equipment (thanks to the Zimbale camera insert I recently received - and stuffed perversely into my Carradice saddlebag) and several changes of clothing to accommodate changing weather conditions and different activities. After that, we go about our day, cycling from one place to another and covering at least 15-20 miles purely as back-and-forth transportation. 15-20 very hilly miles, in case I failed to mention that! 
For me, the weirdest aspect of riding a roadbike exclusively, is my resulting skirt-free wardrobe. But for a few weeks, I can live with it. Ultimately, my stay here will serve as a test of how well I can manage in a rural, hilly, isolated environment... with only my bike to rely on. While for some, a remote oceanfront location is associated with "Vacation", for me it is associated with "Home" and I miss it terribly. I am finding it increasingly difficult to cope with living in the city, even an interesting one like Boston. Something has to change - including my own endurance, if I am serious about living someplace like here andI want to continue cycling. I won't deny that I am utterly exhausted from the time I've spent here on my bike. But I am also excited by the mere fact that I have been able to do it so far. Wish me luck!
Sure, at first glance this is just another filthy Sturmey Archer hub. Those who know bicycles will see that it's an AW model, which identifies it as being from a vintage 3-speed. But look closer still. Anything unusual? If you have a good eye, you can see the words at the very bottom of the hub: "Patent applied for". 
Meet my "dirty little secret". She was given to me about a month and a half ago, but I kept quiet, because I am not yet certain what I will do with her. From a historical point of view, this is an amazing find: an early Raleigh Tourist in all original condition; year of production most likely 1936. This early Raleigh is the predecessor to the DL-1 Lady's Tourist I so love, but there are some notable differences between them. This early bicycle has a geometry that I find somewhat puzzling: The seat tube is quite long (almost the same size as on the 22" DL-1), but the wheelbase is extremely short, making for a crowded "cockpit" with very little room between the saddle and the handlebars. This makes the bicycle seem much too small for me, even though the saddle height is just right for my size. I would love to know the reasoning behind this construction.
A very early Sturmey Archer 3-speed quadrant shifter. This preceded the trigger shifter that we are used to seeing on the handlebars of vintage 3-speeds. On diamond frame bicycles, the quadrant shifter was mounted on the top tube. On this bicycle it is mounted at the very top of the "loop" tube. Aside from some fading due to age, this beautiful shifter is in perfectly preserved condition. The whole bicycle, in fact, seems to be frozen in its original state, save for a coat of surface rust. The rod brakes are attached via braze-ons on the inside of the fork (as opposed to clipped on, as became the standard on later models) and function extremely well. The chrome on the handlebars and rod levers is in excellent condition.
The original chaincase is entirely intact and dent-free. Notice also the holes drilled for skirtguards in the rear fender! I wonder what sort of guards this bicycle had when it was being ridden 70+ years ago.
The rear reflector is glass, not plastic.
And I believe the pump is original as well, though the handle has split open. It is engraved with a Greek-themed motif. Aside from the split pump, other aspects of the bicycle that are damaged beyond repair are the melted rubber grips (see first picture) and the cracked tires. The wheels themselves look extremely rusty, but some have suggested that they might be salvageable by a soaking in an oxalic acid bath.
In the past I've been asked to demonstrate my quirky bicycle dismount, so here it is! Over the course of riding step-through city bikes, I've gravitated toward the sideways dismount: swinging my right leg over the frame while the bike is still in motion and then jumping off the saddle to the left as I come to a stop. It'sreally more like a "slideways" dismount, because what I am doing is leaning the bike and sort of dumping myself off the saddle. I've tried to recreate it here in slow motion while testing my camera'sremote control feature (the remote is in my hand - can you tell?).
I know others who dismount their bicycles in this manner, and, like me, they find it completely natural and intuitive. But I've also been criticised for this move. A couple of people have told me that doing this to the bike repeatedly might distort the frame. Others have expressed concern that one of these times I am bound to get "tangled in the bike" while swinging my leg over. The latter does not really worry me; my body seems to have an inherent awareness of where the top tube is in relation to my foot. The frame distortion idea is intriguing, but seems far fetched: Can the sideways jump really exert sufficient force to twist these tank-like frames?
I never set off to adopt this style of dismount; it just sort of happened. As I kept raising the saddles on my city bikes higher and higher, eventually I could no longer reach the ground without leaning the bike to the side. The "slideways" move was the natural outgrowth of that: Somehow I find jumping off in this manner easier and more natural than the typical method of standing up on the pedals and then stepping down. At this point I've been doing it this way for over two years, and it would be a difficult habit to break!
"Not the way life is suppose to be!"
This prairie dog figurine came from Prairie Dog Town some where on the road between Pampa, TX and Amarillo, TX. In about 1955 my mom, my grandmother, and I made the trip from Pampa to Amarillo about once a month or more often when I mom was pregnant with my sister. We were living in Pampa and the Air Force base where my mom had to go for her appointments was near Amarillo. My dad was stationed in England at that time. The Prairie Dog Town made a nice stop for all of us. There was a cafe, gift shop, and a fenced area out back that was full of prairie dogs for the guest to watch as they went about their prairie dog lives. They were feed by the people that ran the place and were a great attraction especially to me. For those that don't know a prairie dog is not a dog, they are a rodent (rat) but are cute. They dig long tunnels through an area that becomes the dog town. When one of them is startled it will stand on it's hind legs give a sharp squeak and dive down the hole with all the others then doing the same thing. They are also very dangerous to livestock and people who have stepped in their holes and broken legs. At one time there was a bounty on them over most of the southwest. We have a few out here on the desert near where we live. They are so leery of humans I have never seen one but have found the towns with the many holes leading to the tunnels.
Mae was the adopted daughter of William James Dunfee and his wife, Mary Elizabeth Walker. Jane is my grandmother's sister, Hazlette is my grandmother, and Mercides is the object of my quest in unraveling a little mystery. It's a guess, but I'd say the picture was taken about 1918-1920.
The note reads: 
Seth dropping in the clearing (photo by Steve Machuga)
Yes it really was that thick at times (photo by Steve Machuga)
Coming out by headlamp (photo by Steve Machuga)
Sirmione in Lake Garda - This is the medieval fortification, the Scaliger Castle (from the Lords of Verona) that once fell under the Austrians. The castle dates back to the 13th century.
