Driving on the dirt roads,
high above Moosehead Lake,
you might find feelings of
pleasure and comfort as the sun
bounces off the leaves and provides
random glimpses of the big lake,
far below, beckoning you to come again
to its shoreline.
Megan treated Gavin and I amazingly on Father’s Day weekend. This is one of the many photos we snapped. Gavin (3.5 years of age) now has his first fishing trip under his belt. And, apparently we will be on TV. An HGTV camera crew member was filming for their series called, Island Hunters, around the big lake when he spotted our little family and asked permission to film us while Gavin fished with his new blue fishing pole.
What a great weekend we had. I hope this little snap of sunshine helps to brighten your Monday.
ps, I know I have a lot of your posts to catch up on. Will do the best I can to do that!
The Motionless Moose
Written by -M. Taggart
The Motionless Moose
The lake reflected the moon in shimmering splinters as the wind pushed waves inland and finally to his feet. The wind drove directly at the camp from the Northwest. He couldn’t smell the campfire, although he could hear the flickering of the flames just after one of the men shuffled the burning logs around. They were constantly doing this while complaining about how no one could keep a fire going.
That’s the thing about being at camp, he thought. We are in the middle of no where and the owner insisted that we use the metal fire bin with wildlife depicted on the side. They don’t work. The airflow is stifled toward the bottom. He had mentioned that they should drill holes at the bottom of the fire bin for better airflow and was scoffed at. It was always like this. Or, they would talk around him. He left the fire, and them, and brought a chair to the foot of the lake to watch the wind push the white caps around.
Only two men sat at the fire now. The rest had gone to their bunks. It was late but he didn’t want to be in the bunkhouse. They toss and turn and snore while he lays quietly and doesn’t sleep. No. He’d rather sit here and let a moose walk up to him. The wind felt nice on his face. It wasn’t cold. It felt like a comfortably blanket that moves. The waves licking at the shore landed with a calming rhythm. If he could talk with the lake he would have enough company to last the night. Sometimes he could catch a few words of the conversation at the camp fire, but he didn’t want to know what they were talking about so he tried not to listen. He could see the outline of the mountain range on the far side of the lake. He thought about the Indians who knew those mountains and traversed them hundreds of years ago. They truly knew the mountains and lakes and the game. They were not there to own it, but to be with it. He wanted to talk with them and sit at their camp fires even if he didn’t understand a word they said.
He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply bringing in all of the musty smells of the lake. He wondered if he’d be able to smell a moose or a bear if it were close enough. While his eyes were closed and the wind brushed passed his cheeks he heard a clopping sound coming from the shoreline just north of him. He opened his eyes to see a darkened image of a large moose feeding. The moose raised its long legs out of the water and dropped them back into the lake without taking its head out of the water. Just then he heard the harsh hissing sound of steam as the men were done with their night and putting the failed fire out for good. He didn’t bother calling to them. He liked seeing the moose alone. He liked that he could have this and they will know nothing about it. Even if he did tell them they wouldn’t believe him. They’d say a moose wouldn’t come this close to camp with a fire going. They’d tell him moose don’t feed at this time of night. Then they’d tell their stories about how they have seen moose and about how close they’ve gotten to them and him having seen a moose would have dissapeared all together.
The large head of the moose slowly rose from the water, tested the air, and stood motionless for a moment then again started to feed. He closed his eyes and replayed the motionless moose. He had what he needed and what he came for.
We’re going on an adventure! We’ll be traveling up north and to the coast. We’ll drive into the mountains and spit out near the ocean. It’ll take a number of hours and that’s fine with us! Gavin is a great 3.5 year-old adventurer. He looks for werewolves and dinosaurs in the forest as we drive.
We’ll be arriving and staying at a remote location where there is very little communication. It’s in these settings that sometimes I am lucky enough to nab beautiful photographs. I’m not a photographer by any stretch of the imagination, but it’s hard not to snap something gorgeous when the terrain surrounding you is stunning and without manipulation.
Wish us luck. Megan, Gavin, and I are on the tail end of a stomach virus. It’s been rough lol, so this ride might prove a bit interesting 🙂
Cheers everyone and please try and have a blast today.
I splashed water from the bathroom sink onto my face and looked at my dripping curiosity. This is my third year as a father. Downstairs our son, Gavin, is running the pitter-patter pattern while yelling, ‘Oh No! The Dino’s a comin!’
Today we’ll drive to the White Mountains. We like old dirt roads that wind through the country side and give glimpses of lakes and mountain tops. We like to drive slowly, open the windows, and look for dinosaurs. These old roads are seldom traveled and when you’re on them they feel like they’re yours. Trees tower on both sides and the forest is so deep that it seems like there couldn’t possibly be an end to them; with that feeling comes thoughts that anything is possible, even finding a dinosaur.
We’ll most likely take my truck, where Gavin rides in the middle of the back seat. He sits up high because of his car seat and looks like a child-king. I’m fine with that. He’s the one child we have and we waited a long while to be gifted his presence. I laugh at people who try and determine our parenting style. All they need to do is ask. I’ll tell them, ‘Fucking awesome and nearly perfect.’ With a straight face. Hoping they piss me off.
After driving through the mountains we’ll eventually make our way into a small town and stop at a pub. I’ll order some kind of dark foaming beer, hopefully the foam will spill over the top of the glass and spill down the sides. We’ll order Gavin french fries with vinegar (he loves that stuff) and chicken nuggets and Megan will order anything her heart desires for the rest of her life.
I’ll scan the pub for people of passion. Let there be a few. Silent is the day when eyes cast shadows, drooping and lowering into their drink without thought. That is not the society to be. Have your pints, raise your whiskey, cheers the one next to you and talk about what moves you. Talk about why your day fetched its morning to deliver your afternoon. Hell, talk politics! Do it! Oh, I have…and will continue to. I find airing out differences over a pint of beer at a pub to be aggressively healthy; because how the hell do you find health with laziness? I think we’ve been lied to. Over and over. I see the lies floating out of mouths, especially the talking heads on TV, somehow those same lies find new housing and eventually find their way to me in person, and I put them where they belong, under my boot.
But don’t mind me. I was born with a bit too much energy. A bit too much passion. We’ll see what today brings. If it isn’t much, I’ll make it into something much more.
Cheers and Happy Father’s day to you all. Even the Mammas because, well without you…