The Miscellany of May, Part One

Well, I did it.  I stalled around long enough this morning that it's started spitting rain.  Now I don't have to make up excuses for not putting another coat of stain on the new deck railings.

I did stain another section yesterday and I didn't have to weigh down the drop cloth with a half cord of firewood, either.

The big stain of stain is from a couple days ago when a wind gust flipped over the paint tray.

Holding down the drop cloth.  Yes, I stumble over the weights.

Behr calls this "clear."  I call it "sh-- brindle brown."  Actually, it ages to a nice amber glow but doesn't match the rest of my house, which was finished in that miserable "Rawhide" that got Behr sued in a class action suit.  The one I found out about too late.  Now I have to sand down my entire house and refinish it.

Yesterday afternoon at 3 PM when I left to go litter picking, this is what the thermometer read:

When I got back home, I checked the memory:

I don't know how this could be, unless the back deck was on fire.  The remote sensor is under my back deck, fastened to a shady side of a beam.   I knew it was hot where I was, but wow!  And seriously?  Ninety-eight per cent humidity?  Get real.  Maybe the fire department was there putting out the make-believe fire?

And the raindrop symbols?  Yesterday was clear and hot.

Here's a first:

Found a crushed Hohner harmonica along the roadside.  Sometimes I daydream about how things might have gotten to where I find them.  Did dad finally have enough, rip this out of some kid's hand, and toss it out the window?  Or did it fall from a bicycler's pocket as he wheeled along the bike path?

The highway department has been mowing down roadside brush.  Here, along the Tern Lake pullout which is a very popular spot for people to stop and take pictures, they've cut down the hedge of wild rose bushes

The roses will grow back, but in the meantime these little devils will have their fun.  Growing within the canes of roses, these stinging nettles used to be hidden.  The thorns on the roses kept most people away from them.  Now, they're right out there in the open.  Beware, folks.

The first salmonberry blossoms of spring.

I received this brochure in the mail yesterday.  It's from Road Scholar (nee Elderhostel).

On the front cover at the lower left is our "class photo," a group shot of a hike I took with Road Scholar last fall, complete with the sweet little dog that adopted us and accompanied us for the entire hike in a slot canyon.  Of course, we shared our water and lunch with her.

And then overnight, the soft and subtle chartreuse of early summer.