I take a walk with Jacob, Kalib and Muzzy on a crisp, fall, day

The walk did not begin here - in fact, this is very near the end of the walk.

The walk began here, on Sarah's Way, just in front of the house, where Jake left me to watch baby Kalib while he went back to get something he forgot.

Whatever it was, he's got it now.

The air is crisp and cool, below freezing. See the frost? It feels good. Muzzy loves it.

We pass by some campaign signs.

We come upon a street where dogs sometimes roam. Jacob puts the leash on Muzzy. Muzzy would not intentionally ever hurt another dog, but sometimes he is so eager to play with them that he scares them damn near to death.

We leave the road and cross through a marsh. The water in the top portion of the grasses is frozen, but below it is not. Mostly, the frozen grass supports us, but sometimes our feet push through. Baby Kalib stays dry. Where's Muzz?

There's Muzzy! Here boy, here!

When Jake was in the second grade, he had to climb this hill to catch the school bus. "We called this 'Dead Man's Curve,'" he tells me. 

"Why?"

"I think the story was something like a kid riding a four-wheeler crashed here, and killed himself. His ghost still haunts the trail."

Quite plausible.

We reach the marsh behind our house. To better understand the next picture, please take note of the ruts left by four-wheelers.

 

A quarter century ago, there was no visible ownership of this piece of land. Then, maybe about ten years ago, a couple bought 17 acres of it and put their house and yard on the dry part, right in the middle of what had been a trail that we used all the time for walking, mountain biking and cross-country skiing.

Still, he was a good guy and he said there was no need to stop; he would not stop anyone from crossing the marsh, which he preferred to call, "a meadow."

Trouble was, while a four-wheeler is an excellent machine, one cannot say the same for the drivers of many of them. The same thing goes for snowmachines. They did so much damage to his property that he finally put up a sign, "walkers only." Only the responsible, conscientious, drivers paid any attention.

If anything, the others began to tear the wetlands up even worse - just to demonstrate that they could.

So finally he erected barricades at each end, and put up no trespassing signs. He still lets us pass through, though. And I still see signs of new four-wheeler trespass.

Before we reach the house, Jake adjusts Kalib's St. Bernard hat.

We enter our back yard.

Jake prepares to lift Kalib from his off-road stroller. I am impressed with how good a dad Jake is. Better, I think, than I was to him. Of course, he was more ornery than Kalib is.

The walk is over.

Caleb watches the debate between Wasilla's own Sarah Palin and Joe Biden. Martigny does not care.

I drive to Anchorage to visit the doctor who took my shattered shoulder and gave me a new one

 

I had to go to town today to see the good - and I mean very good - Dr. Duddy, who took my shattered shoulder and replaced it with a new one. Shortly after we left Wasilla, we passed this Sarah Palin supporter.

Margie, Lavina, and baby Kalib dropped me off at the door and then went and parked the car while I checked in. Not long after I took a seat, they entered.

Kalib and Margie, as I wait to go in to see the doctor. The report is good. I am healing well. Still, he said, I can't go cross-country skiing until after the new year.

Damnit!

I was thinking about going real soon - next month, maybe.

We had lunch at Taco King. One of Lavina's co-workers was there. She adored Kalib.

As we wait for dinner, Kalib plays with one of those little things that you can put sauce in, and jalepeno peppers.

I had a meeting to go to after that, but not for about 45 minutes. Margie and Lavina took off elsewhere to go shopping, and I just started driving, wondering where I would go to. Soon, as always seems to happen, I found myself headed toward Lake Hood, and the airplanes.

I was thrilled when I had to stop at a railroad crossing, because that meant a train was coming. So I rolled down the window, knocked off a frame of the approaching engine, then remembered that I still had the camera set to the high ISO that I had used indoors. 

So this is what I wound up with, after I put the completely washed-out image into Lightroom and Photoshop for just a tiny bit of tinkering.

I just love trains. I do. I took lots more pictures of following cars. I could string them together and make a train of pictures.

As I drove along Lake Hood, this Cessna came in for a landing. Pretty soon, the floats will go and the skis will come on.

Soon, I drove by this WW II T6 trainer, shooting as I went. Just ahead, the road would turn, providing another view.

I could not look at the airplane as I navigated the turn, so I just held the camera out the window and, without even taking a glance to my side to see what it was seeing, pointed it in the general direction of the airplane and snapped, hoping that I would get what I got. Yes, a little more prop and nose cone would be nice, but when you drive-by shoot, you get what you get, and you can't be too picky about where the edge of the frame is, or just where the focus point falls.

Please don't try it. I'm the only person in the world who should do this. Not because its dangerous - it could be, but I take care to make certain that it isn't - but because it's my project, not yours. Oh, well. Do what you will.

At a stoplight, as I drive away from Lake Hood. I went to my meeting. It went well. More than that, I can't say right now.

The aftermath of what appeared to be a minor accident.

Back in Wasilla, we stopped at the Post Office. Margie went inside. Kalib and I stayed in the car. His mom had left us to go with his dad to see a movie.

So it was just Kalib and I, and he was asleep.

Wasilla in the fall, as seen from a Ford Taurus while driving to and from a coffee kiosk, the long way, shooting with the point and shoot

 

Boy on bike.

I hope this coming winter is real, like winter used to be and sometimes still is.

Some people stop here to pray.

As you can see, my windshield is cracked. That's how life is around here. You drive, your windshield gets cracked. That's just how it is.

Shrock Road.

Shrock Road.

A leaf dances in my wake.

Progress in the neighborhood.

Back in the house, a fire burns in the woodstove. Jacob and Lavina are toasty and cozy.