I started this blog back in March of 2012. Shortly after the untimely death of a writer who's musings, tales of Naval Aviation, thoughts on current events and politics I read every day from when I first stumbled across his blog to the very end of time, if you'll allow the phrase.
Those of you who know of whom I speak need not be reminded, those who don't, well let's just say that you missed something special, something which I doubt I'll ever see again.
I was stunned to say the least. I've written on this topic before, usually around the anniversaries of certain milestones in that wonderful writer's life and I won't belabor the point in this post. Suffice to say that on the 6th of March and the 9th of November there will be posts in his honor. I'm not sure how hizzoner would feel about that, my writing certainly doesn't hold a candle to his.
So I started this blog partly as therapy, partly to replace the daily visits to his place and partly to chronicle my life and times for future generations. Mostly the future generations related to me by blood or by marriage.
Along the way I've made a number of friends in the blogging world. By that I don't necessarily mean those folks who have their own blog, though many do. I have met a number of really fine folks who read my musings and stories and seem to appreciate them for what they are.
I've added two fellows to the writing staff here at The Chant, Tuna and Juvat, and both contribute something very special to the content herein. Both were in aviation, both have a wealth of stories and thoughts to share, and both are good friends. Tuna I've actually met in person, I will meet Juvat one of these days.
So what am I getting at? Lately I've been overly concerned with the number of page views for what we post. I've found myself thinking, "Wow, the readers apparently didn't care for that post at all!" Then I check the (admittedly wildly inaccurate) statistics which Google provides and note, "Damn, readership appears to be down today."
So recently I've come to the realization that I'm fussing about things over which I have no control. I mean it's not like I do this for pay, 'tis a labor of love in many respects.
Bottom line is that you, the readers, will read what you enjoy, if a post is boring to you, odds are you'll move on without stopping by. But you'll come back and so far you have done so, every day. For that I am most appreciative. (No, Robin, there are no door prizes...)
Yesterday I shared some photos of life here on the coast. Whilst trying to ascertain what to write about today I was going through my photos. Two years ago in October I traveled north for Madame Mère's birthday. Just so happened that the very same weekend was the annual Apple Festival in my old hometown. While the festival itself was rustic, quaint and I found it entertaining, I was somewhat alone in that assessment of the affair. So my kid brother, The Musician, suggested we head up to Wellwood Orchards, a local favorite for all things apple and fall related.
I took a lot of pictures on that part of the trip, some of which I'll share here. Some of them I'm saving for a future post. Let me just say this before the (ahem) slide show, fall in New England is one of the most beautiful spectacles on this planet. From the rocky coast of Maine down through the hills, mountains and river valleys of Vermont, New Hampshire and Massachusetts, down Narragansett Bay out through the forests of Connecticut, there is no place I'd rather live.
Yes, winters can be brutal at times. It's part and parcel of my native land. While I don't mind visiting warmer climes in the winter months, I like being home for Thanksgiving and Christmas, no matter how high the snow piles are. (Usually not too high. That nastiness comes in January and February!)
New England, it's part of me, I am part of it. One reason I do this blogging thing is to share that with others. That way you can enjoy the scenery but not have to shovel the snow. Of course, you're missing out on all the wonderful smells New England has to offer. Well, except maybe in the spring, near a dairy farm. Can get a might odoriferous it can...
So, without further ado, pictures from October of '13, just north of where I grew up.
|Parking lot at Wellwood Orchards, they do a fine business in the fall.|
|Parking lot at Wellwood Orchards, looking north, the foliage was spotty that year.|
|Looks like a tour just finished (the tractor and wagon on the right.)|
|Heading away from Wellwood, the apple trees do go on for a ways.|
|Virtually the same shot, slightly different angle.|
|Yes, I did get carried away with the cell phone camera.|
|Yup, I just moved the camera to the right side of the car.|
|And then back to the left. (Hhmm, pretty yes, clever? No.)|
|This shot is meant to show that while some trees still have their leaves, many have dropped theirs.|
|In the distance, Mt. Ascutney, 3130 feet, I saw this mountain every day as a kid.|
|Old meeting house in Weathersfield, Vermont. Off by itself in the woods.|
|Back at the old homestead, basking in the warmth of the mid-October sun.|
For what it's worth I went to the Apple Festival last year and will be going again this year. It seems to consistently occur on the weekend before my Mother's birthday. Gives us an excuse to get out of the house. I also seem to find a new Air Force hat every year.
And they're cheap, er, inexpensive...