Itty Bitty Nest and Eggs

Oh man, what a day its been...I meant to get to this space earlier, but from 3-7 am I was very unsuccessfully bat hunting in our bedroom, then work where I got an email from the hubby that a mouse was casually chilling in our bedroom this morning when he got out of the shower and it was in fact a terrified mouse screech not a bat screech that we were hearing, then this afternoon I went to the hardware store to continue the mouse hunt tonight, this time with the correct tools.  I can only imagine that poor mouse must have been thinking about me coming at him with a pointy stick from a cat toy and a towel at 3am dressed in my rain boots, garden gloves and with my sweatshirt hood scrunched so only my eyes peeped out...I hope we'll have better luck tonight.

Anyways, I found this little abandoned nest over the weekend.  It had two itty bitty blue eggs inside, both broken.  I originally thought it could be a hummingbird because I have never seen a nest or eggs so small and we have a huge hummingbird population at this house, but a google search proved that this nest is FAR too big for a hummingbird and their eggs are white not blue.  So I'm stumped...I'm thinking it is probably a bird around the size of a chickadee, but don't know any that size that lay blue eggs...any ideas?

Fall Outtakes

I'm feeling quiet today after a weekend of so much goodness.  Happy Monday! :)

{this moment}

{this moment} - A Friday ritual. A single photo - no words - capturing a moment from the week. A simple, special, extraordinary moment. A moment I want to pause, savor and remember.

We Went to Camp

Almost two months ago I mentioned heading up to the North Woods of Maine to my husbands family camp and never got around to sharing it here.  The camp was built by my husbands great grandfather (who my husband is named for) in the late 1800's and finished in 1901.  He was worked in the lumber industry and shipped timbers from his home on the Maine coast to the deep, Northern woods where he built his camp on the edge of a lake.  Throughout the years the camp has stayed in the family, and is now owned by my father-in-law's cousins.  For the past decade the family has wanted to get up there, but schedules and the chaos of life always got in the way, until this August. 

It was my first trip to camp.  Stories over the years had built it up in my head as an amazing place, so I thought I knew what to expect, but it was so much more.  It was magical.  I have never felt so strongly attached to a place so quickly as I did here.  It was everything a camp should be.  There was yard games, wild blueberry picking, a picnic by the lake, and the most well-fed ducks in New England.  There was a cozy night by the fireplace playing bingo, card games, and ping pong by lantern light.  There were old photo albums to explore and camp registers to read [every.single.trip. to camp from the time the first timber was put into place up to our trip had been documented, it was pretty amazing.  There were the names of the people and animals attending, references to dances held with the neighboring house, number and size of fish caught in the lake, animals seen, all types of weather imaginable (hurricanes, tornadoes, blizzards, hail), national news, family anecdotes, its all there...writing in the log was so daunting to me, knowing that those words would stay with that house forever and could be read a hundred years from now.]  There was fishing and an early morning canoe trip on a fog filled lake where the silence was only broken by the chilling call of loons surrounding us.  Oh, the loons.  I had never been so close to loons before or heard their call in the wild.  That morning, sitting still as a statue in the canoe watching the loons, listening to their call, and seeing them dive down under the water, I will never forget it.  I didn't have my camera at that moment, but I'm almost glad...I was so conscious and involved in that moment that I think a camera would have taken away from it.

Our trip was cut short by Hurricane Irene, but now that we've made it up there, we're making it a priority and hope to be back next year.  I hope so.  That place is in my bones now.

Cranberry Bog Booties

My knitting tends to ebb and flow with the seasons, but there was some knitting this summer.  It tended to be mostly of the baby variety, not because I have any news to share (not for awhile anyways), but because baby knits are so stinkin' quick and cute and can be made from leftovers in the stash.  I also am a planner by nature and am thinking ahead to the day when there will be a baby on the way and there are 10,000 things I want to make and only time enough to make 5 of them.

So, that brings us to these booties.  They are just about the cutest thing I've ever seen and were whipped up within a matter of a few hours of work spread throughout a week.  I loved the construction of these. While knitting I couldn't figure out how the pattern could come together and possibly make a bootie, but it did and it's brilliant.  My absolute favorite thing about these has to be the color of the yarn, it is beautifully rich and reminds me of cranberry bogs in the fall and my great grandmother's homemade cranberry sauce on the Thanksgiving table. Anything that can be tied up in nostalgia is fabulous in my book.

Ravelry details here.

Autumn in My Favorite Corner

Rounding out the seasons in my favorite corner of Vermont.  The first picture was taken on the side of the road next to my great grandmothers house.  I get to live in one of the most beautiful places in the world.  Sometimes I feel like I need to pinch myself.

See this place in winter, spring, and summer.

{this moment}

Linking with Amanda Soule for {this moment}

{this moment} - A Friday ritual. A single photo - no words - capturing a moment from the week. A simple, special, extraordinary moment. A moment I want to pause, savor and remember.