This is lovely and pastoral, yes? Except if you're a car coming around the corner of this barely two-lane dirt and gravel road.

Sometimes I wonder if the bicyclists realize that people live here on our island. They ride three abreast in the road while we sit behind them in our cars, waiting to go to doctors appointments and jobs.

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Our next-door neighbor offered us a portrait of the house made from an old photo. We're not really sure when it's from, but it's recent enough that there's an electric meter, but old enough that there was a full barn and silo in a location that now has full-grown evergreen trees.

Here's a photo of the house the weekend we bought it. It looked a little scraggly back then:



Here's the old painting. We took out the front door because there were no steps attached, but clearly they were there at some point. And look at those windows!



There's no longer any trace of that huge barn behind the house, or the silo. Kind of wish we still had them around. Not that I have anything to fill a silo with...

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The ILM Southpaws were soundly beaten by the team from the north end of the island. They showed up in uniforms. That should have been a clue.



We have exactly one year to improve our game so that we don't lose by double digits. And next year, I hope the other team discovers that there is another gender besides male.

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These little guys may look cute, they may even act playful, but they are chicken chasers beneath those puppy dog eyes.

I was working on the computer the other day and I heard the tinkle of one of the cat's bells. I reached down to pet her and felt rough fur -- it wasn't a cat. A dog had wandered into our kitchen! I dragged her outside just in time to see her mate chasing Norrin through the yard at top speed. Norrin had a good lead and zig-zagged through the field to keep the dog away. He finally sprinted high up into a tree with the dog jumping at him down below.

While Norrin was running, Trevor and I grabbed garden stakes and the hose to separate the two in case the dog caught up with him. We set up Miss Chicken's wire cage and grabbed the slower, female dog and put her inside. By this time, the male dog was chasing chickens around the yard with much flapping and screeching.

We grabbed the second dog and put him in as well. Once in the cage, both dogs just sat quietly. We moved them into the shade, gave them a dish of water, then set about finding all of our terrified animals. Norrin wouldn't come down out of the tree, until he was absolutely sure the dogs were gone. Ten of the chickens were cowering in their coop, but three were nowhere to be found. While we were searching the yard, one snuck back into the coop. Who knows where he was? We found one under the house and the third, Pam, was hidden so well between the barns that I didn't even find her when I searched there. I saw her timidly sneak back out a couple of hours later.

On our way to St. Albans, (and with all of the animals put away), we decided to let the dogs out so they could wander homeon their own. After all, they wandered here alone. Bad move. These dogs were clearly not used to living near a road. They immediately ran full-speed into Main Street, toward biking tourists and oncoming cars. People who saw them leave our yard were yelling at us to get our dogs. I don't think anyone believed it when we said they weren't ours, so we gave up and penned them again.

At St. Albans we bought them a small bag of food. And when we got back they ate up the huge plate I poured out, then scoured the grass for dropped pieces. We emailed our neighborhood and managed to find the owner in about 30 minutes. They live down the driveway that's so long you need a car to wait at the bus stop in the morning -- no wonder they were clueless about traffic.

Dogs, chickens and cats clearly do not mix.

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Dave and I were at a neighbor's house when he stepped away to answer a phone call. He came back with exciting news, the replica 1862-schooner, Lois McClure, was rounding the side of Isle La Motte on her way from Quebec to Burlington. If we got outside quickly (the neighbor lives on the west shore of the island), we would see her pass by.

Not one to sit and watch the world go by, our neighbor invited us down to the dock and we hopped into one of his boats for a trip out to meet the old girl. (Now I say "hopped," but it was a trick getting into the boat with the lake so flooded from rain. His actual dock is under water, so we had to pull the boat up into the muddy shoreline and climb through the water to get in -- I'm glad my standard outfit is Crocs and capri pants. I didn't get too soggy at all.)

We rode out to see Lois; none of her sails were up, and she was being pushed along by a tug, but she was stately nonetheless.



Three other neighbors rode out to meet the schooner as well. It was quite an event among the historical society crowd. We followed her to the end of the island, keeping an eye on the storm clouds gathering to our west. After a soggy dismount, we were back on dry land, just in time for the rain to arrive.

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This is the test run of the candy buffet for Trevor's birthday party at the end of this month. It needs a little "oomph" before it's ready -- some pedestals and filler decorations -- but it's a good, solid start of edible sugar treats which will turn twelve pre-teens into raving lunatics before I send them off to play in the pool and shoot each other with water guns.



I read the idea on the Hostess with the Mostess blog. Trev walked by my laptop, saw the picture, and asked if he could have one at his birthday party. With dollar store glassware and candy, the layout wasn't all that pricey. For a fancier party, I'd do a color theme.

Hey, you only turn ten once. And... um, because we moved towns right before Trev's birthday last year, he didn't have a party at all. That's a glass full of mom's guilt in that second bowl to the left, I think.

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Last year, we moved to the island too late to attend the Recreation Department's Nature Camp, but we made sure to get a spot for this summer.



On the first day we made quill pens and journals, hunted for insects and frogs, and learned about ant lions. Trevor and his buddy dug holes in the ground and set pitfall traps for insects. They also hiked, made castings of animal footprints, had a scavenger hunt, and more. It was a fun time in what has otherwise been a rainy and thundery summer.

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We were at Fisk Farm on Sunday to hear three young classical musicians play -- and, of course, eat tea and cake. There's an overlook at the back of the farm that drops off into Fisk Quarry. It's an excellent spot to view the quarry, or just sit while digesting double chocolate cake and lemondade.

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A roof is more effective when placed on top of a barn, but this location has merits too. Modern art installation. Deterring 4-wheelers in the field. Sadistic children's playground.

The sky behind the twisted metal is still dark from the passing storm -- the one that took down trees all along our shoreline and left the southern half of the island with power for days.

A rare photo of an evergreen grabbing a quick nap:



If a pair of sneakers hanging from a power line indicates a crack house, a window screen folded neatly over the line means a house where the owners will try to sneak zucchini into your car while you're inside talking.

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I thought I had rhubarb in my garden, but I have nothing compared to our neighbor Neil.

I found some spindly little red stalks with broad leaves poking out of a woodpile last year and determined (via Google) that they were rhubarb (which I love). I harvested just enough to make a pie and I rearranged the wood pile to give them more room to grow. This year, the stalks are more robust and I might be able to get two pies from them. I was so excited... then I stopped by Neil's garden.

He asked if I wanted some rhubarb and I agreed, thinking I'd accept a couple of stalks to add to other fruit so I wouldn't make a dent in his harvest. Oh, how wrong I was. I got out to the garden to find that Neil has a fifty-foot row of waist-high rhubarb plants packed tightly together. Enough to seriously feed the entire island with some left over.



I took a hefty bunch, then Neil came over and asked what I was making with them. When I replied, he said I surely didn't have enough and handed me a bunch more. They're gorgeous stalks, and they made a lovely rhubarb crisp that afternoon. There's still some in the fridge. Be right back.

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Here's the flip side of living in the most beautiful place on Earth.



What is normally a dollar at your local grocery store is three times as much at mine.

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We had another large snapping turtle in the field this weekend. He was fairly calm and primarly wanted to avoid us and our curiosity. We watched and took photos until he decided to climb up the embankment (those claws were better than crampons) and cross the street. At that point, Trevor and two neighbor children escorted the turtle across the street to the open field, and presumably back to the marsh.

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Town Hall is an unassuming little building, but a lot takes place there. Downstairs is where Betsy, the Town Clerk and Treasurer, conducts business. And bimonthly Selectboard meetings are held in the meeting room next to the town office.



Upstairs, the ILM Historical Society houses their archives. The Stone Museum isn't quite as climate-friendly for old documents and photographs, so they're filed here. I've had the pleasure of sifting through the museum collection on several occasions. You would be surprised at how much history fits into 17 square miles.

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It's certainly cheaper to throw all of your household garbage into a large pile in your backyard than to pay for a trash hauling service. It also means that a few decades later, the new owners of your property will have a fine mess to deal with; an acre-wide, man-high pile of wood, debris and refuse.







We found a U-bend, an axle with two tires attached, several buckets, Ball jars filled with mysterious brown goo, an old tractor, a disc plow, various pokey things that look like medieval farm implements, the head of a pickaxe, heavy metal gears, the hood of a car, piles of rebar, large screws, a well pump, concrete building footers, brown glass medicine bottles, a kidney dish, a hot water boiler, ten thousand asphalt roof shingles, barn siding, and several unidentifiable pieces of machinery.

Anyone have a trash bag?

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Most of the ice on Lake Champlain has been melted or pummeled away by the action of the waves; however, the edges of the shore are ringed with sheets of rustling slush ice.

The slush sounds like shards of glass grinding against each other and the shoreline. Each piece is only a couple of inches across and there are millions jostling for position mixed in with leaves, sticks and sand. It's like an immense lakewater Slush Puppie... which would probably not taste that great.

Slush ice can trick a nine-year-old into thinking it's solid ground -- which will result in water up to your ankles and a quick change of shoes.

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This is a happy piece of driftwood on Lake Champlain that will likely be gone in a few weeks when the fishermen start loading boats into the water at the lake access point.

This weekend, the lake level was high enough to splash over retaining walls and flood a few yards on the shoreline. Today, our neighbors across the street -- who are inland, but next to the swamp -- have no grazing fields for their cows on the left-hand side. It's all lakewater, high enough for waves and probably a small boat.

And the water level was a few inches below the road over the swamp yesterday, so it's likely right up to the edge or over today... and rising, says the Burlington Free Press. There's still one other road for the south islanders to get to the north side, and lots of food in the pantry!

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This lovely aerial photo of Isle La Motte was taken by the McEwens as they flew over. The swamp that cuts the island in half is very photogenic from the air.

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We ended up with two solid feet of ice on the right half of the drainage ditch, and none on the other half. It makes a fun little waterfall that Trevor must play in.

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We went outside after dinner with friends the other night to find everything had iced over in just a few hours. Even our car in their driveway had a 1/2" clear shell that we had to chip away to get inside. Then we were stuck in a rut of ice which had been pliable slush when we drove into it. Dave got behind the car and pushed while I revved the engine.

When we got home, we played around outside in the dark for a while. Trees crackled as the wind moved them and bits of ice showered down on our heads. The power flickered a few times, but never actually went out -- a very real possibility in a town with one electric line being stretched to the breaking point by heavy ice.



I was kind of hoping that the power would go out, to justify the purchase of the generator that cost more than our first car.

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