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blow your whistle
Saturday, October 5 2019
Gretchen was scanning the New York Times headlines on her phone this morning and said, "I sure hope that second whistleblower blows his whistle." This caused me to sing what little I know of an old folk song that has the line, "Blow your whistle, freight train!" (Oh, it's called "Dark Hollow.") Later, as we sat on the couch drinking coffee and the woodstove burned its early-October meal of cardboard and obsolete tech books, I looked up "Oh, Susanna" to see who had written it (this had come up as part of the conversation around "blow your whistle, freight train"). The answer was Stephen Foster. Evidently he wrote a few songs that weren't obviously racist. [Oh wait, I'm wrong.]
This afternoon, Gretchen drove down to Manhattan, where she would be spending the night. Meanwhile, I was tinkering with a kit Lee had sent me in the mail from his "bag of tricks." It was a little kit from 1993 featuring a wooden platform propelled by a motor driving actual tank treads. It came with a real metal gearbox, which was kind of high-end, but there was no way to differentially power the two treads, meaning there was no way to steer any robot propelled by such a mechanism. It still seemed like a good idea to assemble it, just to have more experience getting drivetrains to work.
I returned to the stone wall twice today, adding yet more to its eastmost end. At this point, nearly all the usable rocks from the area near the wall have been incorporated into the wall, meaning I must now venture unpleasantly far-afield to get more rocks. I've been having to go as far as the Chamomile, which is an endless source of sandblasted bluestone.
The east end of the stone wall as it appeared at some point today.
Click to enlarge.
The sun going down behind the wall, creating a Burchfieldian scene. This photo was taken at around 4:30pm. The terrain is such that the sun sets early near the wall.
Click to enlarge.
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