Gone! Just Gone!

          Can you believe we're halfway through September already! I know, right! Me neither! But we are.

          So, I've got lots of pictures to show you this week and I'm sure you're not surprised by that, and a bunch of them are about our bridge demolition.

          First thing Monday morning we went to see them put the crane together. It was something Mike wanted to see. By the time we got there, they were almost done with it. The guys stood back as the operator lifted the boom. A cable snapped and there were cries of "Whoa! Whoa! Whoa!" The guys climb back up to see what was going on.

          "...Chinese Finger," was all of the words I caught.

          "They hook 'em together with Chinese Fingers?" I asked Mike.

          "I don't know. I guess so."

          We were watching them get the cable back together when the Kipps came home so we zoomed in and talked with them for a few minutes.

          Lamar unloaded the trunk while we chatted with Miss Rosie. "You got some pretty mums!" I exclaimed as Lamar carried them to a nearby bench.

          "I did! And some fancy pumpkins too!"

          We were leaving when I turned around and snapped this picture of the Kipps making their way from the carport to the house, the pretty mums on the bench.

          Mike and I headed for home and a few jobs we wanted to get knocked off our things-to-do-before-winter list. One of those things was to replant a chestnut tree that had been given to us. It was just living in a pot and we needed to get it in the ground. Mike mowed a spot in the field then we went to get the tree and the tree planting tools. Pick, shovel, good dirt. We were taking the tree from its temporary home when I found this guy. Near as I can tell he's a Yellow Wollybear and'll be a Tiger Moth when he grows up.

          "Peg, weren't you afraid he'd sting you? He looks like he could sting."

          Well, the thought crossed my mind. I know some species of caterpillars do sting but most don't. I took a chance and picked him up, took his picture, and tossed him into the weeds. 

           But while we're talking about things that I'm afraid of, let me cross one off my list. Cancer. With cancer so prevalent these days, who's not afraid of getting cancer?

          Someone very near and very dear to my heart, my handsome 'twin' brother David has cancer. We're not really twins, David is 13 months, 13 days older and failed first grade so we went through school together. We looked a lot alike and everyone naturally assumed we were twins. Now, when I get an odd twinge or pain or one that comes and goes, I wonder, what if I get cancer? That question has been rattling around in my head and the other day the answer came to me. If I get cancer then I'll do what I do. I'll write about it. Y'all'll get to go on that journey with me as I write about my ups and downs, hopes and dreams, pukes and poops, and every challenge in between. The nitty-gritty, down and dirty, honest-honesty that you've come to expect from me. And I won't be afraid because I know that everything that happens is ordained by God. Matthew 10:29-31 tells us: Are not two sparrows sold for a penny? Yet not one of them will fall to the ground outside your Father's care. And even the very hairs of your head are all numbered. So don't be afraid; you are worth more than many sparrows.

          I am worth more than many sparrows, I will not be afraid. Okay. I probably will be but I'll try not to be.

          Would you please say a prayer for David? Give him peace and comfort and know that Jesus has prepared a place for him in heaven.

          S'kay. We've got the tree from its temporary home in a bucket and we're heading out to plant it in the field and we go past the cat room and Sugar takes off. She was sunning herself in the grass and the golf cart scares her. She heads for the cat room. The door is wide open but she prefers to use her tunnel and that makes me smile.

          Mike did all the work or most all the work. He swung the pick and I shoveled the loosened dirt and rock from the hole. We used Miracle-Gro soil in the hole and around the chestnut tree and topped it with the native soil. Then Mike watered it. Now we wait and see if it takes root.

          Another job we — no not we, but Mike — wanted to get done was burn the brush pile. Fire scares me so I was okay not burning it but burn it he did. He got his gas and tossed it on and lit it.

          "Mike, you're playing with fire!" I admonish.

          "Don't worry," he says, "I'm experienced."

          "Yeah? Well, it only takes once to make a mistake. Then you'll be sorry!" Fire scares me.

          A big ole fireball erupts and I can feel the heat from my safe distance.

          Once the fire burned down to where Mike was comfortable leaving it we went to check on the bridge work.

          They cut a bunch of trees and Matt, the backhoe operator, was scraping it all together, mashing it down, scooping it up, and loading a truck. I was awed by his expertise! If a branch hung over the side he'd pick it up with the bucket and tuck it in as easily as you and I might do with our fingers. He never hit the truck and seldom had to try twice.

          "I bet he could pick a penny off the ground with that thing," I told Mike.

          At the end of the day, this is what Mike's brush pile looked like... 

      

          ...and our bridge looked like this.

          This guy's been hanging around my back patio for days before I could finally get a decent shot of him. This is an Eastern Comma and yes, both pictures are the same butterfly. His inside is much more colorful than his outside but his outside blends nicely with trees which is where he hangs out looking for the ladies and he'll fly aggressively, chasing insects and even birds! How's that for a switcharoo! A butterfly chasing a bird! Ha!

         

          The next day they started bringing in gravel to build the new roadbed.

           We watched for a while then went home to work on our burn pile. Mike spread the dirt around and we picked out the larger wood pieces that hadn't burned and started another fire.

          I hate fire, did I tell you that?

          I found a toady as I was picking wood. I don't know how he managed to escape the flames but he did. I had to chase him a little before I could get him then I took him to the weeds and let him loose.

          We didn't spend much time at the bridge on this day but did go down after they knocked off work. This is what it looked like at the end of Tuesday.

          Wednesday was a big bridge day for us. They started cutting and taking the bridge apart and the process was absolutely fascinating!

          I spent some time speculating on what the hand signals to the crane operator meant. "That must mean take it up."

          They had a little trouble getting this section out. Dawson got a crowbar and pried but eventually they figured they needed the cutting torch.

          Once they cut the piece that was holding on, the bridge section swung free and was lifted out.

          Two pieces gone! Just gone!

          They would have to spend some time cutting the next section free so we went home for a while.

          "Peg, how're your caterpillars doing?" you ask.

          Well, I'm still on birth watch although I expected at least one to emerge long before this.   

          As for the last caterpillar I brought home, he climbed to the top and died with a mysterious white thread hanging from him. I Googled it and found he was infected with a Tachinid Fly magot. When they exit the caterpillar and fall to the ground, they leave behind a long white strand. I scraped off the dead caterpillar, took the top off my butterfly box, took the whole thing to the burn barrel where I dumped everything from the bottom of the box and burned it. Take that you stupid fly!

          A trip to the bridge shows how they were rolling back the open grate, cutting it off, and lifting it out of the way.

          We watched them lift a side rail.

          And roll back more decking. 

          Once the center section was cleared, Dawson blew the beams clean of dirt and debris.

          "They can't cut through dirt?" I asked Mike.

          "No. It has to be as clean as they can get it."

          Matt cutting the beam free on the other end. We saw several guys walking the beams but not once did Dawson. "I wonder if he's afraid of heights."

          Before they left for the day, Dawson put on waders and fished fallen steel from the creek. I knew creeks were deeper under bridges because as kids we'd swim under the bridges, but I didn't know our little creek was this deep.

          Lamar came out, walking Tux, and he and Mike got to talking about the flood. "I can show you how far it came up," he told Mike and they went for a walk.

          I found a patch of Forget-me-nots at the edge of the Kipp's yard.

          "I thought they were a spring flower," Miss Rosie said.

          "They are." Forget-me-nots are usually done blooming by June and the heat of summer. But it doesn't feel like we had much of a summer and we never turned our air conditioner on once this year.

          New England Asters are blooming.

          Back at home, we drive around the pond. "There's a snapper," Mike says. The golf cart scares him and he heads for the pond. "There's two of them!"

          Let's see... hmmm. The big one was on the little one... I wonder what they were doing.

          The next day we get there in time to see them lift the first beam.

          And the second. The two middle ones were doubles.

          The guys always wore their safety equipment and they always hooked 'em up.

          Matt is using a hammer to pound off the loose stuff so he can cut the piece between the two beams.

          Once it was cut they tried to lift, but it wouldn't budge. Matt went down under to check stuff out and thought he found the problem. He stuck his hand up between the bridge and beam waiting for them to pass him the torch.

          "Get your hand out of there!" Lamar, watching with us anxiously said.

          Matt may have found part of the problem but it wasn't all of it.

          "I gotta cut the flange on the end," he called and pointed at the far end. He got the cutting torch, walked down, and cut the flanges from both of the remaining two beams.

          Then out it came.

          Mike and I would've loved to hang around and watch them take out the other beam but we had an appointment in Wysox to have the recalled part replaced on the Jeep.

          With our bridge out we have to take a couple of back dirt roads to reach the hardtop. It adds seven, eight minutes to our trip. But I've gotten pictures I wouldn't have gotten any other way.

          Geese in the cow pasture.

          Cows!

          They've finished the third section of the Rainbow Bridge that crosses the Susquehanna and are moving everything to the last section. YAY!

          It started raining and this is a misty dreary picture of Towanda as we crossed the bridge from Wysox.

            When we get home from all our running we see the rain had shut down work on the bridge. All the beams are gone now! Just gone!

          The next day we had more running to do. Our batten strips came in at the lumberyard... actually they cut them there so I should say they cut our batten strips and called us. But we went down to the bridge for a few minutes before we left. They were digging out the road in front of the bridge.

          Road pictures!

       

          Mike is so used to giving the Jeep Wave to other Jeep owners as we pass that he forgot he was in the truck and waved anyway.

          "I guess he doesn't know you have a Jeep," I said to Mike when the Jeep dude didn't wave back.

           Train graffiti. Hmm...

          Back at home we check the progress of the bridge and see the last section is out.

          Our old, full of character, single-lane, open-grate bridge is gone! Just gone!

          It's kind of a sad day.

          "Peg, did you get a memento?" you ask.

          I did. It's a piece of the open-grate they cut out. Mike hung it up by my bell just to have a place to put it until it finds its forever home.

          We needed to do a little shopping; get a few groceries. We put off our previously scheduled Wal Mart trip in favor of watching the bridge destruction. Now that it was out, we made the trip to Sayre. Can you stand it? Can you stand more road pictures?

          An open door (and the Grim Reaper).

          We stopped at Lowe's and Mike pointed out this truck to me. "Look, Peg," he said, "it's an F-550." That's what our Big Red is.

          The lady driving this bigger than normal Ford left the parking lot at Lowe's just ahead of us and we caught up to her at the light. "She couldn't get a bed for the truck so she made one. See the bedposts?" I asked. "It's a truck bed."

         

          We'd gotten back to Wyalusing about the time school lets out and we had an unusually long wait to get across the Rainbow Bridge. Three maybe four cycles of the light before it was our turn. It gave me a chance to look at the grapevines at the winery.

          "Mike, don't they usually keep the grapevines better groomed than that?" I asked. There were weeds growing up in the rows.

           "Yeah," he agreed. "They do look pretty wild."

          At the other end of the same vineyard, the grapevines looked bad. Hard to believe it's the same place, isn't it?

          Another picture from the back dirt roads we have to take to get home now.

          I'm not sure what we expected to see when we checked our bridge but it looks about the same as before we left to go shopping. The only difference being where they parked the crane.

          "Let's look around and see if they left any other mementos for us," Mike suggested.

          They hadn't but for the first time, I noticed the date on the cornerstone. 1899. "That's what you should get," I told him. It's a huge stone, I doubt we can have it unless they bring it up to the house for us.

          And speaking of my house, I had a mouse in my house on Saturday. I suspected we had one because the cats were acting like they were hunting one. Then Saturday, as I worked on pictures for today's blog, Ginger in my lap, her head comes up suddenly, a growl escapes her throat, she jumps down and heads for the trash can. I just know she saw a mouse. I pulled the can out but didn't see him. A couple of hours later I see him! He went running across in front of the door and behind the counter. I got a flashlight and looked and there he was. Just sitting there hiding.

          "Smudge!" I yelled. "Spitfire!" Where were those cats when you needed them! They were both outside and I called and called. Pretty soon Spitfire comes running and jumps over the fence.

          "Get that mouse for me," I told him and tried to show him where the mouse was but he wasn't interested. I pulled the trash can out, Spitfire went in the little cubby where the can sits, I grabbed the fly swatter and poked it in from the other side of the counter.

          "Squeak, squeak, squeak!" cried the little mouse and I knew Spitfire got him.

          Up I jump, grab Spitfire and put him and his little mouse out the door. I hadn't even gotten back into the house before Spitfire tossed him in the air and before he could grab him again the mouse took off for the patio stones and scooted under one. Spitfire lost his mouse.

          "You shithead," I scolded.

          Spitfire tried to get his mouse out but couldn't. I picked the stone up and there he was. "Get 'im!" I told the cat but he was so freaked out by my picking up the stone that he ran a little ways away. The mouse took that opportunity to find another rock to hide under and I put down the one I was holding up.

          "Peg you should've dropped the rock on him!" you say.

          I know, right! I thought of that and just couldn't make myself do it. I can, however, feed him to the cat.

          Spitfire came into the house with me and went back to the first place he found the mouse. After a bit, he went outside and started sniffing around out there. The little mouse must've moved because Spitfire saw him and camped out there for a couple of hours. 

           Then I decided to help him. Carefully I moved the wood scraps so I didn't freak him out again, then a rock, then there he was! This time Spitfire saw him too and snatched him up.

          Judging by his long back feet and short front arms, I'm guessing he's a jumping field mouse, and just a youngin' at that.

          Spitfire headed for the door. "No you don't!" I grabbed him and tossed him toward the yard. "Stay out in the yard where he can't get away from you again!" I had to stay and keep heading him off. I know he wanted to play with his mouse on the flagstone by the kitchen door. Eventually, he got the message, tossing the poor critter around a few times. The mouse gave up. He didn't even try to run away anymore. Spitfire picked him up, dropped him on the dinner plate, then ate him.

          I went back to my 'puter and hadn't been there very long before Spitfire meows. I get up to let him in and see he's snooping around looking for another mouse. I guess the first one only whetted his appetite.

          Late that afternoon Spitfire comes in from the yard carrying another little mouse. "Awww. Good boy!" I told him but didn't let him in the house.

          Personally, I don't have any particular dislike of these little field mice but they can't live in my house. They chew stuff that doesn't need to be chewed and potty anywhere they want to.

          

          Lastly, before I call this one done (and since I have an empty page to fill) I want to tell you about my Breakfast Club. What started as a morning email to my beautiful sister Phyllis, has blossomed into what I'm calling the Breakfast Club. In the mornings I send out a shortish message covering such scintillating topics as who peed on the floor before she could get to the door in the morning (that's usually Itsy) and what time Molly starts her yowling for a drink of water (usually just after six in the a.m.). I talk about what my plans are for the day, the weather, or any other jibber-jabber that comes to mind. Sometimes I screw up and call my friend my sister, as in Good morning, dear sister. I forgot to edit that part before I sent it. But Trish forgives me and still looks forward to our morning chats. And you know what? I look forward to their responses just as much! It makes me feel not so far away.

          Let's end this with an evening picture of the kitchen patio.

  

          Until next time, know that you're all in my heart.

          Done!