29 December
A propos to nothing, here are some miscellaneous photos left in my camera.
Mike B. and I took a ride on a windy November 27 to Lambertville. On Harbourton-Woodsville Road Cheryl called Mike, so I snapped a few pictures of a field gone dormant for the winter:
Mike suggested we take Highland Road off of Goat Hill so we could catch the view of Lambertville from on high:
Just to the left of center you can see a puff of steam from the steam engine that tourists gape at by the Delaware River:
We fought a headwind all the way to Lambertville but on the way back the wind pushed us up Rocktown Road. It wasn't until I stopped for these pictures that I could feel how strong the wind at my back really was:
The two of us found ourselves riding to Lambertville again on December 12. It was colder that day. When we got to Rojo's Mike stripped down nearly to his skivvies. He hung his outer layers to dry by the coffee roaster. I was a little displeased with the way he rested his glove liners on the edge of the roaster. They were too close to where the raw beans go, and nobody wants their coffee to taste like Mike's sweaty glove liners. Mike was proud, though, of where he stuck his outer gloves. See if you can find them in this mess:
Then there was the December 19-20 snowstorm. I went into our backyard early on Saturday to take a picture of our blue spruce. This was our Christmas tree a handful of years ago. Chris helped us drag it from inside and plant it in the yard. It didn't do much for a couple of years. Recently it's sprung up by a few feet each season. Early on Chris said it was too skinny for a blue spruce ("It looks like Cheryl but it should look like you."). But the yard is shady. The poor thing is doing the best it can. And there ain't nothin' wrong with looking like Cheryl either.
Cleio, at 20.5 years old, slept through the storm:
We decorated our indoor Christmas tree on Sunday after we dug out from the storm.
As for our outside display: Lamest. Lights. Ever. But there is a moose.
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