From Up On Hacker's Hill - Part Two

More watercolor studies of the views from Hacker's Hill - and some of the wildlife too!







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Make sure you tune into TCM this Sunday night for some rarely seen early animation goodies!

And next week, I will hopefully be writing one lengthy post, since I am waiting on something very interesting to be delivered. If all goes well, we'll be catching up with an old friend...

From Up On Hacker's Hill - Part One

The last run of posts have been very wordy, haven't they?  So this week, let's chill out a bit.  I'm going to share some watercolor sketches from a trip to see the incredible views from Hacker's Hill, one of the best-kept secrets of the Sebago Lakes region.  You get a fantastic view of the entire Lakes Region as well as, on a clear day, the White Mountains. 

I was a little overwhelmed by the views but I gave it my best shot. This run of paintings was a little abstract, just to get comfortable:

The Blue Hills Trailside Museum

One of the best-loved wildlife sanctuaries run by the Massachusetts Audubon Society, the Blue Hills Trailside Museum is so-named because it essentially serves as an interpretive center for a series of extensive paths that lead up into the Blue Hills. It had been a very, very, VERY long time since the last time I visited, so when my lovely aunt asked if I wanted to join her on a hike, I jumped at the chance.



The Trailside Museum is somewhat similar to the Maine Wildlife Park, which I have sung the praises of quite a bit on this Blog previously. It's not as extensive or big, and there is a smaller variety of wildlife on display. Of course, since all the live animals are unable to live in the wild on their own, this is definitely a good thing. Let's take a look at the star exhibit:



OK, folks, take a good look. This is the one snake in New England you might be justified in freaking out over. Just this one.

Actually, no. No, forget that. See, it turns out that the Timber Rattlesnake has more reason to fear us because it is in the same unenviable and almost surreal predicament that many sharks and large land carnivores have found themselves in. Humans are terrified of them even though they try hard to avoid us, and just because they've injured maybe a few dozen of us, we have killed MILLIONS of them. Or, in the Timber Rattler's case, ALL of them, since they are essentially extinct in Massachusetts, very definitely extinct in Maine, and their numbers elsewhere in the northeast don't inspire confidence.

Do I need to say it? Man, speaking of Tropes, f*** this Trope. I need a drink.



I also need to make a donation! I don't know who built this or even what it is, but I remember it from when I last came here as a child. I'm all for periodically updating museums, but it's nice to see some things stay the same.



So, let's hit the Red Dot Trail! My father, sister, and I climbed this trail many many times and I wonder if anything has changed?



I got old. That's what changed. Ah, well, it's worth the pain in my knees to see views like these. So, have some shots of nature showing off. All the pictures in this post are hosted at my Flickr, so click to go to the big versions.







If nothing else, we're learning that the landscape of eastern Massachusetts is mostly big chunks of granite held together by trees.

"That's very nice, Trish, but where's the fall foliage?"

Ah, well, there is an Observatory at the top of Blue Hill that nearly all the trails lead to. The building is obviously quite old, and was clearly built to hold only five people at once comfortably. That means it gets very claustrophobic very quickly, since everyone who climbs the trails ends up in the top of the somewhat skinny tower (sometimes with very small children and babies, sometimes with dogs. Yeah.) Fortunately, I was able to snap these before I had to get out:



And the one picture everyone takes:



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Sketch of the Day!

Live studies of the Museum's residents:

Bulb A'Sore - or - Probably The Last Gardening Post of the Year

Well, first off, here's some art. Click for big:

A week ago, I worked in the garden for the first time in months. I will not put off working in the garden for months if I can at all help it ever again. I had to dig up a lot of weeds and encroaching grass (it is almost hilarious how I have grass growing happily where I do not want it and no grass at all where I do want it.) As of the time I am writing this, I'm still hurting in some sensitive areas.
(Oh, calm down. I meant my joints. And my thumbnails. And my most of me.)



I don't know if I've had a chance to mention this before, and even so, I'm hoping some of you are new readers who met me at Boston Comicon and are doing an archive binge of this blog (I am extremely and very nerdily honored if this is the case). I am a native New Englander. That means I am genetically predisposed to complain about the weather. However, to be honest, I like seasonality. I like the fact that the growing season is ephemeral up here; it makes it all the more lovely. And I enjoy colorful leaves in autumn and -brace yourselves- I like snow.
With all that said, I'm wondering if spring bulbs are a distinctly temperate zone phenomenon. I had a fair number of daffodils early this spring, but I figured this would be a good year to replenish the garden. Bulbs are fairly easy to deal with and are a great choice for a family project - IF your kids are patient.
Like, having to wait up to twenty-four weeks for "delivery" patient.
You see, that's the downside of planting bulbs. Actually getting them in the ground takes a bit of effort and good timing (wait until after Daylight Savings Time ends and you may have completely wasted your money). I've got at least 120 out there now, and I am betting that at least half of them make it through the winter.
If this makes you cringe, you'll be happy to know that bulbs are easy to "cheat". Wait until the week after Easter (April 4, 2010) and you can snap up full-grown tulips and hyacinths for half off. This is much more expensive than planting bulbs en mass in autumn - but it's also easier on the nerves.



This is how most books of gardening will encourage you to plant bulbs.
And normally, I don't do this. I've done it with the onions only because they're easy to see and I only have a few of them. For tulips, daffodils, and the Anemones I'm experimenting with for the first time, I just dug a pit several inches deep, tossed the bulbs in, set them right-side up, and covered them with dirt and mulch. It's just as random as the "scattering" method shown above and much easier to keep track of.

And this is the "after" picture. The yellow and burgundy mums are there just for color as my perennials have all gone to seed. Occasionally, these mums will turn out to be perennials themselves, and will show green leaves early in spring.
As a funny addendum to the previous post, there is now no evidence *at all* of the storm on Sunday. As a matter of fact, it was pretty warm in the sun on Monday.
So now, the only major thing to do out there is get the bird feeder set up...