The Steam Scene at Somerset

On Sunday, Rob and I returned to the annual Pasture Party, an event held by the Steam and Gas Association in Somerset, VA. The last time we'd been here was 7 years ago; time flies by fast. It had been an excellent day, filled with machines I'd never seen before, the opportunity to get up close and personal with the engines and so many friendly people. Set in a large field, with all kinds of antique vehicles, old barns and men in denim coveralls tinkering with engines, it was easy to imagine that we were stepping back in time. No souped up V8 sports cars or snappy designer dressers here, I loved it.
We approached the field, already excited as we smelled the familiar coal smoke drifting across the road, whistles from the traction engines shrieking a welcome and motors chugging and chattering.

There were a few old cars and trucks lined up, the still immaculate old wooden spokes catching my eye, and a beautifully geometric Art Deco hood ornament. But my attention was soon diverted elsewhere, especially towards the old tractors.

There were the usual John Deere yellow and green monstrosities, I've never been a fan, and some gorgeous Farmall tricycles alongside a few Case gems. There were also some I hadn't seen, including the 2 above, especially the huge rusty hulk with double back wheels, which Rob dubbed The Beast. We never saw it running which was a shame, I'd have loved to hear the racket it must surely have emitted.

The traction engine wheels always draw me towards them, massive and strong, turning slowly under their giant weight. There were many gas engine combustion engines, or 'hit and miss' as they are also called. Loud thwacking noises, at different pitches, could be heard across the field as they pumped round and round, all of them with a constant audience of mainly men, who seemed to stand in hypnotic trances as they stared into the engines. It was kind of cool to watch the wheels go round, steam hissing from spouts and oil dripping from leaks, the constant pop, pop, and chugging drew people from all over the field.

 There were quite a few demonstrations going on, all of them very noisy, dirty, but always crowd pleasers. Machinery was run by gas or steam engines, or tractors, or traction engines, with long leather belts turning and supplying power to make cinder bricks, crush rocks into gravel, shuck corn and shred the husks into mulch, or cut tree trunks into planks.
Look and listen to some of them working here. We watched all of these, and as I got close with my camera, I was soon covered in coal dust or sawdust, Rob helping to pick pieces of corn husks from my hair as a cloud like confetti flew around me.

This huge engine is a Sears Handiman, built in 1929, and comes from Indiana, once used for ploughing, when it would have plodded steadily and solidly at 1.5mph, only able to travel forwards or backwards. A huge machine, apparently 2 thirds of its power was needed just to get it started moving.

There were a couple of blacksmiths working under a tent, one whose work caught my attention. He's on the left here, but I haven't shown a photo of him as he has no images on the internet and I guess that's intentional. I loved his work and bought a small knife with a bull head on the handle.

There were some unusual vehicles trundling about the field, some that we laughed at and one that I fell in love with, the Oliver tractor above won me over. The huge traction engines rumbled around the field as well as mini tractors, driven by kids. Old cars, with their passengers looking like they rolled right off The Beverly Hillbillies set, chugged b, their occupants smiling and waving at anyone who looked at them.You had to keep your wits about you, these vehicles came from all directions, some honking horns, while others made us aware of their presence just with their engine noise.

The small kids enjoyed the corn pit, way better than a sand pit, and likely loved by the parents too, who didn't have to worry about sand filled socks and shoes when they got home.
We wandered over to the main event of the afternoon, the Lawn and Garden Tractor Pull. This drew a large crowd and was serious business according to everyone here. Except me. I was constantly laughing at these tiny contraptions with their serious faced riders, machines that should be cutting grass were now hammering down a dusty track, but I could have outrun them all! But it was definitely entertaining.

With heavy weights on the front to stop them tipping up, the lawnmowers dragged the sled down the track, the drivers leaning back as far as possible, while the rest of us cheered and hollered. The announcer informed the crowd that we all needed to ensure we were behind the orange fence as, "The last 2 events are gonna be some serious horsepower, so y'all be on yer toes!" I burst out laughing at that. As the tiny tractors hauled the sled down the 100ft track, their engines strained and their wheels scrambled for traction, while we spectators coughed and wiped streaming eyes through the red dust clouds.

This dude had me laughing too, he obviously took his sport very seriously and posed for a while on his mean machine, likely dreaming of the day he'd eventually make the Daytona!

This guy was awesome, roaring with mirth when we complimented him on his cool ride. He looked exceptionally serious though once on the track. Unfortunately he didn't make the finals, I was really hoping he'd win.
A couple of traction engines were in the next field with ploughs attached so we made a beeline for them. They were about to start a ploughing demonstration and wanted a couple of volunteers, so my paw went up in the air immediately, and before I knew it, I was climbing up onto a wooden platform with 4 long handles and 3 other guys. Rob grabbed my camera and took over taking the photos.

We had to crouch down to keep our balance while the huge engine crawled and lurched across the field to the start point, finding every dip and rock in the ground.

Another engine came behind us, with a plough that needed only 1 operator, and we both lined up next to each other. Our driver shouted at us to lift, and he heaved our levers into the air. They were heavy and supposed to lock in once they were upright, but it took me a while to realize that, and my poor arms trembled as I struggled to keep my handle as far up in the air as possible.

We had to stop at the corner of the field while the blades were cleared of all the corn husks and stalks that had clogged the plough so we could thankfully lower our levers and rest. When we started off again, this time I knew what I was doing, shoved my handle up above my shoulders and locked it in, then stood, feet apart, my spare hand on my hip, like the other guys, and trying to look as casually confident as them, hopefully looking as though I did this every weekend!

I think I achieved the look, judging by Rob's photo of me! We finished our stretch of the field and came to a halt. This must have once been pretty tiring work to perform all day, especially in hot and humid conditions. I was glad to have experienced a little of 'the old days' and I'm sure the farmers of today are eternally grateful for their modern machinery, fast and efficient tractors with air cooled cabs and no need for additional human labor.

We left the old Sears Handiman and other traction engines posing in the field, looking strong and glorious with their black and charcoal plumes of smoke billowing from their chimneys. The traction name derives from the Latin tractus, meaning 'drawn', since the prime function of any traction engine is to draw a load behind it. The scene looked as though it was straight from the 1920's or 30's, with no new houses or cars anywhere in the picture, just these working behemoths and the freshly ploughed field.
Rob and I found the ice cream stall, the delicious frozen treat made on site with a tiny gas engine that chugged quietly next to the van. I remembered the peach ice cream being particularly tasty on my last visit, and was delighted to be able to have another bowl of it today. The perfect finale.
Below are photos of my new bull knife and also of a miniature axe, made by another blacksmith.

A Weedy Paddle with Jasmine

On Labor Day I decided to try out a new place to kayak, and drove to Crows Nest Natural Preserve near Fredericksburg. I knew I had to follow Brooke Road, but inadvertently followed it to the end, where I actually ended up at Aquia Park, but at the time I didn't know I'd made an error. I was amazed to arrive and find hardly a soul was there. I drove along the beach front, looking out on to calm waters with a couple of fishing boats nearer land and beyond them a speed boat skipped across the horizon. Only a couple of people were sunbathing on the sand, and I stopped to ask a local guy who was strolling along, where to park to unload my kayak. "You talking about that?", he said, cocking a thumb at Big Red. "Just pull it off and dump it in anywhere!" So I did. I parked at a small space near the end of the beach, thinking I'd come across a hidden gem that barely a soul, apart from the locals, knew about.

As I got out of the car I immediately noticed the most gorgeous scent of wild jasmine. Millions of flowers were blooming along the roadside and next to where I'd parked the car, the vines spreading high over undergrowth and clambering up small trees. I had to stand and just sniff for a few minutes. If I closed my eyes, the scent wafting across to me on a gentle cool breeze, and my toes burrowing into the soft warm sand made it believable that I was on a tropical island. I relished the sensation for a while, delighting that there was nobody about to witness my experience.I likely looked pretty odd standing there with my eyes shut and a big grin on my face!

I loaded up the boat with drinks and my waterproof bag, my iPhone again in its plastic waterproof case. The water was warm as I pushed off but there was a lot of weed sitting below the surface, obviously the reason that the boats with engines weren't able to come near. But it wasn't that difficult to paddle through and I plodded along, following the sandy beach around a corner which turned into Aquia Creek. The beach area looked out onto the Potomac River, which seemed like a sea, barely able to see the coastline on the other side.

Round the corner was a pretty little golden beach area with sparkling quartz gravel washed by the waves that rolled up onto the sand from the boats passing by. The wonderful scent of the jasmine was here also, the white flowers drifting down to the ground.It really was a lovely experience, paddling while being surrounded by perfume.

There were a few blinds along the banks but none were occupied and I saw no ducks or possible game. A few cormorants sat on wooden posts alongside some seagulls. An abandoned osprey nest jutted up out of the water, close to wooden jetties, a few with boats tied up alongside. The weed was quite thick along here too but I persevered with my paddling, pushing to keep the boat moving as it was hard to get started again once I stopped. This was certainly a great workout!

I passed this house and spied a guy on the grass swinging a golf club. I soon realized that he wasn't just practicing his strokes, he was actually shooting gold balls into the river, right towards me. I couldn't believe my eyes. He had definitely seen my bright red boat but continued on regardless with his mindless pollution. I heard one them come into contact with the jetty close behind me, a hard thwack as it hit the wood. I stopped paddling and zoomed my camera in on him. If he was going to persist in his obnoxious target practice then I was going to get an identifiable photo of him. If he hit me, he'd have a hefty lawsuit against him, which I knew he could afford judging by the size of his house and the numerous cars parked next to it. I resumed paddling, tempted to give him a one finger salute, but decided he simply wasn't worth it. He had noticed me taking pictures though, which gave me some satisfaction.

I continued along the riverbank, stopping for a rest and a drink next to a cliff, which provided some welcome cool shade. A few trees were clinging defiantly to the side but looking as though their time to fall was near. I stayed a little ways out, just in case. I could hear a fleet of power boats heading towards me, making their way to the open mouth of the creek. Their high pitched whining sounded like air planes as they skimmed past over the surface of the water, then accelerated once clear of the river mouth, their engines opening up and sounding like they were actually going to take off and fly. I turned Big Red towards the middle of the river and waited for their wake to hit me. I spent a few very pleasant minutes bobbing up and down on the rolling waves as they swept under me, hit the cliff, and then returned to bounce me about again. It was like a roller coaster ride.

I thought this was a kayak rental company until I realized they all belonged to one private house. They obviously have a lot of friends and family to entertain!

Why, oh why, do these blue herons always lay an incredibly huge guilt trip on me whenever I come across them? I was the only kayaker anywhere near the river bank and unfortunately upset him, causing a huge flapping of wings and very loud croaking complaints as he emerged from a low tree branch where he'd sat hidden. He made it abundantly clear that he was extremely pissed and then proceeded to fly in slow circles above me, all the while, expressing his displeasure, before finally settling on a rickety wooden platform, destroying the quiet serenity that a resting gull had been enjoying, and then continued to lament loudly to the poor bird until I passed by far enough so he could return to his bank perch again. I was actually quite glad that I couldn't understand bird language as I'm sure the air would have been bluer than the sky above, but he certainly did a very good job in sending me off with a flea in my ear, with my head cowered, paddling as fast as possible to exit his personal space and his blasting wrath. The poor seagull looked a little shell shocked too, and I swore his head ducked into his shoulders as the heron squawked and squallered, his head bobbing up and down.

The tide seemed to be coming in as I turned around and started back towards the car. But the weed was still prominent, although it was a little easier to paddle through on the return journey. I was amazed when I turned the corner and discovered the empty beach I'd left earlier had now filled up with a couple of families with hoards of kids. The air was filled with screams and laughter as they splashed in the shallow water. A couple of ladies were setting up an umbrella near where I'd parked and they told me the beach is well maintained, the sand raked over and some of the weed removed when it becomes overgrown. This had been a welcome change from the waterways nearer home, although I will return to paddle the Crows Nest Preserve in the near future, since I'd that had been my original destination.

The iPhone photos turned out better than last week's although I was surprised at how murky the water appeared in them. The last photo is the sky from underwater. I'm looking forward to seeing how the new iPhone will perform underwater since it's supposedly going to be waterproof and won't need any additional protection. The casing I use on my current phone likely deteriorates the quality of any shots taken.
On the way home I stopped to photograph a swamp area. It was quiet and peaceful, but not a critter in sight. The water was clear and glassy, the trees empty of birdsong. I heard just one plop of a turtle disappearing underwater as I approached the bank and then I had the area totally to myself.No jasmine here but I could still smell the wild grasses. I enjoyed the sweetness for a few still moments before the drive home.

Kayaking with the Legions on the Lake

Sunday was a cloudy with sunbursts kind of day, little humidity and gusty breezes, a perfect day to be paddling on the water. So after loading up Big Red, which took longer than it should, as I'm still getting used to the racks, and after nursing a sore neck because the damn boat somehow fell off the top of the car and on to the top of my head, I was eventually driving to Lake Frederick. I was disappointed to see on arrival that the car park was pretty full and there were already multiple vessels bobbing on the lake, kayaks, canoes and electric motor boats. I pushed out and made a bee line away from most of the chattering groups. I ended up entering a deep inlet where 4 college guys were in 2 electric boats, supposedly fishing, but mostly exercising their vocal chords, evidently dumb to the notion that much noise means no fish. I was approaching them when sudden;y their antics caused one of the boats to tip over and dunk two of the boys into the lake. I desperately wanted to whip out my camera and take photos but didn't want to anger them, so tightening my lips to stem the smirk that threatened to taunt them, I paddled past, as they soddenly pulled themselves back into the boat, which was now holding a few gallons of lake water.
Concentrating on distancing myself from them, I had paddled slowly further into the inlet and was only about 8ft from the bank when I suddenly found myself looking directly into the eyes of a beautiful young buck, resting in the grass. I stopped paddling and slowly aimed my camera at him, talking gently, and complimenting him on his exceptional good looks. He didn't look too put out and was obviously very comfortable as he made no effort to leave, but instead posed, moving his head slightly from side to side, watching me.

I continued to chat to him a little longer then very slowly eased my kayak round and away from the bank without disturbing him further, stopping a little way out to ensure that the hapless youths, still complaining loudly, didn't come this way. They didn't, choosing to go further into the middle of the lake. I looked round at the buck, who was still motionless in his spot, and bidding him adieu, I paddled off quietly, leaving peacefulness to be restored to his little haven.

A few black walnuts hung over the water, which was a lot higher than I'd expected. Heavy, dark thunderclouds also hung low over the lake, making me think a storm was approaching, but then suddenly the sun would pop through, bathing us all in golden warm light again. This pattern continued throughout the afternoon, and I have to confess looking forward to the overcast spells more, when the breeze would pick up and cool me down, as it threw ripples across the lake.

During previous visits to this lake I've always spotted a large population of wildlife, but today, likely due to the hoards of humans present, I only saw 2 blue herons and 3 green herons, and only the one buck. I was amazed to get these photos of the herons as I'd had to use the maximum zoom on my G15, hence the poor quality, but it was either that or go without, as the poor animals weren't allowing any close ups, the blue herons croaking very loudly as soon as I saw them. The green herons are always skittish shy birds, and today were kept on their toes as every inlet they disappeared into for privacy was soon invaded by another boat. I felt quite sorry for the wildlife, and I'm sure that if they spoke English, they'd all be saying, "Thank God the weekend's nearly over." or, "Bugger off and leave us in peace!" which I'm quite sure was nearer the mark judging by some of their expressions.

The cardinal flowers named after the red vestments that used to be worn by Catholic cardinals can be spotted from afar, their bright scarlet flowers shining brightly on the banks like jewels. Medicinal teas can be made from the leaves and roots but the milky white sap from their stems is toxic so wildlife tend to leave them alone. I love seeing these in the countryside, like little red flames licking up through the grass when seen from a distance.

I always like checking out the rotting tree stumps sticking up through the water, each of them like individual ecosystems, with tiny plants finding a root hold on the rotting wood and often inhabited by a small colony of insects. I have to inspect each one to see if there's anything interesting living in the tiny colony.

A fallen tree looked skeletal as it lay in the water, like a creature that had fallen and perished. I didn't see many turtles today, most had seemingly given up on their sunbathing on branches, likely due to so many folk being present. They always plopped into the water before I could get within a few feet. But one little chap clung resolutely to his post, eyeing me defiantly as I paddled past as quietly as possible. We kept eye contact and I felt triumphant as I managed to pass without him suddenly diving below the surface of the lake. I looked back and he settled down once more, his neck craning out of his shell, making sure that I wasn't coming back.

I took a few photos with my iPhone in its waterproof case. Once the phone was submerged in the water I really had no control over what photos I was taking, and so just pointed it one way or another, hoping to get something in focus. Just a few of the images were worth posting, I'd even managed to capture one shot looking up at Big Red from underneath with baby fish swimming close by. The water was quite murky except in the very shallow areas near the banks but I still had to be careful that my paddle didn't raise too much silt.

There were plenty of biting flies and mosquitoes lurking on the water's surface, but thankfully today I managed to escape the multitude of bites that I usually leave with. Most seemed to just skim on the lake's surface, rising in a cloud ad I slowly glided through them. Mayflies were everywhere, bright flashes of pale blue that caught my eye as they hovered in the reeds and grasses, a few landing on the boat and paddle. I gave a spider a ride back to the bank, he'd hitched passage on board from an overhanging tree. I used to like making my way under the branches that reached out from the banks, but too many insects, usually spiders would end up in the cockpit, ensuring some frantic scrambling from me as I struggled to move my legs away from them in the constricted legroom space of the boat. Now I avoid the low lying leaves, not wanting to spend my trip itching or scratching at imaginary or real bugs.
After about 3 hours I'd had enough, it really was a little too busy for me. But it had been wonderful to enjoy the lack of humidity on the water, and paddle hard against the breezes as they'd lifted the water into rolling ripples. I managed to get Big Red back onto the top of Stanley without any mishaps, my neck still a little sore from 60lbs of boat falling on top of it earlier. Practice makes perfect so it won't be too long before I'm back on the water again. I have a destination in mind...