Nearly a month has gone by without any new posts, despite my recent statements about blogging in earnest. I'm finding that teaching writing classes not only involves lots of time grading papers but also focuses my interest on writing. I'm actually writing a lot in various journals and notebooks, but not focusing in the short run on material I want to post here. We'll see what develops. Let's just say, my cessation of blogging is not due to deterioration of my health. I might be back soon. It probably depends on how spring unfolds - wildflowers, lizards, interesting insects, etc., usually fire me up and prompt me to keep my camera batteries charged.
I have been teaching since 1965 and have recently joined the English Department as an Associate Faculty member at Feather River College. Recently taught Nature Literature in America and am currently teaching Interpersonal Communication and Basic Reading and Writing.
I often feel that I'm caught in a web at this time of year, so, as I looked out the window on my back door, contemplating photos of freshly-fallen snow, these remnants of last summer's spider feasts caught my eye. The mummified moths have been in these webs since August, and they are constant reminders to me of my favorite photo subjects.
I never did go outside with my camera while the surface of the snow was still pristine. Now it's all tire tracks, snowplowed dirt, and evidence of kids' games with sleds and snow forts. I did find this one undisturbed area near my firewood shed. It's a pile of old cedar fence posts and rails that I never got around to cutting up for wood stove fuel. They spent nearly 20 years as a fence, so I suppose one more season beneath the snow won't harm them. It'll be my first wood cutting activity after the snow melts.
A large Douglas-fir where I park my car still has some snow hanging on. We've had around 4" so far, and there's now a lull. I wonder if we'll get the promised 7". I read that Tahoe got over a foot, and that the lake has risen a little over an inch. That translates to billions of gallons of water, but barely makes a dent in our drought. Actually, it's hard to picture a dent in a drought.