The Old Marina with Great Blue Heron - and I can remember when it was spanking new
This was a 'zoomed' photograph which greatly fore-shortens the mile or so of river between the remains of the old dock and the present day Charlestown Marina of the far shore
Another Day of Poster Clouds
This photograph is taken from almost the exact spot where in about 1947 or so when this was the 'Woods' - no houses, no power lines, just thousands of acres of woods with an occasional old home scattered a mile or two apart - that myself and a few of my young friends had built our underground dug-outs, roofed with small (4 to 5 inch diameter) lengths of trees and covered with earth from the diggings. Our small open port-hole looked out over the valley below - and no pond there then. We named our lookout Camp Hill and came almost everyday that summer to play cowboys and indians, and to pick berries, and eat peanut butter sandwiches and carve our names in the Beech Tree to the northern side of the present day Golf Club House. Some years back (from the present) when I returned by automobile to this property that had once belonged to my grandfather (Whistling Willie, so my father said he was called and I still think of how I miss never knowing any of my grandparents all long gone before I was born) which he called Rosy Fields and plowed for corn and hay. I stopped the car and walked about the completely unfamiliar terrain to me now but quickly enough found the old Beech, and our names, and 'Camp Hill' still visible in the scarred bark even after those thirty some odd years. Some years passed as we moved into the electronic age, and eventually I got a digital camera and started this blog. And eventually I thought I would once again drive in and photograph that old bit of memorabilia. But not to be - for in the matter of tidiness, etc the Golf Club had had that bit of old trees cleared away and now only the organic cells of my brain retain any data of that long ago time when I claimed Camp Hill as my own.
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