A Good Tag

I was tagged by Lynn at State Street. I kinda like this meme.

1: Black and White or Color; how do you prefer your movies?

I know that it's trendy or arty to choose b&w, but I remember the days of b&w, and I think that we'd all pine for colour if it were taken away.

2: What is the one single subject that bores you to near-death?

I guess it's not a subject exactly, but I quickly tire of Conservative ranting. They're angry people for the most part with ideological fixes for every known ill, but not one of them works from what I can see. But I guess that I'm doing a little bit of liberal ranting there. See how irritating it is? :)

In the interest of full disclosure, I just took this test and discovered that I am about as liberal as you can get. In the interests of further disclosure, however, other tests have pegged me only slightly to the left of centre.

3: MP3s, CDs, Tapes or Records: what is your favorite medium for prerecorded music?

Since I purchased my iPod and since I subsequently got tiny, cute, convenient, portable speakers for it, I'd have to go with MP3s. Perhaps I am lazy, but It's so darn convenient to find your album/playlist of choice with the turn of a little dial as opposed to hunting for and through a pile of CDs. The other day, for example, when I was preparing a roast, I ported the speakers downstairs and selected Josh Groban with a flex of the finger; the day before, I chose Great Big Sea just as easily.

4: You are handed one first class trip plane ticket to anywhere in the world and ten million dollars cash. All of this is yours provided that you leave and not tell anyone where you are going … ever. This includes family, friends, everyone. Would you take the money and ticket and run?

No, I'm pretty sure that I wouldn't. What's a life without the companionship of your beloved and your scions? Maybe that's true wealth? Mind you me; I sure would like to be a little wealthier and be able to travel hither, thither, and yon on a whim.

5: Seriously, what do you consider the world's most pressing issue now?

I rather think that it's global warming. There are those who think that it's already too late, and that severe repercussions are inevitably looming. On a optimistic note, however, I recently heard it opined that When the USA really gets it, they will really get it, and great progress will be made. They'll need some enlightened leadership for that to happen. Al Gore where are you?

6: How would you rectify the world's most pressing issue?

The irony wrt global warming is that The Greens are radically against nuclear power. I understand this to an extent, and I would almost certainly be part of the NIMBY crowd on this issue, but it might be the only viable interim option: a breathing space until better solutions are found. Fifty percent of American electrical production is from coal. That's unfortunate: very unfortunate.

7: You are given the chance to go back and change one thing in your life; what would that be?

I would take more English courses in university, take the English option at College of education, and opt to continue to teach English rather than become a department head of geography. And I'd probably stay at that rural school while I was at it.

8: You are given the chance to go back and change one event in world history, what would that be?

I'd have to be careful here. When I changed my personal history in #7, above, I pretty well changed it in a way that wouldn't much alter the basic course of my life. I wish there would have been a way for the Jewish people to regain a homeland without all of the war and struggle that has ensued. The Brits and the UN didn't handle it very well, but I doubt if anything would have worked. However, since we're in the realm of fantasy, I would have found a way for it all to have happened peacefully with good will all around. Hey, it's my fantasy!

9: A night at the opera, or a night at the Grand Ole’ Opry: w–hich do you choose?

Oh heavens, that's hard. I visited Nashville, briefly, a long time ago, and none of the local kids at that time would have countenanced the Opry. However, to go to the Opry, I'd, by definition, be on vacation, and that's pretty darn enticing. You see, I can find Operas closer to home, so I'll choose The Opry for now —— with reservations. Now, if the Opera in question was in Paris, or Rome, or even New York, I'd probably make a different choice.

10: What is the one great unsolved crime of all time you'’d like to solve?

I would like to track down and have imprisoned the perpetrator of this confounded meme. Just kidding —— see the title.

11: One famous author can come to dinner with you. Who would that be, and what would you serve for the meal?

Well now. I greatly admire Barbara Kingsolver, but I have heard Maeve Binchey on the radio and she is quite a joy, and then there's Bill Bryson, also an interesting and entertaining chap. Of the three, I think I'll go with ... the Apostle Paul. (How's that for a leap?) I would really like to know, without all of the theological filters that probably screw up everybody's interpretation, what he truly believed regarding The Christ. My stipulation would be that he'd be taught modern English in his translation to my time and place ... or me Greek if I were to go back there in time.

I think that I'd want to expose him to something typically modern and germane to North American culture: a great grilled cheeseburger with really good fries, I think: not McDonalds or other such fare but really good stuff. What about a coke to wash it down? I'd have to make very different choices for any of the other three.

12: You discover that John Lennon was right, that there is no hell below us, and above us there is only sky —— what'’s the first immoral thing you might do to celebrate this fact?

I already suspect that John was right, but I fail to understand how that would affect my morality. I think I'm pretty moral and would stay that way.

I am tagging the following people, but please don't feel obligated if you're not in the mood: Gina, PBS, Dave, and EC.

Quintessential Canadiana

I thought that I would share these two photos with you as I deem them to be quintessentially Canadian. Last week, I met the above snowmobilers at a gas station which is located in a little village about ten minutes from the cottage. They consented to have their pictures taken. Back to the left, just out of view, is a 40k snowmobile trail that leads to another little village. In reality, however, they can travel far and wide by roadsides and over frozen lakes. Although I meant to, I didn't get a picture of these roadside routes. They come complete with miniature traffic signs, stop signs most frequently, but I've spotted yield signs as well.

Then, on the way home the other day, we stopped at a rural coffee shop. For you Canadians, it's a Tims. It's in the middle of nowhere really, but whenever we go by, there are always lots of customers, both inside and going through the drive-through. It's about all there is for about an hour and a half east and an hour west, and there isn't much north or south either. So, I guess that loads of people stop here on their way by. When we emerged, having filled our bellies with a chicken club sandwich and having filled our extra large travel mugs with coffee, double cream, I noticed these two logging trucks and another parked on the road. The pickup truck in front of the logging trucks had two snowmobiles on the back.

It seemed an opportunity to share some winter Canadiana with you. When I opined above that this was quintessential Canadiana, of course it isn't totally true; it's just part of what makes us distinctive. For most Canadians, logging trucks and snowmobiles parked at a gas station are not everyday occurrences. Far, far from it. Having said that, you sure don't have to go very far into the hinterland to see such sights.

 

Battle-Scarred Chef

Goodness knows that I try ... to cook and not maim myself while I am at it ... but it's hard for a poor old fella. Sometimes it's harder than others. Yesterday, for example, I decided to make my rather tasty sweet potato soup. Suddenly, I just feel more like cooking than I have recently. I don't so much enjoy cooking at the cottage because my implements are not at hand and because the local food sources don't always measure up. But I'm home now and determined to revert to a proper diet after feasting off the fat of the land for far too long now.

Troubles ensued: not major ones, but I did suffer some minor wounds. In fact, as I gaze down upon my right index finger, five little scrapes gaze back at me. They are from the grating of the orange zest and the ginger. I received new graters for Christmas. They lie flat and catch the food nicely, but something about the trajectory sometimes results in me adding particles of my own flesh into the mix.

The second minor casualty occurred when I was transferring the roasted ingredients into the soup pot to boil, I managed allow my thumb to slip from the pot holder and caress the rather hot roasting pan. Minor burn: the worst was yet to come.

After boiling and simmering all of the ingredients, it was time to transfer them, batch by batch, into the blender. I think it happened on the third batch. For whatever reason, despite the fact that I was consciously holding the blender cover down, the soup erupted with enough force to fly over much of the kitchen ... and much of me might I add. It didn't hurt ... much ... at first. Cuppa thought that I should remove my splattered shirt, but I demurred ... unfortunately.

You see, I'm a rather sequential, task-oriented person, and, right then, my task was to blend the soup. After that I would be only too happy to attend to the next task: the removal my shirt. But, as the blender kept going, the scalding ingredients began to soak through my shirt and onto my skin. Frankly, it began to hurt ... quite a bit. Did I stop? Of course not. Stupid question really. Stay with the task at hand AC. Your present task is to blend. Only then may you move onto your next task: attending to your burning flesh.

Of course, a sizeable portion of my lower left arm was rather red by the time that I divested myself of my scalding garments. And it did smart, quite a lot, for an hour or so. I would have gone, should have gone, to the pharmacy to purchase some soothing and healing balm, but, of course, I had to eat some soup first. It was the next bullet on my sequenced list after all.

 

His Royal Nibs

Uh huh. We're back, and, after two months with daughter, so is His Nibs. He managed to get me up more than an hour ago, by partly devious means. You see, he divested himself of a hairball for the second time in one night. The first was at five o'clock, and I found the second at 8:00. By the time I cleaned it up, I was ... well, I was up. He was also frenetically anxious for his morning tuna by then, and I hadn't the heart to put him off any longer — not after him becoming used to receiving it by about 6:30 a.m. at daughter's house. So, if there had been any doubt of my up-ped-ness before descending the stairs, turning up the heat, and feeding His Royal Self, there was no doubt of my up-ped-ness after all of that.

But you see in the picture that I just took, he is now back in bed, or at least on bed. My side of the bed, I'm afeered. I am not his favourite human in the house, you know. That honour is bestowed upon Cuppa. However, for reasons only fathomed by superior cat brains everywhere, he prefers sleeping at my feet. It's so silly really. I am six inches taller than my beloved, and I am in much greater need of foot room than she, but every night he makes for my side of the bed. Sometimes I move him, but he finds his way back. Sometimes I move him twice, but ... well you know what. I mean to say that it can't be all that pleasant for him, for he must surely suffer greater disturbance down there by my feet than he would by Cuppa's. But he persists.

Despite the two pukings, despite the necessity of banishing him from the bedroom for prancing on our heads at three o'clock, and despite the inconvenience of having him hunker down by my feet, I'm right chuffed to have him back after his stay at Butterfly's house. Pets are great, and The Rocks is a great pet — even if he's back in bed on a Saturday morning and I'm not!

 

Snowy Farewell

That was the view that greeted around about eight o'clock yesterday morning from the front door of the cottage. Although the photo doesn't quite do it justice, the snow on the branches of Hummer Hedge and the apple tree right behind it was rather fetching. By the times that we departed the cottage near noon, however, most of it had either melted or fallen from the branches.

We call it Hummer Hedge for obvious reasons; it's where the humming birds seem to hang out when they make their warm weather pilgrimage to Riverwood. The old apple tree behind it does bear apples which the deer like to eat. Occasionally, we even see them there, but generally they're pretty darn good at not being spotted.

It seemed very warm; we packed the car by making many trips back and forth without benefit of overcoats. I guess it wasn't so much the air temperature, which was only slightly above freezing, but there was little wind and the sun was doing its job very well indeed.

So, yes, we are home from the cottage. I haven't posted for ten days now, the longest hiatus of my blogging career, for a number of reasons. To wit: after the previous post, we had some rather uninspiring weather — cloud, rain, and freezing rain — followed by five days of company. My SIL and BIL came up for the weekend, and my nephew and his lovely friend joined us until Wednesday. Don't despair of the youth, folks; these are absolutely delightful kids. He played his new guitar for us, and she helped the old folks to figure out some dance steps. You can catch a bit on their blog.

There are two other reasons for not blogging: (i) the slow internet connection was driving me to distraction; (ii) and, the sheer banality of my own blog is boring me silly, so I can only begin to imagine how monstrously fatiguing it must be for dear reader. Sometimes, I want to pack it all in, but ... but what I don't really know. Oh, I'll probably be back with some more pictures shortly, but I have no wise or interesting words these days. None, zip, nada.

 

A Little Respect

I was working my way through some old photos when I came to these from last October. That's me paying homage to King Rocky. Given his dimensions, wouldn't you tend to show a little respect?

Okay, okay, so I was fooling around with Photoshop. Any preferences as to the photo above or the one below? The original is at the very bottom for interest sake. I really did take that pose in a moment of levity and made the variations in another such moment.

Cuppa thinks me strange by times, but I really appreciate my own warped sense of humour sometimes. If not me, then who, eh?

 

About My Valentine

Recently, I have read two blogs, Wondering! and Simply Coll, that described how they met their spouse. I thought that it would be a theme that I could pick up for Valentines Day, and the day has arrived. Since I have no present to obtain or give to my loved one out here in the backwoods, perhaps these few recollections will suffice.

The year was 1967. Yes, Virginia we're pretty doggone old.

It was a Friday night after Young Peoples meeting. We were all at somebody's house for some sort of a get-together. Somehow, Cuppa and I ended up beside each other. Although we had been part of the same Young People's group for some time, we had moved in different circles in this rather large group; so we had never really gotten to know one another.

We probably didn't chat a whole lot that Friday night either, it being a large crowd and all, but I do remember that the the topic of the next day's Sunday School picnic came up. Seems odd I know; there, we were, almost twenty years old , talking about a kids picnic. I had not made definite plans to go, but she had, and she thought that I should go too — more or less invited me.

As you might imagine, not a whole pile of youth attended the picnic, so it was somewhat natural that Cuppa and I would find each other and spend some time together. Mind you, I'm pretty sure that I would have hunted her down in a huge crowd, as I more or less did some time later, but that is another story.

We went off for a walk in the park. I bought her a popscicle. Hero that I am, I held her hand to help her cross a little creek by hopping from rock to rock. I don't think I let go once we got across though. I sure hope that I didn't, sure hope that I was really as smart as I thought I was at the time.

We were married within two years. We were too young. I was still in university. It was dumb. The odds were stacked, not in our favour. But it worked. Almost thirty-nine years after that Friday night and Saturday afternoon, we are still together, almost joined at the hip as it were. We're friends; we're lovers ... still that, still now.

I don't think we've ever had what others would call a fight. We're human, and we do have our misunderstandings and disagreements. Every now and then, maybe twice a year, we flatten our ears just a touch and raise our hackles just a tad. But we don't really hiss and spit, and we don't unsheathe our claws, and the fur never flies.

She's a good woman, a kind soul: compassionate, friendly, generous, and ... well, I'm no good at long lists, but you get my drift. The day will come when one of us will remain here for a while longer while the other's spirit is released from its mortal coil. The one whose lot it is to remain behind will have a lonely void that cannot be filled ... except, in part, by a lifetime of pleasant memories for which to be grateful.

 

Snow, Birds, and Beer

It snowed at Riverwood today. You can see it in both pictures but particularly the one of the shed.

Some of you were around last year when I posted many photos of chickadees. They landed on us, fed from our hands, and there is even a pictures of one on my head in my January Archives.

It won't be the same this year. Whereas there were more than a dozen chickadees eating voraciously last winter, there are six at the most this year, and usually fewer. Also, we have seed and suet hanging from the tree as well as the peanut butter that we add. So with more food available, they are not inclined to land on us.

Our main task for the day was to do our in laws a favour by taking many, many cartons of beer bottles back for refund. They often don't have much time while they are here, and the bottles have accumulated over the past few years.

We have government-run beer stores in this province. That's what they call the oulets— The Beer Store. It used to be Brewer's Retail, but everybody called it the Beer Store, so they changed the name to suit. The problem is that there is no Beer Store nearby, but the LCBO (Liquor Control Board of Ontario) sells it locally.

So, we took a whole carload into the village which is about 15 miles distant. When we got to the LCBO, we noticed the sign that said that bottles could be returned at the gas station — on Friday and Saturday only, between the hours of 11:00 am and 3:00 pm! Can you credit such nonsense? The lady at the gas station said that we could get rid of our load by donating the bottles to the medical centre which is fund raising, but when Cuppa inquired there, they didn't know anything about it.

The next step was to check with the guy at the general store about two miles form here. He said that we could take them to another gas station in another village in the opposite direction. When we got there, the truck was just loading empties, and we were able to unload our cargo.

We walked out of there with sixty dollars! That's how many bottles were lying around here — and we weren't even able to fit them all in the car today. We probably have ten dollars more to come. Guess what we're doing with the money?

 

Looking South

... from the cottage.

I had all but forgotten these photos until I made the previous post and realized that I already uploaded these photos in draft mode. These pictures were taken from just outside the side door. The door faces east, but I was looking south in these photos that were taken when the sun was lowering in the west.

I am not an expert on trees, but I think my BIL, who is very knowledgeable, has identified these as red pines. It makes sense, doesn't it, when you look at their colour in this photo? These are the same trees, or close enough, as the ones that you see the lower portions of in the above photo. The light was catching the upper reaches rather wonderfully.

 

A New Low

... about which to be happy.

This morning, after another good night's sleep (praise be), I arose before Cuppa, had some toast and cranked up the puter. At that point, it hit an all time low — a connection speed of only 16.8kps.

It's always slow out here in the hinterland, although we sometimes get all of the way up to 28.8kps — sometimes. So, I thought I'd be clever this morning and turn off images. That helped a bit ... until I was reading blogs and decided that I wanted to comment. The problem with that is that Blogger's verification codes are embedded images. Argh!

So, it all goes rather slowly. When I want to upload pictures, I just go off for a while and do something else ... as I will do shortly when I upload the photo that now appears below. I snapped the photo through the window yesterday afternoon. It looks west (obviously) toward he road. Across the road there is more Riverwood land, so aside from the road which you can't really see, everything in the photo is a small part of the almost 120 acres that constitute the property.

We once thought that we might build and live on the property that lies across the road, but that didn't work out. No doubt it's all for the best; I think we're better off where we are: in a small town, close to the kids, and near the amenities of a city. But I'm sure that we could have been very happy across the road, here in the boondocks, too.

That's what it is to be human, isn't it? To decide to be happy wherever you are. By that, I'm not naive enough to think that everyone can be happy for every minute. I'm certainly not. It's about having a prevailing attiude towards life. Most people in most circumstances can make the choice to gracefully accept and appreciate their lot (note the 'mosts'). Nothing less makes any sense to me.

 

Artist at Work

I mentioned in my previous post that Cuppa was painting by the window.

She probably wouldn't call this art; she would call watercolour on proper paper without a traceable template art. But me, I'm super impressed by any talent like this. And that's what it is — talent.

In case you're wondering, it's a fancy schmanzy doorstop for our patio doors.

 

Out of the Woods

We haven't got out yet today. I slept in and had rather a good night of sleep, which is rather a treat for me. Cuppa is doing some painting by the window, and I am fighting with this slow internet connection.

Last night, at 5:30, I woke up for a while, and the full moon was shining right in the middle of our bedroom window. I thought of waking Cuppa but decided not to. When I told her this morning, she wished that I had. It's hard to know sometimes.

We didn't get out for our walk until mid afternoon yesterday, and by then it was quite overcast, so I didn't take my camera. The two of the old buildings that I have posted here are from the previous day when we were emerging from the South Woods. In the first, we were still in the edges of the forest, and, in the second, we had just emerged.

 

Our First Snowshoe Walk

... this time

On our first full day here, today, we also went for our first snowshoe walk. We just went out once, and only for about an hour. That was enough for the first walk. Hopefully, we'll soon be able to go about for longer or more often or both.

There's probably about a foot and a half of snow cover, but most of it is quite crusty with only an inch or two of light, powdery snow over top. Our snowshoes didn't break through the hard under-snow at all, but I imagine that without snowshoes we'd have been breaking through all of the time.

We walked down to the little river and then began to walk up a rise of land, and that when I took the above photo. The structure is an old planer mill from when they used to do some logging on the property. It's empty now, but my BIL is fitting it for screens so that it will become a nice, relatively bug free spot in summer.

Then we walked along the path into the south woods. This property doesn't go very far in that direction, and we soon found ourselves trespassing on the neighbours' land. That's where I took the second photo of a tumbledown shack. When we got close there was a freezer visible through the doorway and an oven through the window. (The neighbours don't get there very often, and when they do, they can only access it from this property. I don't think they were up at all last year.)

Given the subject matter, I decided that this photo should be black and white, which isn't much of a stretch in winter when that's pretty well how this part of the world looks anyway: the trees are dark and virtually colourless, and the snow ... well, it's white. If the sky isn't clear and blue, there's simply not much winter colour in the woods.

 

Here At Last

As you can see from the photo, there is snow here: here at the cottage which we finally managed to get to after waiting for a month. You may or may not recall that everytime that we thought to make the trip, it would either rain or drizzle freezing rain. Last week, we decided that we would drive here this week no matter what. As it turns out, the weather has changed, and we are to receive more typical temperatures for the foreseeable future.

You may also recall that we like to get out and snowshoe while we are here, and that certainly didn't seem likely for much of the trip here. There wasn't much snow lying on the ground for the greater part of the journey. This worried us, but although it is terribly distant from those snowless roads (only about a half hour north), the cottage seems to lie in a slightly different climatic zone. Sure enough, the closer we got, the more the snow was visible, and as we got quite close, we could even see it clinging to the branches from a recent snowfall. Here at the place that we call Riverwood, and as you can see in the picture, there is certainly enough snow cover to content us. As an added bonus, it was even snowing lightly this morning.

I took the two pictures yesterday after we had unpacked and cleansed the place when the sun was low and casting a rather fetching light. However, by the time I donned my outdoor winter garb and got the camera ready, the light was no longer quite as becoming, but I took some pictures regardless. The second photo, below, looks back along the driveway toward the gate by the road. I have taken many iterations of these two pictures, and I suppose that I shall take many more in future years.

Oh, and I must gloat over our sighting from the window last night. We see all sorts of tracks around here, but we seldom see animal life, and I understand that bobcat sightings are extremely rare, but that's what we saw — a bobcat! He was crossing the driveway from right to left and was almost exactly on the spot where I stood to take the picture (below). The cat obviously heard Cuppa calling me to the window because he turned and looked at us before trotting along the driveway toward the gate, prudently moving away from humans but not in undue panic, or so it seemed. I don't know how else to describe the gait other than trot, but it seemed somewhat different than how I usually see normal cats move. In any event, it was a brief but enjoyable sighting.

 

Up Late Reading

... and being distracted by the hairs on my ears

Part One: The Book

It's been a while since I last did it — stay up half the night reading. I was up until four the other night finishing Elizabeth George's With No One As Witness. Just before midnight I realized that I was in trouble. With only 200 or so pages to go, I figured that if I were to keep reading I would soon be inexorably hooked and would necessarily be up until all hours needing to finish it. Since I wasn't yet terribly tried and ready to pack in it for the night, I opted to keep plodding, and, of course, that led to a long night.

At around 1:30 in the wee hours, I found myself with only 100 pages or so left. Should I keep going or not? Well, at that point, it really wasn't much of a question. So it was that it wasn't until several hours later that I was sufficiently sated to haul my bod into bed.

George authors the Inspector Lynley mystery series. She's an American who writes British-based mysteries, and she writes them very well. She has the ability to draw the reader into the minds and emotions of the characters. There are some good writers who are unable to do this, and it's this ability that sets George apart from most to make for some very fine reads.

When I read the reviews at Amazon, I see that reviewers have generally divided themselves into two disparate camps. They either loved or hated this book. Those who didn't appreciate it seemed to be disillusioned by about some of the unexpected plot developments. Others thought this may have been her best work yet, or the best for a long time. I fall into the latter camp. I found it riveting, the unexpected plot developments utterly captivating.

 

Part 2: The Ears

So what's up with the ear thing? I don't know why, but I fidget with my ears when I'm reading. I probably wouldn't do this if they weren't hairy, but they are ... hairy, I mean.

Somewhere around my fortieth birthday, when most of my top hair was gone, the creator added insult to injury compensated me by gifting me with ear hair. I am given to understand that I am not alone in this, that it happens to many middle-age men, but I'm not totally sure because, quite frankly, it's not exactly what guys talk about. Can you seriously imagine guys drinking beer, munching pizza, watching football and discussing ear hair?

I attend fairly vigilantly to these annoying little earmcthingies. When I'm reading and discover one of these blighters lurking on the outer curve of my ear, I will attempt to uproot him with my fingernails, and/or I will get up every now and then to find Cuppa's tweezers and really take care of the interlopers. Sometimes I go as far as to shave my ears, and every now and then, when I really am exasperated, I ask Cuppa to do a very through tweezing.

To add further insult, the Creator has also caused hairs to grow inside my nose. Ungrateful wretch that I am, this displeases me even further. I mean, really now, nose hair brings absolutely no comfort for the stereotypically bald man. "Oh yeah, tease me about my baldness, but have a look up my nose. Hah!" As if.

I can't be the only one experiencing this silliness. You see, I have purchased a mass-manufactured nose trimmer. It's not exactly like the one in the photo but close enough. Can you believe it? All sorts of men are out there buying all sorts of varieties of nose trimmers. I know that it sounds silly, but believe you me, one simply doesn't want to use tweezers on nose hair. It smarts. I know.

 

A Better Day

After those glitches on Monday (see previous entry), Tuesday turned out to be a much better day. We had a little wet snow in the morning and went out to complete a few errands. Of course, this necessitated a stop at Tim's to order our usual combination of hot chocolate and coffee; we took it to the river and gazed upon the view that you see in the above photo. It was a cloudy and subdued day but rather fetching in its own right,espeically with the reflection that is visible in the photo. The old log house in the bottom photo was directly behind us as we gazed upon the river.