"It is a rainy day Sunday..." The pool has disappeared as the river rushes by. I threw out 60 mm (2 1/2 inches) this morning and more has fallen since.
Down at the river on Whipstock Farm... campfire time tonight.
The fountain at the courtyard of The Talking Bull Cafe.
End of summer flow out of the mountains into the big dam. It is May and the first winter rains have not yet started. But the firewood is ready. And I am ready to make fires
in the fireplace inside Hillside, my home on the hill.
The apples after being thru the grinder, are placed in the basket press to get the juice from the pieces. Lots of work but it is fun to do.
The apple juice is running as a golden liquid and the old basket press is working overtime. That is the grinder standing just to the right.
Mountain water stream at the campsites. There are more sites down the river gorge including a group function site for about 20 plus people in eight sites. There is a river with wading pools, a rock cliffside wall for climbing and large sheltering trees.This video is of the sites up at the big dam not the sites down the river gorge.
Look at the size of this tree down the river gorge at Whipstock It towers into the heavens.
Some of the giant trees down the river gorge at Whipstock
The old longcase clock in the guest lounge at Whipstock was made in 1789, the year of the French Revolution. It still keeps good time and tick tocks away marking life's precious moments and chiming the hours and marking the dates. Take a look at the wonderful engravings on the brass face: a man wearing ice skates of the time with funny upturned points like one of those strangely garbed Greek soldiers of old; flowers and swirls and then at the top the Griffin marking the twelve. I much prefer the sounds of an old clock to the modern, silent, electronic ones of today.
Is this Tuscany in Italy; is this somewhere in the south of France? No this is the view from Whipstock Farm.
Afternoon African thunderstorm now at Whipstock Farm. Love the cooling rain after a warm day. The clouds earlier were a drama in themselves.
The sounds of Whipstock Farm.