June 7, 1851
One of those gentle, straight-down rainy days, when the rain begins by spotting the cultivated fields as if shaken from a pepperbox; a fishing day, when I see one neighbor after another, having doned his oil-cloth suit, walking or riding past with a fish-pole, having struck work, -- a day and an employment to make philosophers of them all.
First of all, I love the imagery. Those first few drops, speckling the sidewalks and driveways (sorry, Henry, that's my world). And I love the fact that the pace of life is slow enough, and driven enough by the environment, that the farmers can drop their regular work to do a little fishing. (Still trying to be productive, I suppose, but...).
Because whatever it is, a pile of work or a pile of snow, we pride ourselves on our ability to just plow through it.
Wouldn't you like to be able to call an audible in your day like that?
[Thanks to Old Onliner, who shares this photo of the Rock River in Beloit, Wisconsin, with us through his Flickr feed.]
First of all, I love the imagery. Those first few drops, speckling the sidewalks and driveways (sorry, Henry, that's my world). And I love the fact that the pace of life is slow enough, and driven enough by the environment, that the farmers can drop their regular work to do a little fishing. (Still trying to be productive, I suppose, but...).
Because whatever it is, a pile of work or a pile of snow, we pride ourselves on our ability to just plow through it.
Wouldn't you like to be able to call an audible in your day like that?
[Thanks to Old Onliner, who shares this photo of the Rock River in Beloit, Wisconsin, with us through his Flickr feed.]
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