Fly

Grass. The beginning and the end. This large Black Boar is a rare breed originally from Southern England. They are allegedly docile but this big porker’s tusks and punctured ear (from fighting) aren’t reassuring. We’ll call him the Pope of Fort Steele.
I am a dog guy but this little black cat won me over. I love this photo and had to share it.

This once mighty great white hunter (I was a classic legend in my own mind) has learned to respect and admire all of god’s creatures, great and small. Photos in this blog are often proof of that. I often conjecture that humans are clearly the only obviously alien life form on this planet. We don’t fit and can’t even get along with each other. I argue that even the lowliest creature we know has a place and a function which, even though we may not understand, ties it into all the other species which we have not yet rendered extinct. But then there is this one goddamned tiny housefly which is driving me crazy.

I’ve reasoned that because the average housefly lives only twenty-eight days this particular vexatious wee monster must, in fact, be several. But I’ve come to see it is a one-of-a-kind and I also think I’ve trained it to be annoying. It lights on my skin, then buzzes off in a second to land somewhere else. Every time I smack at it, the little bugger buzzes away and lands somewhere else. It knows. It flits in front of the computer monitor, daring me to take a whack at that and delights on landing on my knees. They’re both arthritic and I have a job right now that involves constant kneeling so those old hinges are especially painful. The last thing they need is an angry blow. It bloody hurts!

What sort of sound do flies make when they laugh? It is only here in the sticky warm evenings, never in the mornings and goes home as soon as I go to bed. I’m counting down from twenty-eight and look forward to finding it with its six little legs in the air on the middle of my table. Now that I’ve reduced myself to blogging about a single housefly I’ll post the rest of those Fort Steele photos.

Just ‘cause you got the monkey off your back doesn’t mean the circus has left town.” George Carlin

“Hurry up, you don’t want to miss the school wagon.” I wonder when the ubiquitous school bus yellow first appeared.
Ft Steele arose in the midst of rich placer mining. This large number of old mining carts is evidence there was also some serious underground mining in the area.
No permits, no foundations, still able to provide shelter after a century.
More shelter. No transgender outhouses back then.
Well, yeah mebbe we can git ‘er goin’ agin. Come back on Tuesday.
There is a sense that the town is still alive.
What’s a WIFI?
One of three hotels in town. One has been refurbished and is again letting rooms.
The entire town was virtually levelled in a fire in 1906. This is the front of the town’s original bakery and the evidence is clear that it survived, barely. Now left to crumble at nature’s whim, the old stone ovens in the back are visible.
A marriage of wits, steel and wood. This wheel was moved from a nearby mine where it once ran underground pumps.
The southern approach. I could live there.
As the business grew, so did the house. It would be a full time job keeping all those chimneys smoking.
Images of this water wheel are used to identify all things Fort Steele.
The REAL thing. This fir floor will outlast vinyl laminate flooring without doubt.
I am not comfortable around churches but I’m a sucker for beautiful windows.
An eastern view to a steaming tree. Very biblical.
The latest in fire suppression. That’s it! A huge wood stove sat in the far end of the church.
This old house.
No microwave oven, no ice-maker, no big screen TV but the food was good. I can almost smell venison stew and baking bread.
After the day’s work was done, you could sew your kids some new clothes. What’s a Walmart?
What a piece of cabinetry to have in a clapboard house.
What they had…and where they went!
A big step up.
What skills we’ve lost.
The stone and the rope.
The center of town. When everything was real horsepower.
Y’all come back now.
Another dimension of the good old days. Always a wonderful thing to see and hear, this beautiful locomotive is only ninety-eight years old. It cam from Vancouver Island as a donation from the MacMillan Bloedel Company
A vision from my childhood. Yes I’m that old.
A horse’s regard for technology.
Granite cumulus. After the rain, heading for Forte Steele. It was a good day.
Up the Kootenay River where the paddle wheelers used to go.


Author: Fred Bailey

Fred is a slightly-past middle age sailor /, writer / photographer with plenty of eclectic hands-on skills and experiences. Some would describe him as the old hippy who doesn't know the war is over. He is certainly reluctant to grow up and readily admits to being the eternal dreamer. He has written several books including two novels, 'The Keeper' and 'Storm Ecstasy,' as well as 'The Water Rushing By', 'Sins Of The Fathers', 'The Magic Stick', as well as an extensive inventory of poetry, essays, short stories, anecdotes and photographs. His first passion is the ocean, sailboats, voyaging and all those people who are similarly drawn to the sea. He lived aboard and extensively cruised the BC Coast on 'Seafire' the boat he refitted to go voyaging, to explore new horizons both inner and outer. This blog was about that journey and the preparations for it. Circumstances prevailed which forced the sale of his beloved vessel. Now on a different tack, the voyage continues. If you follow this blog your interest may provide some of the energy that helps fuel the journey. Namaste Contact me at svpaxboat@gmail.com

6 thoughts on “Fly”

  1. I love the old things, and the greater quiet of them. It sometimes seems that progress has made us deaf to each other. On the other hand, I’ve used a (holdover) washboard, a bath-/wash tub clothes plunger, an electric wringer washer AND the one before electric — I truly appreciate SOME progress, lol!
    Lovely photos, here, too — and here’s hoping the fly is gone by tonight!

  2. Love your eye for great pictures. Nice trip back when life was simple and the only scary thing is that I remember when it was the latest in upscale lifestyle. .

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