Where the Blacktop Ends

After-dinner walks on the Canadian border look like this.

Robert Frost would dig this. The woods are indeed lovely, dark, and deep. And soon to fill with snow.

This particular road looks like this on either side for about five miles. 

Hello, bear? Are you there?*

This is why we bring our bear sensor (and bobcat, and coyote, and fox, and whatever else might be lurking in these woods).

Good dog, Mia.

We almost always hear a couple of barred owls nearby when we're on this road just before dusk. 

Here Jack is trying to repeat their call, which is pretty hilarious but doesn't really translate to a photo.

Eventually, everyone always finds a stick.

Of course.

And the peaceful walk degenerates into an attack on some defenseless vegetation.

My only request is that they each find their own patch to mutilate, so they don't accidentally/on purpose whack each other.

I've said it before, and I'll say it again and again: I can't imagine trying to live with these boys in a city. I guess our family was meant for life on the Canadian border.

* Not that a bear would get within ten miles of my shrieking hooligans. If noise is an effective bear deterrent, we will never see one.