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It has been one of those weeks. Writer’s block is the least of what is going on in my life. I went back through old MOTs to try and find some inspiration, but not much there I want to repeat or redo.
We did have a huge red oak tree cut down. It was leaning over the neighbor’s house, dangerously so. Adding to the risk, because the tree had died, there were several large limbs over her back yard and carport. Each of those leafless limbs must have weighed several hundred pounds. In tree cutter parlance, those are called “widowmakers.” There have been at least a couple of people killed by falling tree limbs in our state already this year. Heavy limbs can, and do, create new widows every year.
As I watched that old tree being dismantled by the woodcutters, I reflected on what that tree must have seen over its lifespan. It was about 200 years old. It saw the Civil War fought along the trails near here. It was alive for the beginning of the industrial age in America. It saw many trains pass on the East Tennessee & Western North Carolina (ET&WNC, or more affectionately known as the Tweetsie) narrow gauge railroad tracks only 150 feet away. It saw two world wars, and the Great Depression. It saw some of our greatest statesmen and some of the worst. That big red oak tree survived it all until a random lighting strike took life from it.
Yet, that wood remains a valuable commodity, waiting to be reused, or simply to decay and become home to other life forms: beetles, worms, fungus, and finally plants growing as it breaks down into nutrients for the waiting soil. It may end up heating homes on cold winter nights. A truly reusable energy source that came from absorbing two centuries of sunlight. When it was alive, it provided cooling shade for warm summer days. In the fall, acorns fed squirrels and deer. Perhaps the native people who were here before us, gathered those acorns for food. That tree gave life, as it will continue to do after its death.
We all must come to an end sometime. That is the lesson of an ancient red oak.
In other news, we have been following Geldingadalir, the volcano in Iceland. Some of the best views have been by drone.
One of our favorite drone videographers is Traveller in the Whole World. Fantastic views of the volcano set to music. This is his latest drone view of Geldingadalir, an almost meditative experience:
That gave me an idea for more MOT goodness.
Drones are fascinating. Up until a few years ago, drone flying was the wild west. That is, until the FAA got involved. Now, any remote controlled airplane weighing more than a half pound (8 ounces, or 227 grams) must be registered and licensed. Drone pilots who fly commercially must take and pass a formal FAA drone pilot test. Violations of the Federal Air Regulations for remotely controlled aircraft carry draconian penalties. Other countries have adopted similar regulations. However, as long as the drone is flown legally, there won’t be any problems, and drone pilots have a lot of fun. Drone racing is one of the new fun things. There are formally designed obstacle courses, but some competitors have race courses set up in the countryside with naturally occurring obstacles.
This drone racing video was made in France. The video shows three friends running high energy racing drones around a closed course in the woods. Set to music.
That music, so appropriate for racing, is Run Boy Run, by Woodkid. For those who might be interested in the original Woodkid music video of that song, here it is:
I think everyone will admit, this is a rather strange video. To me, it is somewhat reminiscent of Fritz Lang’s 1927 dystopian epic Metropolis.
Wednesday Lagniappe:
One of the most powerful blues songs ever written. The Sky is Crying was written by Elmore James in 1959.
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