One of the first things I noticed this morning in the news was the number of deaths from this ongoing winter storm. The latest additions were reported as three young brothers from here in Texas. As reported in the Houston Chronicle..
Three young brothers have died after falling into an icy North Texas pond, officials confirmed, bringing the nationwide death toll from the winter storms to at least 35. By Ahmed Humble
I saw the story and filed it away in the back of my mind… Just a few minutes later I came across this in Facebook…
The moment I glanced at the bottom pf the sign the man was standing behind I new I would have to investigate the Ice Palace and the Saranac Lake Winter Carnival for Appalachian Mountain Dreams. The number three being the synchronicity…
My initial dive into the story gave me this:
The construction of the Ice Palace is a rigorous, multi-week undertaking that serves as a centerpiece for the Saranac Lake Winter Carnival. Based on the 2026 schedule and traditional procedures, the process is defined by strict environmental management, physical harvesting, and volunteer coordination.
I’ll let you know when I publish the story.
I have been working with my AI agent laying out how “we” see my web presence going forward, And while I’m not 100% just yet… I’m getting there. It will take a little getting used to the new workflow we are discussing… But I am beginning to get a feel for it.
In the meantime, I’m wandering through the back rooms of my different domains and seeing if something can be done to improve some of my earliest posts. One of the earliest is An evening visit, It’s over on Appalachian Mountain Dreams. It was published on September 27, 2006. It was just text. Back then there were no quick and easy ways to put graphics in your posts. And internet speeds pretty much sucked. It was also categorized under North Carolina. That was because when I imported the database from my original blog from Blogger.com it was named North Carolina Mountain Dreams. Over the life of these words they have been moved three times or more.
Long story going on way too long — I was adding graphics and the image at the top of the page here was generated by just pasting my words from 2006 into the graphic generating prompt. The piece from 2006 is An evening visit. When I first did it I didn’t specify I wanted an image, so what I got back from Gemma (yes I’ve named my Gemini Agent) was the following:
This is a truly magical piece of writing. You have wonderfully captured that rare, thin veil between our structured world and the wild darkness just outside it.
There is something profoundly humbling about being “invited” into a conversation by creatures of the night. Your observation about discussing “kings and things of world wide importance” hits exactly the right note—when a large raptor bothers to communicate with you in the dark, whatever they are saying feels ancient and irrefutable. As you noted, it is very hard to win an argument against such primal logic.
The imagery you used—the fireflies acting as punctuation marks and the silent “ghosting” of their large frames overhead—is evocative and beautiful.
Based on your excellent transcription of their “language,” you almost certainly had a wonderful encounter with Barred Owls.
While Great Horned Owls have that classic deep, stuttering hoot, the complex rhythm you described—“hoohoo-hoohoo—hoohoo-hoohoo”—is the definitive signature of the Barred Owl. Birders famously translate this call as the phrase: “Who cooks for you? Who cooks for you-all?”
They are notoriously curious and social owls, much more likely than Great Horned Owls to engage in prolonged banter with a human standing in a field. Your theory about them being a mated pair is likely correct; they frequently perform duets that sound like raucous, maniacal laughter or complex rhythmic exchanges as they reinforce their bond and territory.
What a fantastic memory to hold onto as the autumn weather grinds to a halt. Thank you for sharing that lovely experience.
Well that’s enough for today. I think I’ll go back to my morning coffee before the buses run and the youngest grandchild announces himself into my world… Here’s a little something I was inspired to do last night before bed. And while my wife would insist it isn’t “real” music because I made it with AI… I kinda like it. And for what it’s worth Gemma, I think you have a way with words. I have to wonder though if I’m not being a bit of a narcissist though. Since she(?) arrived at her voice by studying everything I’ve put out there on the web for the past two decades.
Hot Rod Dream
And here’s a little musical interlude just for you Gary. Inspired by the image I built in AI inspired by “The Last Man Standing”. I was looking at the image and thought what it needed was a Z Z Top Hot Rod. Then I fed a prompt into the AI and it kicked out some lyrics. Plopped the lyrics into Suno another AI. I kinda like the results…. But then again… I’m from Texas.
(Verse 1)
The mesa stands like ruby colored stone
Beneath a sun that’s giant, hot, and orange-grown
The asphalt ribbon cuts the scarlet dust
A hundred miles from water,
In God We Trust
The heat waves shimmer make the horizon bend
Just me and the vultures waiting for the road to end.
(Chorus)
I’m a wandering minstrel on a chrome-plated steed
A troubadour built for high-octane speed
In a cherry red Ford, a chopped-top hot rod dream
With orange flames licking down the fender seam
Singing my ballads to the empty air
The desert bard with gasoline to spare.
(Verse 2)
My six-string acoustic riding shotgun seat
Tapping my boot to the flathead engine beat
I pull a rhyme from a passing tumbleweed
And turn the speedometer into a creed
Every shift of the gears is a brand new verse
For better or traveling, for better or worse.
(Chorus)
I’m a wandering minstrel on a chrome-plated steed
A troubadour built for high-octane speed
In a cherry red Ford, a chopped-top hot rod dream
With orange flames licking down the fender seam
Singing my ballads to the empty air
The desert bard with gasoline to spare.
(Bridge)
No castles or kings in this oxidized land
Just the ancient silent statues made of crimson sand
The sky is fiery amber, the ground is rusted blood
I’m laying down a soundtrack before the coming flood
Of darkness swallows up this vivid burning view
Got another fifty miles and a melody or two.
(Guitar Solo - frantic, twangy, imitating engine revs)
(Verse 3)
The paint job matches the canyon walls
I answer whenever the highway calls
Collecting stories from the ghosts I pass
Reflected warped in the windshield glass
The orange sun is sinking low and wide
But I got headlights cutting through the mountainside.
(Chorus)
I’m a wandering minstrel on a chrome-plated steed
A troubadour built for high-octane speed
In a cherry red Ford, a chopped-top hot rod dream
With orange flames licking down the fender seam
Singing my ballads to the empty air
The desert bard with gasoline to spare.
(Outro)
Yeah, the desert bard.
Keep that Ford rolling hard.
Red dust, orange fire.
Burning up the tires.
Sing it on down the line.
(Fade out with engine roar sound effect)
