An inquisitive old fart with a camera
The other day I went towards Montevideo and saw two cars I’ve never seen before, despite driving by them dozens of times on the highway.
At least I assume I have, since they don’t look like they were put there recently.
Then this gem. The traffic cone (or a plastic bottle) on the roof means it’s for sale. I was tempted not at all to ask the price they’re asking, but I’m sure it’s ridiculous.
This is the stump of a pine tree that was recently logged (without permission I expect), and is typical of the wood used to build the house I documented yesterday. I added my foot for scale. My shoe is about 12″/30 cm long, so this is a big tree. But: less than 20 years old.
It was one of a small grove of attractive trees, and we were sorry to see it sacrificed for a few board-feet of shitty lumber, Probably 7-8 meters of the trunk was hauled off; the top and all the smaller branches and needles left behind to rot — and fuel the next wildfire.
Perhaps we should make it a project to bend young trees so they grow crooked, with no commercial value to lumberyards?
Lo barato sale caro. As with most sayings, that can be stated more succinctly in English: false economy.
Construction of this house (not including the slab it sits on) started less than a month ago. Everything about it is about the worst quality imaginable. It’s not even finished, and already it is beginning to look uninhabitable.
But it’s “affordable,” no doubt. For now.
On the dog walk yesterday.
It rained last night. A lot.
When I first started dog walking with Syd, he told me this area would fill with water in the winter. I found it hard to believe in the middle of the summer!
The sky this morning, Atlántida.
We’re a few weeks away from the winter solstice. Happily, the short days have been mostly sunny. And because the sun is lower in the sky, we see reflections from the kitchen sink and faucet that don’t occur at other times of the year.
If I told you I took this photo in the morning, and you had spent any time in Uruguay, you would know what day of the week it was.
When I was growing up, my parents had a philodendron plant in their living room. I was used to seeing it there even as I watched snow piling up outside. It still strikes me as curious when I see one like this, growing on the the side of the road. When we get a frost (always gone with the morning sun) in a month or so, I might wander down there in the morning to see if it has any on it.
Strange cloud this morning, Atlántida.