This was going to be a post about apples. Because the day started with a very special apple: the first (and so far only) apple that our little backyard Apple Tree that Could has managed to bring to fruition. After over a decade of looking like it would really rather just die and be done with things. But no, this summer, it actually managed to bud out three(!) little apple blossoms and enough viable leaves to crawl back from firewood doom, and by the time I headed south in June, it had this one, itty bitty little apple growing. Growing. Growing.

So this morning, in honor of the Rosh Hashanah tradition of apples and honey, Devon and I declared it ripe and had a little itty bitty apple harvest festival. Yay!

Consensus was that it would have done fine with a couple more weeks on the tree, but given what the squirrels had done to this year’s apricots, I wasn’t going to risk having to unleash the Wrath of Cohn on the entire order of Rodentia.

So we ate the apple. And then I hopped in our trusty Bonanza and aviated 736 miles north to the poor, neglected farm to try to catch up on some long overdue maintenance. Which included trying to rake up the half a bizillion apples that are literally (and alliteratively) littering the lane and yard. At least four different kinds of apples, probably more, most of which we have no idea what they are. I’m preserving as many as I can using a couple of borrowed food dryers, totally spoiling our tenant cows with others, and simply raking everything else off into the weeds where they won’t get stepped on. Apples apples apples. Everyfreakingwhere.

So the post was going to be about apples. But because this is also Port Townsend, the prior likelihood for improbability is improbably high. So it was relatively little surprise to find myself, a few hours later, surrounded by folks dancing in the street, some wearing plastic Viking helmets and foam armor, others wearing spandex and mud. You see, I’d stumbled into the end of the annual Port Townsend Kinetic Sculpture Race.

Now, the rules regarding the race are long and complex (No napping in the mud; In case of sun, the race will still be held; at least one teddy bear must be on the sculpture at all times; etc etc…). But the basic idea is that it’s a vehicular land-mud-sea triathlon where costume (and theme song/dance) appear to be just as important for final score as actually completing the course. And final score, frankly, is irrelevant.

Anyhow. So there I was, and it was hard to even think about apples anymore. Go figure. Ah, Port Townsend – stay weird, okay?

Oh: bonus pics: sunset, across the street from the finish line

And dusk from the farm, with a crescent moon imperceptible on the horizon