The last of the mohicans

I’m reading the “Last of the Mohicans”. I’m reading it because Lucy Maud Montgomery read it and mentioned it in her journal. However, I checked it out 2 months ago and I am still on page 45. In the meantime, I finished reading “How the Garcia Girls Lost their Accents” and started and am over halfway through “The Mill on the Floss,” which is 550 massive, small-print pages. So you may infer from that what I think of “The last of the Mohicans.”

Is this book considered offensive towards American Indians? I’m going to do some digging into that.

In the meantime, though, the book is describing an utter wilderness of what is now upstate New York, way back in the 1700s. An untouched forest where you easily can lose your way in between two different forts: Fort Edward and Fort William Henry.

last of the mohican map
Fort Edward is at the bottom, and Fort William Henry is just over the tip of the screenshot (couldn’t fit)

Now look. That whole wild forest where the main characters got lost has just vanished. It’s kind of sad. Lucy Maud Montgomery writing about Prince Edward Island helped preserve nearly all the natural beauty there, it seems like; it’s sad Last of the Mohicans couldn’t do the same for this area. Maybe because the book really is bad.

Hummingbirds and butterflies

I saw a monarch butterfly happen upon our red roses a few weeks ago. And I have seen also a butterfly with glossy silky sapphire wings, and one with lemon-yellow wings.

And we have a hummingbird friend that comes at least once a day, or several times a day, to our red roses. I know he’s (or she’s) there because he always comes throttling with the hum of his madly flapping wings. They sound like a busy little engine, and flap so fast I see nothing but a flash and the hazy feathers of the body beyond, and a pointed beak suckling on a rose for an instant, then disappearing around the house in the next.

Right on cue as fall has come … the road through the forest is now scattered with yellow-green leaves … even though the green symphony in the trees remains strong and unblemished.

grass in North Carolina

It is almost noon and the grass is still wet with soft, shiny pearl-drops of dew, at least on the slope over which the shadow of the heavy forest had lingered till just a bit ago. The sun has already warmed that grass, but not enough to siphon off the dew. Walking through the warm, wet grass is delicious.