#chewink

[evuyrvbftlgf8q]

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[na-bird-of-the-day]

BOTD: Eastern Towhee

Photo: Frank Izaguirre

"Sometimes secretive but often common, this bird may be noticed first by the sound of industrious scratching in the leaf-litter under dense thickets. In the nesting season, males become bolder, singing from high perches. In some areas this bird is commonly known as 'Chewink,' after the sound of its callnote. In parts of the Southeast and Florida, the towhees have white eyes."

- Audubon Field Guide

[mumblelard]

chewink or i want to see the savannah bananas and the fitzgerald chicken and eat ribs from a parking lot smoker and i want to fall asleep on a quilt spread out under a live oak after a picnic with a girl in a sundress

[dibley-yacht-design]

Lyman-Morse LM46 makes Cover of Cruising World, Jan/Feb '23

Lyman-Morse LM46 makes cover of Cruising World, Jan/Feb '23.

In ideal conditions on Chesapeake Bay, a taut fleet of 17 contestants vied for top honors in the 2023 edition of Cruising World’s annual Boat of the Year competition. When the spray had settled, at the top of the leader board was a pair of yachts destined for blue water and beyond: the Lyman-Morse LM46, the Domestic Boat of the Year, and the Hallberg-Rassy 400, the Import Boat of the Year. 

Read more about the Lyman-Morse 46

DOMESTIC BOAT OF THE YEAR 

“Cold-molded construction, top- notch systems, a powerful sail plan and an interior that is practical and lovely at once. Wow! The LM46 is a heck of a boat. Purpose- built for an experienced owner, for sure, but in terms of a pure sailing machine, the 46 was the standout boat in this year’s lineup of new 

models.” —Mark Pillsbury 

WINNER

Lyman-Morse 46

LM46

Drew Lyman, president of Lyman-Morse Boatbuilding Company—the estimable midcoast Maine semicustom builder—knows a thing or two about cruising boats. After all, his father, Cabot, founded the firm in the late 1970s, and several years later, circumnavigated with his family on a Sparkman & Stephens-designed Sequin 49 produced in his yard called Chewink, with Drew aboard for significant legs of the journey. When Drew required a boat for a similar rite of passage with his own family, at first he was drawn to the notion of a cruising catamaran. But when push came to shove, he decided to move forward with a monohull.

That yacht is the Lyman-Morse LM46, a striking performance cruiser from New Zealander naval architect Kevin Dibley, who created a light, fast sailboat that’s both strong and sleek. Lyman added his own personal touches, including many features that he borrowed from legendary skipper Stan Honey, whose Cal 40 took overall honors in this past summer’s Newport Bermuda Race after a refit at—where else?—Lyman-Morse.

Our judging panel was thunderstruck by both the formidable sailing prowess and the exacting level of execution, and unanimously awarded it the title of Domestic Boat of the Year.

Read more about the Lyman-Morse 46

[writer59january13]

Stranded in bittercold without food or drink...

Though the following

twittering scenario quite absurd, methought diehard adherents of mine

(intimation also quite far-fetched),

some unnamed readers insomnia nevertheless could benefit courtesy

a thought provoking tweet

east of Eden heard.

Dire straits necessitated yours truly to be atypical and think outside the box (literally outdoors of squarish structured nested dwelling), where blinding albedo effect forced me to blink, additionally also ruffled tail feathers of this sole surviving male bobolink (North American songbird, Dolichonyx oryzivorus)

pushing survival species to extinction brink, thus series of unfortunate events woke resident chewink (North American bird, Pipilo erythrophthalmus also called: towhee or ground-robin), tweeted from within his cozy armoire chink

polar vortex froze habitat, whereby arctic wind found brushy areas to clink unwittingly brambles ferocious waving circular rotation wrought minuscule countersink eh, no bigger than a cufflink his ornate bejeweled complex edifice compliments of sizable income allowed, enabled, and provided

opportunity in tandem with significant other to create acronym named DINK (dual income no kid) acquiring handsome combined income rendering and selling stylized goldfinch also known as distelfink common motif in hex signs and fraktur, which interpretive native folk art

eye state meaningless without rhyme nor reason, superfluous gibberish by George, and/or...well... courtesy following purposeless gobbledygook defying poetaster to incorporate doublethink intelligently nsync with downlink playfully, jauntily, and deliberately creating confounding badinage eye wink at thee, no doubt many

an anonymous innocent reader calling me rat fink (Ed “Big Daddy” Roth's child) under their breath or more colorful brutal appellation inducing cheeks of unknown followers turning fifty plus shades of firepink moost definitely concurring gink perfectly apropos description concluded individually versus

collectively, quickly, and unanimously i.e. (think) groupthink I approve this entire message, which most likely tinders pet peeve, concluding GoDaddy

go tell Aunt Rhody

yours wittily, truly,

quirkily, nervously, jokingly

attempted to hoodwink.

[chewriting]

Because for some reason I can't link it in my bio, maybe check my whole fics on Ao3 at CHEwink

[official-darkforest]

Greystripe: Not you too, leave me alone I can handle myself. Princess: Greypaws, I just want to make sure you- wait, too? Who else does know about you and Silverstream. Greystripe: Your brother, he bothers me in my dreams constantly about how I break the warriors code, and now you're chewink my ear off too.

YEHAGEHAG

[wordstofeedworms]

A Few of the Bird Family

THE Old Bob-white, and chip bird,

    The Flicker, and chewink,

And little hopity-skip bird

    Along the river-bank.

The Blackbird, and Snowbird,

    The Chicken-hawk, and Crane;

The glossy old black Crow-bird,

    And Buzzard down the lane.

The Yellowbird, and Redbird,

    The Tomtit, and the Cat;

The Thrush, and that Redhead-bird

    The rest’s all pickin’ at!

The Jay-bird, and the Bluebird,

    The Sapsuck, and the Wren--

The Cockadoodle-doo-bird,

    And our old sittin’-hen!

___J.W.R.

[sakata-hazumu]

わけわけタブレットケース CHEWINK https://www.instagram.com/tv/CM8ms_lpuX0/?utm_source=ig_web_copy_link

[gaycocksmodels64]

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[jshoulson]

Today’s Poem

Blueberries --Robert Frost

"You ought to have seen what I saw on my way To the village, through Mortenson's pasture to-day: Blueberries as big as the end of your thumb, Real sky-blue, and heavy, and ready to drum In the cavernous pail of the first one to come! And all ripe together, not some of them green And some of them ripe! You ought to have seen!"

"I don't know what part of the pasture you mean."

"You know where they cut off the woods—let me see— It was two years ago—or no!—can it be No longer than that?—and the following fall The fire ran and burned it all up but the wall."

"Why, there hasn't been time for the bushes to grow. That's always the way with the blueberries, though: There may not have been the ghost of a sign Of them anywhere under the shade of the pine, But get the pine out of the way, you may burn The pasture all over until not a fern Or grass-blade is left, not to mention a stick, And presto, they're up all around you as thick And hard to explain as a conjuror's trick."

"It must be on charcoal they fatten their fruit. I taste in them sometimes the flavour of soot. And after all really they're ebony skinned: The blue's but a mist from the breath of the wind, A tarnish that goes at a touch of the hand, And less than the tan with which pickers are tanned."

"Does Mortenson know what he has, do you think?"

"He may and not care and so leave the chewink To gather them for him—you know what he is. He won't make the fact that they're rightfully his An excuse for keeping us other folk out."

"I wonder you didn't see Loren about."

"The best of it was that I did. Do you know, I was just getting through what the field had to show And over the wall and into the road, When who should come by, with a democrat-load Of all the young chattering Lorens alive, But Loren, the fatherly, out for a drive."

"He saw you, then? What did he do? Did he frown?"

"He just kept nodding his head up and down. You know how politely he always goes by. But he thought a big thought—I could tell by his eye— Which being expressed, might be this in effect: 'I have left those there berries, I shrewdly suspect, To ripen too long. I am greatly to blame.'"

"He's a thriftier person than some I could name."

"He seems to be thrifty; and hasn't he need, With the mouths of all those young Lorens to feed? He has brought them all up on wild berries, they say, Like birds. They store a great many away. They eat them the year round, and those they don't eat They sell in the store and buy shoes for their feet."

"Who cares what they say? It's a nice way to live, Just taking what Nature is willing to give, Not forcing her hand with harrow and plow."

"I wish you had seen his perpetual bow— And the air of the youngsters! Not one of them turned, And they looked so solemn-absurdly concerned."

"I wish I knew half what the flock of them know Of where all the berries and other things grow, Cranberries in bogs and raspberries on top Of the boulder-strewn mountain, and when they will crop. I met them one day and each had a flower Stuck into his berries as fresh as a shower; Some strange kind—they told me it hadn't a name."

"I've told you how once not long after we came, I almost provoked poor Loren to mirth By going to him of all people on earth To ask if he knew any fruit to be had For the picking. The rascal, he said he'd be glad To tell if he knew. But the year had been bad. There had been some berries—but those were all gone. He didn't say where they had been. He went on: 'I'm sure—I'm sure'—as polite as could be. He spoke to his wife in the door, 'Let me see, Mame, we don't know any good berrying place?' It was all he could do to keep a straight face.

"If he thinks all the fruit that grows wild is for him, He'll find he's mistaken. See here, for a whim, We'll pick in the Mortensons' pasture this year. We'll go in the morning, that is, if it's clear, And the sun shines out warm: the vines must be wet. It's so long since I picked I almost forget How we used to pick berries: we took one look round, Then sank out of sight like trolls underground, And saw nothing more of each other, or heard, Unless when you said I was keeping a bird Away from its nest, and I said it was you. 'Well, one of us is.' For complaining it flew Around and around us. And then for a while We picked, till I feared you had wandered a mile, And I thought I had lost you. I lifted a shout Too loud for the distance you were, it turned out, For when you made answer, your voice was as low As talking—you stood up beside me, you know."

"We sha'n't have the place to ourselves to enjoy— Not likely, when all the young Lorens deploy. They'll be there to-morrow, or even to-night. They won't be too friendly—they may be polite— To people they look on as having no right To pick where they're picking. But we won't complain. You ought to have seen how it looked in the rain, The fruit mixed with water in layers of leaves, Like two kinds of jewels, a vision for thieves."

[writer59january13]

Stranded courtesy bittercold without food or drink...

Dire straits necessitated

yours truly to bethink outside the box (literally outdoors of squarish structured nested dwelling), where blinding albedo effect forced me to blink, additionally also ruffled tail feathers of this sole surviving male bobolink (North American songbird, Dolichonyx oryzivorus) pushing survival species to extinction brink, thus series of unfortunate events woke resident chewink (North American bird, Pipilo erythrophthalmus also called: towhee or ground-robin), tweeted from within his cozy armoire chink polar vortex froze habitat, whereby arctic wind found brushy areas to clink unwittingly brambles ferocious waving circular rotation wrought minuscule countersink eh, no bigger than a cufflink his ornate bejeweled complex edifice compliments of sizable income allowed, enabled, and provided opportunity in tandem with significant other to create acronym named dink (dual income without kid) acquiring handsome combined income rendering and selling stylized goldfinch also known as distelfink common motif in hex signs and fraktur, which interpretive native folk art eye state meaningless without rhyme nor reason, superfluous gibberish by George, and/or...well... courtesy following more purposeless gobbledygook defying poetaster to incorporate doublethink intelligently nsync with downlink playfully, jauntily, and deliberately creating confounding badinage eyewink at thee, no doubt many an anonymous innocent reader calling me ratfink under their breath or more colorful brutal appellation inducing cheeks of unknown followers turning fifty plus shades of firepink moost definitely concurring gink perfectly apropos description concluded individually versus collectively, quickly, and unanimously i.e. (think) groupthink I approve this entire message, which most likely tinders pet peeve, concluding GoDaddy liberally did hoodwink.

[artscult-com]

Towhee or Chewink, Orchard Oriole, Californian Brown Towhee, Baltimore Oriole - high resolution image from old book.