My Own Backyard

Nipmuck Trail

2012-02-23T16:45:00.001-05:00

“Thensings my soul…….”

8:15 Sunday morning found meat Wolf Rock in Mansfield. I had hikedto this spot 2 weeks ago and now I approached it from the other direction on adifferent section of trail. I am reallyenjoying walking on this Nipmuck Trail which is part of the Blue Blaze TrailSystem in Connecticut. Since this is nota loop trail and I have no car spotters, I park my car and walk to a pre-determinedlocation and then walk back the way I came. This suits me fine because on the walk in, when I see all this greatstuff and I want to linger a bit, I know I’ll see it on the way back and I’mglad for the second chance to see a certain rock or stream or tree that hascaught my eye.

These trails are exactly the“roots and rocks” type of trail that I prefer with slight elevation gains andlosses although some are quite steep here and there. The section that I picked out is only 1.6miles to my destination and then back for a total of 3.2 miles, which is a bitshorter than the last section which totaled 4 miles. For my next hike I’ll drive to this sameparking area on Clover Mill Rd in Mansfield and I’ll pick up the trail, walkingnortheasterly rather than southwest. Theaccess to the various trail sections seem to be spaced out just right so thatone can pick up the trail easily enough from almost anywhere. My goal is to ultimately hike the entireNipmuck Trail, which, I actually will be hiking twice since I’m covering thesame ground area twice each time I hike! After I complete the Nipmuck I’ll most likely tackle the Shenipsic orthe Natchaug Trail. I have an awesometrail guide book put out by the Connecticut Forest & Park Association forthe Blue Blaze trail system in eastern Connecticut. It’s called the Connecticut Walk Book-Eastand they also put out one for the “West.” It actually is a loose leaf 3-ring binder which is great because you cantake out the sections that you want and bring them with you. I always make a copy of the section that I’mdoing (I make 2 copies and bring one with me so that the original stays niceand pristine in the book) and highlight it and mark it up in red pen too andthen leave it on the kitchen counter for Mike to refer to just in case I don’treturn at the specified time. He saysthat although he doesn’t look at it, that it is good to have so that all heneeds to do is to turn it over to the police if I don’t return in “a day or twoor three!!” Very funny!

Up at “The Rock,” I take mypack off and pull out my map to study it. I really don’t need a map but I like to look at it and I like to pretendthat I am on some huge long distance hike, like say; the AppalachianTrail. (Oh, please don’t get mestarted. The AT, 2175 miles, runs fromGeorgia to Maine and would take me 6 ½ months to hike. And my trail name will be Whispers. Oh!! Some day!) I rummage through mypack and pull out my breakfast along with a thermos of hot sweet tea and mywater bottle. It is only 30 degrees out and the sun feels good on myback. As I devour my peanut butter and jelly sandwich I look all around me,turning while standing in place, gawking at the simple beauty of this spot andtrying to memorize each rock and tree so that I might recall the images laterwhenever I please. I am at a summit ofsorts and there is a clear view of the horizon. Not a 360 degree view but more like 200 degrees. I can see the woods below where I hiked from2 weeks ago. I see fields and farmland. I am standing on a cliff and thelast 2/10’s of a mile were very steep from the direction I hiked to 2 weeksago. Today, to get to this same pointfrom the other direction the trail was more gradual. There is a huge bolder at the top, Wolf Rock,that looks as if it was strategically, if precariously, placed. But all logic and reason makes us ask why andhow! Actually, this bolder was draggedhere by a glacier, deposited in its’ place and left behind when the glacier receded. The guide book told me that! Very cool!

Although the view is stunningI am more interested in the immediate surroundings. The trail worn bare; the ledge, the rocks andthe trees. I realize that this may notsound like much of a view to some people but it really truly speaks to me and,once again, I am so happy to be here in my element.

Now that I have stoppedwalking I know that I may soon feel a chill and quickly pull on my polar techfleece jacket. If you go walking in 30 degree or lower temperatures (or even higher) and youstop for any length of time it is important that you bring another layer to puton when you stop. Put it on before youfeel a chill. Put it on as soon as youstop!

I have lingered here for about10 minutes and it is now time to head back.

The walk back always seemsshorter and I’m enjoying it all over again. Now, having built up enough body heat I stop to remove my outer fleecejacket and then stand still to look and to listen. The woods are very quiet and still. I strain my ears to hear any possible soundand I am glad that there is none. Thereare no cars that I can hear in the distance or sirens or anything. The only sound I can hear now is the ringingin my ears and the pounding of my heart. It is a bluebird day, class I, without a single cloud in the sky. My eyes are suddenly drawn to a slightmovement off a ways to my left and I turn just in time to see a very largechipmunk scurry into a rock wall. I haveseen no other living creatures all morning. The woods are mine!

As I continue on I would stopa few more times just to stand still and listen. Finally, I’m approaching a ridge. The down slope of this ridge was one of myfavorite spots this morning and I am happy to be here although now my hike isalmost over as I am about 5 minutes from the trail head. The trail here is made up of rocks. Some are like stepping stones that you mightsee in a stream while most of them are as big as the seat of a table chair andflat-ish on top which makes walking on them easier. These rocks are worn clean but just on eitherside of the trail the rocks are covered with a deep green lush moss. The blue blazes on the trees are faint atbest to non existent but it is not difficult to see where to walk. The trail rocks have a silvery shimmer and are lined on either sidewith the moss covered rocks looking much like a green carpet. I remember thinking on the walk in that theblazes weren’t marked all that well but that all I needed to do was to look atthe trail and the way would be obvious. Three quarters of the way down now I stopped yet again and turned to lookat the trail behind me. On the walk inthe sun hadn’t yet cleared the ridge but now, nearly 2 hours later, the sun washigh and filtering through the bare trees setting the moss covered rocks all aglow, shimmering and sparkling like emeralds.

“Then sings my soul.” This lovely church hymn pops into my head atthis sight and I’ve been singing it all week now.

I've posted the lyrics to How Great Thou Art below for your reading andsinging pleasure. Now if only I couldsing. If I were ever granted 3 wishes my3^rd wish would be that I could sing from the depths of my soul.

How Great Thou Art

Oh Lord my God
When I, in awesome wonder
Consider all the worlds
Thy hands have made
I see the stars
I hear the rolling thunder
Thy power throughout
The universe displayed

Then sings my soul
My Savior, God, to Thee
How great thou art
How great thou art

Thelast 2/10’s of a mile back to the trail head consisted of walking over a lovelyfoot bridge to cross a stream and walking past a few different stonewalls. There are stonewalls here in the middle ofthe woods. Nothing speaks to memore! It’s hard to imagine that thesewoods were once all fields and farm land!

I have posted some pics and video below although they really don't do it justice. You really would have to have to been there. So, get outside when you can and take it all in! I highly recommend it! I hope you enjoyed my post and my pics!

Rail Trail Re-visited on New Year's Day

2012-01-01T20:22:00.003-05:00

"The clearest way into the Universe is through a forest wilderness." ~ John Muir

I decided to start the NewYear off right and planned a short hike on the Hop River Rail Trail for NewYear’s Day! After some deliberation thenight before as to which section to do, I chose the Steeles Crossing to BoltonNotch section. This is just a very shortwalk really and is a “rails to trails” trail so of course it’s very flat, wideand well groomed. I did this sectionlast year and I was looking forward to my reward at the notch; climbing up tothe cliffs.

Here follows a very brief tripreport.

I arrived at the trailhead at7:00 AM. My car was the second one inthe lot and within seconds was followed by a third. It was 31 degrees and plenty bright despitethe fact that the sun had not officially risen. There were no clouds in the sky and I was glad that there was also nowind. I had layered properly on my upperbody, as well as my head and hands, so my core was warm enough but I had failedto wear an insulating layer on my legs. I knew I’d be ok if I kept up a brisk pace and I didn’t let this unfortunateoversight put a damper on my walk. I wasout on this trail that I love. There wasnowhere else on earth that I would rather have been at that moment. Nothing could be better.

I started the 2.1 miles to theNotch at a brisk pace. I was glad to bewalking west because I prefer to see the sunrise on the objects that it lightsup in the west as it rises in the east. It starts with an orange glow on the tips of the trees in the distanceand soon washes to yellow as the sun rises and creeps down the trunks of thetrees. I had 45 minutes to enjoy thisawakening of the day. I know I havementioned this in other posts but I’ll say it again; I prefer to walk in thewoods in autumn and winter (before the snows, although I enjoy the snow coveredwoods too) when the trees are bare and I can see deep into the woods. There is something about seeing the trees andthe forest floor that really speaks to me. It is all so peaceful and so I too feel at peace.

Approaching the tunnel at the Notchnow, the ice covered ledge rises high on either side of the trail. As I stop to look at the trail behind me I amcaptivated by the droplets on the rock and trees that have caught the rays ofthe sun just so and are sparkling like diamonds. I can’t see the sun because it is still lowand the ledge is high around me. I cantell that it is just over the top though and the rays are visible in the risingmist as the frost and ice turns to water and then vapor. The sight has an ethereal quality and I starefor a moment to commit it to memory. Iknow a picture won’t do it justice. I’mthankful that I stopped to look behind me. Sometimes it pays to know not only where we’re going but to also seewhere we’ve been.

I’ve written about thisstretch of trail before and so I’ll skip it now so as not to bore my readers totears. I’ll try to briefly conclude mytrip report.

I soon found my way up theside trail to the top of the cliffs at the Notch. I have posted a few pictures taken from myiphone that somewhat capture my view. Look in the background of the cliff pictures and see the “Y.” This is where Rte 6 & 44 split off to theright and route 384 begins here to the left. On the other side of this cliff the American flag is painted and you cansee it from route 384 heading east. Idid not get near the edge to verify this but I have seen it from thehighway. I also took a few pictures ofthe trail. As you approach the Notchthere is a significant increase in the number of birches which I have tried tocapture in one of the pictures.

Once I was up on the cliffs Itook my pack off and pulled out my water bottle. I drank about 16 oz. I also enjoyed a banana. It was still fairly cold and I knew I couldn’tlinger for too long as I didn’t want to risk getting a chill. I think that perhaps next time I will drivestraight to the trailhead right here at the Notch and climb this side trail tothe cliffs. I will spend my time up here,rather than walking on the trail, exploring these surroundings. There appear to be quite a lot of laurelbushes up here and some paths leading to; I don’t know where. I’d love to find out. It’s really a beautiful spot. I’ll bring my jetboil stove and make coffeenext time too.

For me, this was the perfectway to start my year. It was a total of4.5 miles including the side trail up to the cliffs. I was back to the car by 9:15 just as it wasstarting to warm up. I should also saythat I met 4 groups of people and a total of 4 dogs! I do enjoy meeting people on the trail and Iespecially love meeting their dogs!

Moonshadow & Meteor Showers

2011-12-17T20:50:00.003-05:00

“Now I’m being followed by amoonshadow….” ~Cat Stevens

Why do I always hydrate atnight? Actually, I keep myself prettywell hydrated all day so it shouldn’t come as any great surprise to me when Ineed to get up at 2 or 3 or 4 in the morning to, “water the porcelain,” as afriend of mine might say. I’m alwaysgrateful to be up though, as it gives me an opportunity to look out the window,to gaze outdoors which is where I really long to be.

Last night’s full moon rose at4:30PM and set at 7:03AM. The 2 slidersin the corner of my kitchen, facing east and north, allow for a great view ofit when it rises and this time of year, with the leaves off the trees, it is particularlypleasing to me to see the moon through the silhouetted trees. There is just something very appealing aboutit, something very calming. The barebranches of the trees against the sky and the moon high and bright in the skyare stunning by themselves but when the moon is still low and shinning throughthe trees, it’s just beautiful. It was an extremely clear night. I had to pull myself away from the kitchensliders when I realized I’d been standing there, just staring at the moonthrough the trees for more than a few minutes. Can’t stand there all night, after all. Would that I could though; would that I could!

So when I woke in the night,closer to morning actually at around 4:30 I think, I found myself again lookingoutside, staring out the bathroom window. My window faces NNE and the moon would have been in the west, gettinglow in the sky, 2 ½ hours before it would be dipping below the horizon. Although I couldn’t see the moon directly, itcast long magnificent shadows of the trees in my backyard. It was so bright out, yet the sky still darkwith twinkling stars. Objects outsidewere eerily illuminated as in some sort of surreal fairy tale or dream. The clear moonlit sky with the grass andstonewalls so brightly lit, really made the long shadows of the trees just jumpright out. Immediately upon lookingoutside at this spectacular sight, I said out loud to myself;“moonshadow!” And I have had this CatStevens song in my head ever since! Goodthing I like Cat Stevens. Gotta love theCat!

Now, a few days later, as Icontinue to write this post I am still “leaping and hopping on amoonshadow.” I much prefer this new tunethan the last one that I had stuck in my head!

I had forgotten to mentionthat there was a lunar eclipse on the night of the full moon. This would have been in the western sky in “thewee small hours of the morning” on Saturday 12/10. I had gotten my dates mixed up and thought itwas going to be the following night and so I missed it. My big sis in Seattle (ok, actually she livesin Ellensburg which is 90 minutes east of Seattle but really, doesn’t saying“sis in Seattle” just sound better?! Sorry Bon!) said that we in the northeast wouldn’t have been able to seeit anyway. And when I talked to my sonin Cambridge, who studied Astrophysics and has a master’s degree in physics, hesaid, “what eclipse?” Apparently thislunar eclipse wasn’t such a big deal but I still sure would like to have seenit. I saw one last year which was prettycool. The moon doesn’t disappear in theearth’s shadow but rather, it turns this pale orange color which is really spookyto see and so out of place when the moon is up high in the sky. When the moon is low and rising it oftenappears orange which is what you’d expect, though. Lunar eclipses aren’t that rare and of coursethere is the famous eclipse on the night the Red Sox won the World Series in2004. I guess that’s what the Soxneeded; the sun and earth and moon to align just right in order for them to winand break the curse of the Bambino. Doneand done!

This brings to mind the solareclipse I saw with my family in 1972. Itwas in the summer and I was 15. Wetraveled alot in the summers because my Dad was a teacher and had the summersoff. We had a school bus that heconverted into a most excellent camper. So we drove out to P-town on the Cape where we would be in the penumbraof the eclipse; not quite “total” from our view point but totally awesome. The total eclipse could be seen in NovaScotia. This is the eclipse made famousin the Carly Simon song, “You’re So Vain.” You know it: “Then you flew your Learjet up to Nova Scotia to see thetotal eclipse of the sun.” Additionally,in Steven King’s “Delores Claiborne,” which was set and filmed in Nova Scotia, DeloresClaiborne (played by the incomparable Kathy Bates) famously leads her husbandto a trap where he falls down a deep abandoned well, during this very sametotal eclipse, and leaves him there to die. The incestuous bastard really deserved it. (Have you seen the movie?) I do like the actor who played the characterthough and I love Kathy Bates. And Ilike the famous line, “sometimes being a bitch is all a woman has to hang onto,” and, “sometimes an accident can be an unhappy woman’s best friend.”

Anyway, the eclipse that mysisters, Mom and Dad and I witnessed was an unbelievable sight. As the light began to fade I remember birdsflitting about, as if caught off guard and unprepared, hurrying to nest for the“night.” I remember shadows from treesand telephone poles and other objects, taking on odd shapes. When the sun is low, near to setting, shadowsgrow long of course. But, the sun washigh in the sky and it was a clear day; no clouds. So when the moon began to pass in front ofthe sun, I just remember noticing how odd the shadows were and how differentthe light seemed. The light was fadingquickly, to near black, from directly above rather than from the horizon andresulting effect was like nothing else I had ever seen before. It was breath taking. Although I hadn’t thought about this in along time, I remember this now today, nearly 40 years later, so clearly, as ifit were just yesterday. I remember thegulls screeching, the breeze in the air, the warmth of the sun, my sisters andall the other folks who gathered, craning their necks to see the sun disappear overheadand the magnificent corona created by the eclipse.

If you ever get theopportunity to see such an event, I highly recommend it.

Now this brings me to Tuesdaynight; 12/13/11. I was thrilled when Irealized that I would be treated to the Geminids meteor shower and that Iwouldn’t have to drag myself out of bed at 3 AM to see it. I could go out at 9 or 10. Perfect! I had, in past years, dragged myself out of bed to bear witness to suchevents, only to be disappointed by overcast skies or to find that I had somehowmanaged to arrive too late for the party and there was nothing to see. Tuesday night was a clear gorgeousnight. I was under the mistakenimpression that I had to view the meteors in the eastern sky. Well, I have a view to my east but not in thelower sky, only up higher. I didn’t knowexactly where in the east to look so I decided to hop in my car and drive the 2½ miles down the road where I knew I could see the entire eastern sky with noobstructions. I drove down Flanders Rdand pulled over just opposite of the field where the cows are, put on myflashers and hopped out of the car. Iused the compass on my IPhone to be sure I was looking east and I was. It wasn’t cold out at all. Maybe 40 degrees. It was about 9 o’clock now.

I should say here that for thepast few nights, prior to this, I had been enjoying the moon rises and thebright moonlight, as I had earlier written. This very bright moon created a problem Tuesday night. Moon rise was at 7:32 PM and now, at 9, not onlywas this big beautiful orb smack in the middle of my viewing field; it waswashing out the entire eastern sky. Thestars were so faint on this moonlit night that I wondered whether or not Iwould be able to see meteors. Afterlooking into the sky for 10 minutes or so with no luck, I decided to head back. I had no regrets. The night was absolutely gorgeous. I could have stayed out for hours.

When I pulled back into my drivewayI checked the news article about the Geminids on my IPhone. It turns out that the meteors would bevisible in any part of the sky not just in the east. You see, it pays to read the whole articleand not just skim. Lesson learned. I got out of the car, leaning my back againstit now and looking toward the southern part of the night sky. I immediately saw my first “shooting star.” It lasted no longer than one second and wasjust a streak. I keptwatching and saw another. Now I’m hooked. The Geminids, though, promised to be a showof big fireballs with visible flames streaking across the sky for severalseconds at a time and with huge magnificent tails trailing behind. My youngest son told me of such a meteor hesaw a few months back. I watchedpatiently, hopeful and excited now. Iwanted my fireball.

Six, seven, eight “shootingstars” but no fireballs. Oh well. It had only been 10 minutes and I realizedthat the near full moon that I had worshipped all week was just not going tolet this spectacular show unfold. Iloved seeing the meteors, though. Imean, on an ordinary night when I am just looking at the sky and I happen tosee a shooting star, I am just thrilled beyond words. It’s just so exciting. And now I’ve just seen 8!

I decided to call it a night,hopeful now that at least 1 of my 8 wishes would come true.

Magical Moments

2011-12-07T21:01:00.001-05:00

Author’s Note: I wrote this nearly 20 years ago to the day,inspired by my son to do so. I think ofit as a love letter to my son. I nevershowed it to him or anyone until the day he left for college. I realized that since I wrote this for himthat I’d better give it to him so I put it an envelope and tucked it away withhis things for college. After gettinghim all moved into his dorm, I told him I had left a letter in an envelope forhim and to wait to read it ‘till after I had left. I later had it “published,” anonymously, inmy town’s monthly magazine and 2 other towns that had similar monthly magazine. The editor told me that she had been moved totears when she read my work and she urged me to put my name to it. I’m not sure why I didn’t. At any rate, if you are a parent I think thatthis will resonate with you. I have alsowritten a story for my youngest son but it still needs tweaking. I hope you enjoy this. Please post a comment to let me know!

“Thelove between a mother and child knows no bounds.”

We’re laughing as we hurry upthe front porch steps and into the kitchen filling it with the scents of cold,crisp, smoky air. These traces of winterwill soon give way to the aroma of freshly baked cookies. Chocolate chip, butterscotch andoatmeal. I rush over to the stove,turning on the oven and he hangs up his coat on the lower hook in the corner ofthe kitchen by the door. We sit down atthe kitchen table to catch our breath. It’s not that we’re in a hurry, but rather, filled with excitement andanticipation and anxious to began the next part of our annual tradition on thisChristmas Eve night; the baking of Christmas cookies for Santa. I secretly think of it as the making ofmagical moments for my son and me.

Our cookies won’t be the fancyholiday kind baked in anticipation of seasonal guests. In fact, these cookies aren’t fancy at alland so rarely does anyone ever visit. These are special cookies nonetheless, baked with much love and care forsomeone who we know will be making a stop at our home on a very busy andmagical night.

Having just come from thecandle light service at church, the first part of our tradition, the tune ofSilent Night is still in our heads and we find ourselves singing it out loudtogether. I turn on the Christmas lightson the tree and the star, blinking a silent code-like rhythm above us like abeacon, is lighting up candy canes, wooden horses, glass ornaments and homemadesnowflakes all strategically placed by 5-year old hands on the lower branchesof the tree. The TV is on in the livingroom but we don’t hear it as we go about our work in the kitchen. We’re singing Christmas carols and we giggleas we sing a little off key. I make upthe words here and there when I’ve forgotten them. As I tell my son that these are made up words now and that I promise to findout the actual correct words, he looks up at me through deep blue eyes thatwere his great grandfather’s. Eyes that,only moments ago, were beaming with excitement, are piercing now andpuzzled. How could it be that I don’tknow the words when he’s always believed that I know everything? Slowly, he’s catching on to me and I tellthat there are a few things that I don’t know after all! He smiles when I tell him this. His love for me is as pure and unconditionalas mine is for him; as only there can be between a mother and a child. I give him a wink as our eyes meet and hisface lights up the room. This signal weshare; unspoken yet just as loud and urgent as the church bells that beckon tome on Sunday mornings, strengthens the bond between us in a way that words, soinadequate and limiting, never could. Awink; so simple yet significant. Sofleeting! I savor this moment, alreadynow a memory. I cherish this night, somagical in so many ways.

Three cookies and a carrotsit, lovingly arranged by my son, on a saucer on the hearth alongside a coldglass of milk. I put two of the cookiesback and take several bites out of the third before placing it back on the saucerand I drink three quarters of the milk. I break off a large piece of the carrot and put it away in thefridge. I nibble around the remainingend of the carrot and place it on the saucer with the cookie.

It is well after midnight nowas I tip toe up the stairs and look in on my son on my way to bed, as I’ve doneevery night for the past 5 ½ years. Ashe lay there sleeping, looking so precious and small in his big bed, I listento him breathing and I already know how truly blessed I am. I can’t help but wonder how many more magicalmoments we’ll share. I know eventuallythat he’ll prefer the company of his friends rather than the company of hismother, as well he should. I press melips gently to his forehead, so cool and smooth, and as I close my eyes andbreathe in the scent of his hair I say a prayer thanking God for my son andentrusting me with his childhood. I prayfor patience, guidance and wisdom in the years ahead and I pray for thestrength to let him go when the time comes. And finally, I pray that he’ll remember our moments together even longafter I’m a memory, and that perhaps he’ll be inspired to make magical momentswith his own child someday. But for now,the timer on the coffee pot is set for 6:00 AM and as I climb into bed, I’mlooking forward to more magical moments in the morning.

Of Loss and the Luxury To Cry

2011-04-19T14:56:00.009-04:00

“When I said I needed you, you said you would always stay.” ~ Dusty Springfield

Disclaimer: This post strays away from my backyard nature theme. So for those of you expecting that, you may want to stop reading here because you will be sorely disappointed. I’ve seen other blogs where they have categories but that always seemed too confusing for me, although I’ve thought about it. Instead, I’ll just post a disclaimer when I write “off topic” from time to time. This post has to do with thoughts and feelings and emotions and stuff of a more personal nature I’d say. So, please be forewarned and if you still decide to read, well – you can’t whine afterwards about how you feel ripped off. I mean, come on, let’s be fair! We’re all adults here. (Aren’t we?) Ok, last chance --- you’ve been duly warned.

So, I was driving in my car by myself the other night and I put in my new favorite CD. This is the Shelby Lynn CD which is a tribute to Dusty Springfield. If you do not know who that is --- well, now that just makes me sad and you are not the person I thought you were. Kidding aside, if you Google Dusty Springfield you will immediately see that you do know who she is and that you do recognize some of the songs listed. However, as an extra added bonus I am including a YouTube link of Dusty below for your listening pleasure. And this is the song I’m referring to below. You have to wait and read this first. Those are the rules. We are on the honor system here and I expect you all to abide. (“The Dude abides.”)

Continuing -- I advance the CD to track 3 just as I have been doing for about a week now when I have the opportunity to be by myself in the car. (Unfortunately, this is rare) Well Shelby Lynn no sooner sings the first few lyrics and I am sobbing like a baby. OK, actually I only wish I were balling like a baby. I only have 5 minutes to myself here (running out for milk) so I can’t really show up at the store like this or back home. I have to stop myself – pull myself together – and save my cry for another day, as usual. One of these days I’m going to have myself a good old fashioned cry – I’ve been waiting for years now. Does anyone out there know what I mean? I mean, I am by nature an upbeat positive type of person, but there are sadnesses in life and if you don’t acknowledge them and deal with them and give in to them – they are going to come back when you least expect it and surface and suddenly you are sobbing like a crazy person in public. Now, this hasn’t happened to me yet, but it’s only a matter of time.

I really could use a week (or, 6-7 months) in the woods all by myself so I can amply allow myself this luxury to cry. I’d like to be able to just let it all out if and when it surfaces, instead of stifling my feelings – putting them up on a shelf for another time – compartmentalizing it all to deal with later. Do any of you out there know what I mean? It’s not that I’m feeling blue either. Rainy days and Mondays do not get me down. There are very specific things that I’d like to cry about. Mostly my sadnesses are for other people who I know have had tremendous losses in their lives. Their loved ones have passed on, in many cases much too soon, and in some cases very tragically, and I think about them - their losses – and how they must feel and that just makes me oh-so-sad. So, every now and then a certain song plays and it’s not necessarily that the lyrics speak to what my “issues” are, there’s just that sort of pathos. The song evokes a certain sadness which makes me think of the sad things that I’ve put away on my shelf.

Did you know that when you cry – if you are alone, well – it’s just not as, for lack of another word – productive, than if you had someone with you to comfort you and let you cry. (That’s why I need 6 months in the woods instead of 1 week, it’s gonna take me longer) You know, I always suspected that. I came to know that this is true because of a dream I had. Several years back – maybe 6-8 years ago – I had a dream. In the dream I was sobbing like a baby, almost inconsolable. I remember afterwards that it wasn’t that there was nothing specific that I was sobbing about, but in my dream it was not clear why or what I was sobbing about. But it was so real. It was clear that it was something specific, but it was just not revealed to me what it was. Well, there was someone who came to me, as I sat there beside a brook weeping, and the person consoled me. It was clear that I knew who the person was. In my dream it was someone I knew, although in reality I have no idea who that was. Dreams are funny like that. So, the person just wrapped their arms around me and let me cry and cry. When I awoke, I felt oddly ok, as if I had just, well - had a good cry. I hadn’t felt particularly sad prior to that. The dream was so vivid and so real though and the feelings were so real. When I thought about this dream in the days and weeks and even months that followed, I could recall once again the feelings of sobbing (not just sobbing, but the feelings and emotions behind all this sadness – you know - the mourning, the grieving, the remorse) and of being comforted. I must have had too much sadness stacked up on my shelf. I’m glad they didn’t come crashing down – landing me in some sort of loony bin or something -- because I’m fine. I really am. I am not some sort of basket case. But, at any rate, when I think of the dream now, I can remember that one little “scene” but I do not feel any of those emotions that were so reaI. Guess I’m about due for another dream.

If you click on the link below, (scroll down - after the lyrics) you will be directed to a YouTube of Dusty Springfield singing “You Don’t Have To Say You Love Me.” As much as I like Shelby Lynn, I love Dusty’s original - 1000 times more. Her voice is so haunting --- particularly since she, too, passed away – way too soon. This makes it all that much sadder. Oh!! (Don’t even get me started on Karen Carpenter.) So – read the lyrics, listen to the song and have yourself a good cry – on me. (“You’re welcome.”) Don’t say I didn’t warn you!

You Don’t Have To Say You Love Me
~ Dusty Springfield

When I said I needed you. You said you would always stay.

It wasn't me who changed but you. And now you've gone away.

Don't you see That now you've gone. And I'm left here on my own.

That I have to follow you. And beg you to come home?

You don't have to say you love me. Just be close at hand. You don't have to stay forever. I will understand.

Believe me, believe me. I can't help but love you. But believe me I'll never tie you down..

Left alone with just a memory. Life seems dead and so unreal. All that's left is loneliness.

There's nothing left to feel.

You don't have to say you love me. Just be close at hand. You don't have to stay forever,

I will understand. Believe me, believe me.

You don't have to say you love me. Just be close at hand . You don't have to stay forever I will understand.

Believe me, believe me, believe me (Click on YOUTUBE below)

YouTube - Dusty Springfield - You Don't Have To Say You Love Me (Original Stereo)

Fresh Coffee, Running Shoes and Owls

2011-03-17T21:32:00.003-04:00

"Just Do It" ~~~ Nike

Finally! Out the door at 6AM this morning (Tuesday) for a walk/run, by myself (No Missy). I’m almost tricked into thinking that I am actually out early because it is still dark and the sun won’t rise for another hour. But I know it is really not all that early and I’m trying for an hour earlier on Thursday since all went well today (walking in the dark). Of course, I’ll explain.

Coffee in hand (not in a “to go” mug, but a real mug – 16 oz porcelain mug with a picture of a Golden retriever on it – now that’s a cup of coffee!) I was anxious to get out the door. My coffee machine with the timer on it broke a while ago and I’ve been using the backup melitta which you actually have to boil the water and pour it. (I know, I know – how hard is that!?) It’s really not a big deal, but the coffee used to be ready for me when I got up; pour it and go. Although I got up at 5:45, I’m waiting and waiting for the water to boil. We’ve decided, though, that the coffee tastes pretty good using this melitta drip system – I’d forgotten. I still grind the coffee fresh though. Ok, for those inquiring minds: milk (whole or 2% - not cream and not half’n’half), no sugar, and a bit on the light side! Thanks for wondering! Oh, and no designer coffee for me – just good ole rich Columbian whole beans – 100% Arabica!

So, I’m 20 feet up the driveway and I realize I’d better go back for the reflective mesh vest that I’ll just throw on over my jacket. I mean, I’m dressed all in black and I really don’t want to be hit by a sleepy driver who is in a hurry to get to work! Oh – here’s the best part – I am using my very cool headlamp. Yeah, I know! I look like I’m going down into a coal mine. The thing works pretty good and I’ve used it a lot while outside at night with Missy --- when she has to go one last time. I always pick up after her right away (in fact, when we walk to the park – I’m carrying the darn “pooper scooper”) and in the dark, I don’t want to miss anything. I know – too much info, huh?

Finally “up top” at the road (my driveway is 2/10’s of a mile), I stop to gulp down the last bit of coffee and I place the cup on the stonewall there to retrieve on my way down. It is 6:11 – yikes! Later than I intended. No worries, I’m on my way. I’m doing a 4 mile loop counter clockwise, so I set off going right (west) out of my driveway.

Although the sun won’t be rising for another 50 minutes or so the dawn will be breaking in 10 minutes more or less. I did a little research on-line last year and learned about the 3 different types of “twilight.” I always thought that the word “twilight” was used only while making reference to the evening hours around sunset. But what I learned was that it refers to the point at which the sun is so many degrees below the horizon – evening or morning. The three types of twilight are, civil, nautical and astronomical. When the sun is 6 degrees below the horizon, this is known as civil twilight. Nautical – 12 degrees below and astronomical, the sun is 18 degrees below the horizon. We all know that it gets light out prior to the sun’s official rising time. So, depending on the skies – clear, cloud covered, overcast, etc. – we see it beginning to get light as much as 45 – 50 minutes prior to sunrise, during the tail end of nautical twilight and on into civil twilight. So, the dawn breaks well before sunrise (that’s my interpretation of “dawn”) and when people say, (OK, people don’t really talk this way – but in the movies do- - so--) “I’ll be there at first light” – that’ll be at least 45 minutes before the sun comes up.

I hope I haven’t bored you all yet!

It was 32 degrees and overcast – perfect. I hadn’t worn my running shoes in a long time and it felt great to have them on. I walked briskly with my headlamp - on the least bright of the 3 settings – angled to shine way up ahead of me. There was a bit of a glow in the sky due to the “light pollution” on the cloud cover and I could see fine in front of me while I walked. I heard an owl off somewhere to the right of me. How delightful! I hadn’t heard that familiar hoot in a long while and then I realized that it’s because I haven’t been sleeping with my windows open in a while. You know --- due to it being 10 degrees out at night! (Or, actually, maybe they fly to warmer parts in the winter. Now I’ll have to refer back to my Roger Tory Peterson Bird Guide of Birds of the Eastern US) In the summer there is quite a chorus of owls at night and I sometimes lay awake listening to the orchestra. I’m looking forward to that time of year again. The owls are just ending their day now, going back to their owl homes to sleep and as I hear another owl off to my left and then more – back and forth – I can’t help but wonder if they are calling goodnight to each other. (Good night John Boy).

In another 15 minutes or so these upbeat, assertive - and somehow, mystical -- hoots, would fade and in their place would come the haunting and sorrowful cry of the mourning dove.

Turning left onto Cross St, near the Green, I am able to do without my headlamp and I shove it in my pocket. Not quite light yet, but now there are street lights and a sidewalk of sorts that runs all the way past the Robertson school to South St. I look for the horses to my right but they are not out of their barn yet. Oh well.

It is 6:35 as I turn left onto South Street and now, after 1 ½ miles – with 2 ½ more to go – my brisk walk turns into a slow jog. This is faster than the walk – but I am running very slowly. It’s been a while and I’d like to start out easy. Nothing to prove here - just me and the road. The road is happy to have me back on my familiar route and is non judgmental about my pace. Now, here’s a weird thing; when I run I over pronate (it’s got to do with the way you land on the heel of your foot and roll off your toes) and as I look down at me feet as they meet the pavement, I look almost pigeon toed. What is up with that?

This section of South Street is long, straight and flat and I love running here because of the scenery. Off to the south, on my right, there is a view of a valley and hills beyond. Then there is the gorgeous Arabian horse farm that was just recently redone and although the horses are not out as I pass, there is something about the fence that runs along the road and the plantings there that are so aesthetically pleasing. Up ahead on my left I am approaching a new home that is a reproduction cape with an ell and a barn. Simply stunning. It’s so “New England” complete with stone walls and fences.

I hear the mourning doves now. It is fairly light and other birds are beginning to sing and fly about. Squirrels are playing tag on the trees and the air smells fresh with hints of spring. I am happy to be out here among it all.

I come to the place on South Street at the corner where the road takes a sharp 90 degree turn and heads north – downhill. Just before this corner, on the left, is Dan Manley’s house. This is the house he grew up in and I remember going there once or twice for a Drama Club rehearsal --- I think. Around the corner – all downhill from here – Pucker Street is on the right. There is a view of Uconn and valleys and hills beyond. Nice! The dogs are not out yet at the house on the left. Usually they run along the boundary of their yard barking. There are about 4 of them and I think they just want to play. They never come into the street. But, at any rate, it is early still and they are not out. In the summer, when I run along this stretch the air is always filled with the scent of wild grapes!

At the end of South St I turn left onto Flanders Rd. It is 6:55. Good. I’m making good time with 6/10’s of a mile to go to the mail box at the top of my driveway on High Street. I run past the house on my left where there is a goat and a Shetland pony in the yard, behind the stone wall and I call out “good morning” to them in a high, soft, sing-song voice that one reserves for animals and babies.

Soon I am at the stop sign at the bottom of the hill. Flanders Rd ends here, but High Street picks up and continues uphill. Snake Hill Rd is to the right. My mail box, where my coffee cup awaits on the stone wall there, is 2 ½ 10ths of a mile ahead. I’ve stopped running now but will continue on walking briskly up the steep 20% grade. I actually feel quite good. I am neither winded nor tired. However, because I know my limits, I have run accordingly – which is really at a crawl. I do not have it in me to push myself as I know I would be sorry if I did. In past years I would take the hill – running, pushing myself on. In past years my pace would be about a 9:30 mile, which was good for me – compared to me, not anyone else. So now, compared to myself, I am slow (it’ll be 1 hour to cover the 4 miles!) but I’m just starting out and I know I will feel strong again. I guess that’s the thing really. It’s not how fast I can run the 4 miles – who cares about that. I don’t. It’s the feeling of being so fit and strong and running up hills and sprinting if I want because I can and it feels great. And, this was not that long ago. So that’s what I’m working on getting back. And I know I can do it. And I know I will.

But, as I walked up the hill now, I wondered, why oh why (oh why) did I get away from this great fitness regiment? Excuse upon excuse and then more excuses still come to mind. Obstacles, road blocks! No more! I’m back. I feel great and I love getting out while it’s still dark so I can see the world slowly come alive.

I grab my coffee cup from the stone wall and walk the last 2/10ths of a mile down my driveway.

Author's Note - Update: As this goes to press now (Oh, who am I kidding and why do I talk this way?) I must mention that I ran again today and plan on getting out again tomorrow. Today the sky was completely clear -- the stars were shining. It was gorgeous. I was out the door earlier -- at 5:30 - nice! There were no owls or mourning doves today! Weird. It was getting light up on South St, just after 6:00. It was a whole different twilight due to the clear crisp atmosphere! Really really nice.

Nourishment For My Soul

2011-03-10T21:10:00.004-05:00

"Everybody needs beauty as well as bread, places to play in and pray in where nature may heal and cheer and give strength to the body and soul." ~John Muir

I arrived at the parking lot for the trailhead at Bolton Notch on a crisp Saturday morning in mid November. It was approximately 8:30 which was nearly 90 minutes later than I had intended to set out but I really had no other plans that day so the late start was fine. This is the point at which this lovely Rail Trail takes a sharp turn northward for another 4-6 miles (I think) and on into Vernon. I should know this. Is it 4 miles or is it 6 miles? I can’t remember which right now. I do have the Connecticut Walkbook East where I can check on this for sure. I walked west to this place last week from the trailhead on Steeles Crossing Rd and took the side trail up to the cliffs here. I was anxious to continue on from here and had looked forward to this walk all week.

Mine was the only car in the lot. Good! It was 20 degrees but 40 or higher was promised. As always I was dressed in layers which I would peel off along the way. My base layer consisted of a techwick long sleeve crew shirt. (Very thin but it does what it’s supposed to do.) Next, a polar tech fleece vest, then a long sleeve polar tech fleece and a lightweight breathable, windproof and waterproof jacket. Finally, I don’t go anywhere without my fleece neck gaiter and fleece hat which I tuck my hair up under and of course my gloves. Backpack, water, granola bars and trekking poles. I also packed my jetboil stove in case I wanted to make coffee along the way. I never did end up using it.

I need to read up more on the history of this Notch and its’ creation. I do believe the mountain(s) had to be blasted for the construction of the rails (and the highway near here – I-384) but I think part of the Notch was natural, the result of an advancing and retreating glacier. Either way, walking through this area of the Notch was truly magical. The massive granite walls on either side of me were covered with ice and the sight was just spectacular. In this section, going through the Notch, the trail is very narrow and is made to seem even more so I think by these granite walls that loomed over me at least a hundred feet high. In places the ice blanketed the granite, covering it smoothly and in other places huge icicles hung from jagged granite cliffs. You could see the many different layers of rock and sedimentation in this cross section of the mountain. How many layers and how many years did these layers represent? How many centuries? I wished I had studied geology in college (just as I have often wished I had studied meteorology.) Perhaps it was better, though, that I didn’t because now – as I walked through this magnificent Notch – I was able to look at it through neither a critical nor a technically trained eye. While I might have observed it in a Spock-like matter of fact manner had I been educated in that field; now I was able to observe it from a lay person’s point and truly appreciate the beauty and wonder of it; pure and simple. And as I walked, turning my head from side to side so as not to miss a thing I came up with a lay person’s exclamation. I stopped in my tracks, gawking at it all while turning round and round in place, craning my neck to see all the way to the top. “This is f’king awesome,” I said to myself, out loud. And it was. It truly was!

I decided I would walk 90 minutes and then turn back. I was on cloud nine, again, to be out here walking the trail on this clear late autumn day. Just barely out and I’ve already decided that I like this section of the trail more so than the previous. Once I’m through the immediate notch area there are more cliffs and ledge outcroppings off to the west of the trail rising - to the left of me - on a steep upgrade. Off to the east - on my right as I walk straight ahead on the trail - the terrain slopes just as sharply down approximately 100 feet before rising steeply again further to the east. The trail itself, just as was the previous stretch from Steeles Crossing to the Notch, is straight, flat and well groomed. And here’s the best part: on my right, 100 feet down slope and running parallel to the trail, there is a stream! Oh, how do I get down there? I want to walk along the stream. There does not seem to be any easy or safe way to get there. But wait. I see someone down there walking southward. Well, how did they get down there? I will keep my eyes peeled for a side trail.

As I walk I keep looking all around me, just soaking it all in. I walk along briskly. I get to be here on this trail and see all of this splendor for 3 hours or more as I walk. That’s plenty of time I assure myself, don’t worry – there’s time. There’s a rushing stream near my home off of a road that I don’t travel on very often. But when I do, I’m always mindful to look for the stream as I pass by. If I’m lucky, my view of this stream rushing downward lasts all of 5 seconds and then I’ve passed it. Sometimes, when I’m by myself, I’ll drive very slowly and I’ll even stop a minute. (Just as I stop to talk to the cows on Flanders Rd near Linda’s house). But now – now I have 3 hours of walking in between the up sloping woods and cliffs to my left and the down sloping woods and stream to my right. I am truly in my element here. Life is good.

After a while I began to pass other people – they heading south while I’m heading north – mostly they are runners. Some of the runners run north past me. They all look focused and in a “zone.” I wonder whether they are seeing all this great stuff around them.

As I walk I keep hoping to run into Kilter Man, but it is not to be on this day. In fact I would never see the man again. And as I write this, on 3/7/11, I can’t help but wonder if he is back out on the trail. If not, I know it will be soon. In my conversations with him – in my head – I ask him more about the AT. He is happy to indulge as he realizes I look to him as a hiker god. I ask him if it is proper for him to bestow a trail name upon me (since we are not on THE trail, but since after all, he is an AT thru hiker, so---- it’s sort of a grey area) and that if he would do this, I would be so honored and forever in his debt. Typically, one is given a trail name by their hiking peers after a while on the AT, but some arrive with trail names already in place. This is usually done at night around the campfire so others can bear witness. They are named for any number of reasons, usually characteristics they exhibit, mannerisms, etc. Some names that I have read about are: Persistent, Certain, Bananas, Piro, Ninja, Walks Too Slow, Breathless, Second Stage, Storm, Liteshoe, WTF, Bad Ass, Bad Influence, Pastor, Grasshopper, Rocket and so on. I talk to myself all the time and when I do – apparently I whisper. Sometimes I suddenly realize I’ve been whispering and that my dog is looking at me as if to say; “Are you talking to me? Should I be listening – cuz I really can’t quite hear you!” So, I thought I would ask Kilter Man to name me thusly –if he was cool with it. In my mind, I would kneel down on one knee and he would place his trekking pole from one shoulder then the other – saying, “I hereby bestow upon you the name – Whispers – and from here on in you shall thus be called.” I realize that this all sounds very silly, but the thought of this amuses me so and I offer no apologies for my thoughts.

I’ve been walking a while now and I can see a clearing through the woods with a pond off the trail way down in a valley. This is actually Valley Falls Park in Vernon. Sweet! I come upon a bike stand of all things, with space in it for several bikes. You know - the type of bike stand you’d see at a school or municipality. This puzzles me but soon I figure it out. (You’ll have to wait to find out, though). There appear to be side trails that must lead very sharply down to the pond. Nice. But I prefer to be walking up here in the woods so I continue on. It is now 10:00 which is my self-imposed turn back time. But I don’t want to turn back yet. Just a bit further!

The trail begins to take a sharpish turn counter clockwise – to head westward - like the corners of a 400 meter running track. Suddenly, I am struck by the scents of cooking which come wafting through the woods. Bacon, eggs, pancakes. I can actually smell all these things separately. And then I can smell the scent of a dryer sheet. Someone has a load of clothes in the dryer. This seems so out of place to me and I’m not so sure if I welcome this intrusion – this assault on my senses. No sooner do these aromas hit me than I can see houses through the woods off to the left side of the trail. As I walk further I can see that some of these homes back right up to the trail and there are paths that lead through the woods from their backyards to the trail. I later learn that these homes are on a cul-de-sac in Vernon. I google earthed them and could see the trail and where they were in relation to it. It was pretty cool.

10:15 now. Time to turn back.

Just prior to turning back I stopped to talk with some folks who had walked from the Vernon trailhead southward which I believe was a mile further. They asked me about my trekking poles and I fawned all over their dog. As I turned to go back a few minutes later, I met them again as they had turned back too and were heading to their car. The woman was feeling a little weak so they cut their walk short. I quickly offered up my granola bar which she declined saying she needed protein, but thanked me profusely. I know that awful feeling and I wished them both well.

I talked with some other hikers and I soon learn from them how I can get down to that trail to walk along the stream. I am thrilled. They said to watch for the bike rack and take that trail down and that it splits to either go north to the pond and park or south along the stream and that it will eventually lead back up to this main rail trail – just follow the blue/yellow blazes. Perfect! I know the side trail with the bike rack is just up ahead. Apparently one can ride their bike - from any trailhead really, but the one in Vernon is just a mile from here. Lock up your bike and walk down to the park. I guess that makes sense.

I soon find myself descending the steep side trail and I am finally at my stream walking south! This trail is marked with blazes on the trees every 100 feet or so but the path here, over roots and rocks, is very worn and it follows the stream so it’s sort of hard to get lost. I look up to the main rail trail and I can see the break in the woods where it is and then woods and ledges that rise away from it. I see people up on the trail and I wonder if they are looking at me and wishing that they too could walk along this forest stream. I’m sure they will find the way to get down here.

I walk along at a slower pace keeping my eyes on the ground in front of me so as not to trip on the very uneven terrain here. I am in heaven to be walking along this stream and I prefer this rocks and roots type of trail. I stop after a while to sit on a rock near the stream. I drink about 14 oz of water and take a deep cleansing breath. I can see a hawk way up above the tree tops and he is screeching, being chased or chasing another bird. The sound of the stream is so soothing and it’s sight is mesmerizing. I flash back to my childhood when I am playing in a stream that used to run down the side of my road. It was a ditch really, but when it had been raining hard or during the spring thaw, it was a magnificent stream and I would spend hours floating little boats (sticks and leaves) and just watching them go. When they would get jammed up here and there, I would come to the rescue to make sure they made it safely down to the next checkpoint where one of my sibs or neighbors would be to take over its care from there. Just beyond this stream at my home are the woods with natural ledge outcroppings everywhere creating caves and cliffs for us all of us kids to enjoy. Wow. The screech of the hawk above me yanks me from my past and although I’ve been sitting here for not more than 2 minutes it is time to move on.

As I sit and write this now though, recalling once again my glorious childhood, I think of the lake; the woods; my Mom and Dad; my sisters and the Pelletiers. The memories are bittersweet and I am surprised by the sudden rush of my emotions. It is inevitable, I suppose, that the sweetness of life is accompanied by the sadness too. Tears come quickly and flow easily.

Back up on the main rail trail now, having followed the blazes up the steep ascent, I am mindful to step away and study this hidden entrance to the stream so that I may find it in the future when I come here again. And I did return here a few weeks later when there was a very light blanket of snow partially covering the brown leaves on the forest floor. I was reminded of a bowl of cornflakes with a light sprinkling of sugar and smiled at the thought. I came back to walk along my stream and commune with nature and I will come again and again.

I will come back to walk along my stream again and listen to the trickling of the water there. I will come back to listen to the screech of the hawk and I will be still to listen for the wind and maybe listen to my heart. I will come back to appreciate and to give praise. I will come back to play and to pray and to laugh out loud at my silly thoughts or at a memory. I will come back to whisper to myself and to perhaps even sing out loud (no critics around to stifle me here). Finally, I will come back here where I feel strong, competent and independent. I will come for the silence, solitude and solace. And mostly I will come back for the nourishment – the nourishment for my soul.

Author’s Note: Now I only wished I hadn’t lost my gloves! I mean, how does one do that? How do you take your gloves off and forget them? Did they fall out of my pocket? I know I put them in my pack but they are not there! Must have been when I rummaged through my pack, taking things out, looking for my banana! Oh! Well, I hope someone found them and that they could use them. They were my favorite pair. If someone did find them, they’re probably saying: “How the heck can someone lose their gloves? What fools!” I know that’s what I would say, except the fools part. Well, I bought another pair the following week. All is well again!

Hop River/Rail Trail

2011-02-18T18:25:00.004-05:00

"Keep close to Nature's heart...and break clear away, once in awhile, and climb a mountain or spend a week in the woods. Wash your spirit clean.” John Muir

The memory of my last 3 hikes (well, ok - walks) has sustained me these past 2 months as I have been itching to get back out on the trail. It’s not the cold that is keeping me away; I am well prepared for that. Rather, it is the fact that there is a deep covering of snow on the trails and, alas, I own no snow shoes. How that fact is even possible is beyond me but, nonetheless, that is my reality. I do, however, own a sweet pair of gators – a secret gift to myself which I recently purchased – and I think I will buy a pair of stabilizers or micro spikes with the gift card I received from my son at Christmas. And now that we will be having warmer weather the next few days (it is 2/16 as I write this) I’m hoping the snow covered trails will be manageable. But until then, in my mind I am hiking. Here follows a brief accounting of my hikes.

Well, here these trails have been – right in my own backyard – and I had never ventured out on them until this past November. I think the hiking/just-get-outside bug has been lying dormant within me for quite some time. But it was always there just below the surface and now that it has been awakened it’s as if, well, I have this urgency to make up for lost time.

Hop River Trail/Rail Trail: Sometime in November, on the Saturday before Thanksgiving, I arrived at the trailhead at Steeles Crossing Road in Bolton at around 7:00 AM. I had passed this trailhead a million times 2 years back when we were building a house in Bolton (to sell – not to live there) and had always wanted to stop there and start walking. I never did – until now. Over the summer I had purchased a day pack (Osprey), Jetboil stove and French press coffee mug, among other things. My sons had bought me a 32 oz. nalgeen water bottle a few years back for my birthday and a few Christmases ago my older son presented me with some really sweet trekking poles. I had bought a pair for him that very same Christmas! We are 2 peas in a pod - we are! Mike bought me a compass and whistle. I was so ready and well prepared.

I was just giddy as I set out that morning. I could not believe my good fortune that I was finally here walking this lovely trail. It was a cold 20 something degrees and the sky was clear. I had a scarf and extra fleece in my pack. I never needed them. This trail was well groomed, very wide, staright and flat. There used to be train tracks here. The trail was about 10 – 12 feet wide and there was a severe slope on either side leading down to the true elevation of the forest floor. It is not the roots and rocks and inclines that may come to mind when you hear the word hiking, but this trail and the surroundings are beautiful. I am in heaven to be walking here all by myself and I cannot wipe the stupid smile off my face. On this crisp late Fall day I can see way into the woods that surround me. I do not know why this is so appealing to me, but it is. It is quiet and still all around me. So peaceful. I don’t know how far it is to the Bolton Notch, but I decided I would walk an hour and a half and then turn back. I remembered that my boys went camping with the Boy Scouts a few times near here and that they had hiked to Bolton Notch on this very trail from their campsite. I approached an area where I believe they must have entered the trail from their site. I smiled as I pictured the 10 or more boys hiking on this trail with their hiking sticks and the scout leaders bringing up the rear. I thought about them talking with each other and being loud and rambunctious and probably not even noticing or appreciating their surroundings. But subliminally, they got it. I’m sure the seed was planted and I’ve no doubt that they will have a love of the outdoors which will last a lifetime. I thought about the scout leaders and I was thankful for their service and dedication to the boys in my community. I had been a Cub Scout den leader myself for 10 years, relinquishing my service when the boys crossed over to Boy Scouts. Today these boys are all fine young men!

After 30 minutes or so of walking I can see up ahead that a man is approaching – eastbound – as I am heading west. I am excited because I know this fellow human and I are of the same tribe, which I know I am fond of saying but can’t describe it any other way. And wow, not only is it a person walking and enjoying the outdoors, but this is a true hiker. He has a backpack and trekking poles. It is a back country backpack – not a day pack like mine. This is great. He is hiking in a hiking kilt, a beautiful green and black plaid one! He seems to be focused and in a zone but I stop him to chat a bit. He pulls the earbuds from his ears when he realizes that I wish to engage in conversation and seems to welcome the opportunity. I learn that he is an actual AT thru hiker. I am thrilled to know this. To me he is a rock star and I am in awe of this man in the kilt. I tell him that he truly rocks! He left the trail last Spring with an injury and was preparing to start again in March 2011 from where he left off last year. His trail name is Off Kilter. I never did learn his real name. In the subsequent months when I have had conversations with him in my head, I have referred to him as “Kilter Man.” I like that trail name better. We bid each other a good day and I wished him well on his thru hike. (This is what they call it and how it is spelled – “thru” not “through.” Hikers who hike the entire Appalachian Trail nonstop are thru hikers. The trail runs 2175 miles from Georgia to Maine and it takes between 4 – 7 months to complete. Sweet!)

“Thank you, Ma’am” was his reply. And there it was. I had been Ma’am’d! You know you’re getting old when -----

I continued on. The many birch trees that lined the trail were striking and as they leaned in toward the center of the trail almost meeting above me, they created a spectacular trellis with the criss crossing of their bare branches there. Looking through the woods on either side of the trail now, I notice that there is an abundance of birch trees that very easily standout among the other trees. Bolton is notorious for her birches and somewhere in this area - a few miles away - is Birch Mountain Road. I could tell I was getting closer to the Notch because suddenly massive natural granite walls rose on either side of me where the mountain had been blasted through years ago (a hundred years?), creating this notch. Soon I was walking through a tunnel which was thrilling for me and then, there I was at Bolton Notch (and alas, civilization!) This is the place where Routes 6 and 44 merge. If you are from this area you know where I mean. If you are heading east in your car on Route 384 and are nearing the end where it splits – to either Rte 6 into Bolton or Rte 44 into Coventry, you can see the cliffs at the Notch up high where some young folks have painted a flag. As I emerge from the tunnel and walk another 10th of a mile there is a parking lot on my left and I noticed a side trail on my right. I take the side trail which is steep with roots and rocks (perfect) and before I know it I am standing on this very same painted cliff. This is the destination point to where the Boy Scouts had hiked. I can see the highway below. I have never been to this spot and I cannot believe my good fortune that I am standing here now. I did not get too close to the edge. I didn’t know this before, but it seems I have a fear of heights. That’s ok. Everybody has a fear of something even if they deny it. This is neither good nor bad. It just is what it is. I also have an almost paralyzing fear of spiders. You know – the big ones like the wolf spiders that are so prevalent here in New England (and apparently in my newly built gazebo which is located near the woods in my backyard.)

It did not take quite an hour to walk to this spot. I lingered up on the cliffs for nearly 30 minutes, drinking water, eating a granola bar and just taking it all in. I love to be alone in the woods! But then it was time to leave.

The walk back was equally as peaceful and pleasant for me. There were a few groups of people out walking the trail now. Some were out walking with their dogs and there was a running club too. I was very happy to see again, heading west now, Mr. Kilter Man and we talked a brief bit more.

The next time I hike, I thought, I will drive to Bolton Notch and start from the trail head there by the cliffs where this rail trail turns northward and continues into Vernon. I hoped to do that the following weekend. And I did. Trip report to follow in another post!

A Walk In My Woods

2011-02-13T20:37:00.000-05:00

I had the opportunity to walk into my back woods this morning with Missy. We don’t own these woods, but there they are bordering my back property so, off I went. I have never walked back there before because these woods are just covered with thick thorny pricker bushes (oh, that’s redundant, huh?) and you just can’t walk through that stuff. But currently, there is a covering of 3 to 4 feet of snow on top of all this messy undergrowth, allowing me to walk without getting thorned to death. Lovely!

Only this past week has it been possible to actually walk on top of this snow without sinking in up past your knees on every step. The rainfall last week with more snow and sleet, combined with temps near zero every night, to make this possible. And all of this was on top of a record 84+ inches of snow this season that has been compressed, but has never melted, rendering it nearly perfect to walk on! Beautiful!

Missy and I have not been walking up on our street since the snow has accumulated because it is too dangerous without any “shoulders.” In fact, the street has narrowed a bit making it a little tricky in some places for two cars to pass side by side. Also though, it is not good for Missy’s little paws with all those “melt” chemicals on the road. I mean, when it is 10 degrees out and the road is “wet”, there’s gotta be some serious bad chemicals on the street. Last year I saw some guy in February walking his 2 dogs down the wet street and the dogs were limping. I was so angry at this man for what I knew to be such stupidity. If it is cold out and the road is bone dry, that is one thing. But if the road is actually wet when it is way below 32 degrees, you are putting your innocent pets, who depend on you to protect them, in harm’s way. I mean, really! Grrr – oh, don’t get me started! Maddening!

Anyway, Missy and I have been walking the shoveled pathways in my backyard. Although Missy seems to be having a great time, running through them like a maze, she has been curious about what is beyond the snow walls of our corridors. They are higher than she and she cannot see. We finally hopped on top of them nearly a week ago and have been walking around our yard ever since. Today I realized that there there was no reason why we couldn’t venture into the woods now that the prickers were buried. Why I did not think of this sooner I do not know. I finally realized my invisible fence was gone and I was free to roam! Brilliant!

We walked back only about 300 yards or so. I brought my snow shovel with me as I have been accustomed to doing when outside with Missy these days. It serves as my “pooper scoop” which has long since been buried in the snow. The shovel came in handy as every so often I would sink down a bit, sometimes past my knee. I used the shovel to help distribute my weight, holding it out to my side at a 30 degree angle and pressing it down on the snow covered ground as I walked. Of course snow shoes would have worked wonderfully here. How it is even possible that I don’t own a pair is beyond me. Puzzling!

It was nice to escape the confines of my immediate backyard if only for our brief 15 or 20 minutes in the woods. The house was always in view even as we walked down beyond the ridge. Anyone watching us from the house would have just seen the tops of our heads I’m sure, as the property is quite sloping to say the least. We saw 2 well traveled deer trails, a pond and some houses that are off of a side road off Main St. All in all, it was a great way to start our day. Excellent!

Born To Walk -- (Who Knew)

2011-01-19T21:32:00.002-05:00

“The woods are lovely, dark and deep -----” Robert Frost

After talking and talking (well, whining really) about wanting to hike with the local hiking club for a while now – even mentioning it here in my blog more than once, I finally made it happen on 2 different occasions in 2010. Once was on a very hot day in August and again just this past November. Subsequent to that, I have solo hiked on a “rail trail” 3 times. (Well, this can’t be considered hiking really, it is “walking,” but still I’m in my element outside in the woods!) There’s no stopping me now.

The Connecticut chapter of the Appalachian Mountain Club sponsors hikes on Tuesdays and Thursdays of varying distances, pace and terrain on trails located both “east of the river” and “west of the river.” Connecticut, it seems, is divided down her mid-section by the Connecticut River, which runs north to south. I live east of the river in Coventry – which is Connecticut’s “gateway to the quiet corner” – the quiet corner being lovely northeastern Connecticut. Both of the hikes I went on were very local to me and I am looking forward to more challenging hikes which, I believe, are west of the river. The Appalachian Trail itself runs for 52 miles in northwestern CT, entering the state from New York in Kent – running north and leaving Connecticut through Salisbury going into Massachusetts. (Every time I type the word “Massachusetts” I have to sing that song in order to spell it properly – like “Mississippi” in the sing-song rap type of cadence. Oh – and “Oklahoma” too! Although, actually I sing Oklahoma because of the musical not in order to spell it out!) I enjoyed the hikes (yes, there is a “but” to this, later on here) and met a lot of nice people. Here, just briefly, are my “trip reports.”

I was the last to arrive, just prior to 10:00 AM, at the church parking lot in Vernon – our meeting place for the hike. I had called the group leader ahead of time to inquire as to where the actual trail head was as I had a prior commitment and I knew I might be running a bit late. I figured I could catch up to the group because I knew the pace would be slow. There was no need to do so as I made it after all. I had a bit of déjà vu of sorts when I arrived. When my 2 boys were small, I can’t count how many times we had to drive them to a specified meeting place to gather for a trip somewhere. It was usually with the cub scouts and later on, the boy scouts. When we’d arrive, there’d be a group of boys standing around with their backpacks on ready and waiting for the scout leaders to stop gabbing about the logistics of it all so they could just leave, all of them anxious to be under way. Now, in the Vernon church parking lot, as I pulled in I saw all these adults with their backpacks on ready and waiting for the group leader to organize this trip! Wow, kinda funny! I found the group leader and told her I was the one who called and I was here. Well, it seems they were all waiting for me because nearly 13 people said, “oh, you’re here.” I didn’t know anyone and it seemed some people knew each other but most people – like me – did not. There were people from an hour away – west of the river. 13 of us signed in, introduced ourselves after forming a circle, figured out car pools and off we went 3 miles down the road to the trail head.

This hike was an out and back, only 4 miles total on very flat terrain through the woods parallel to the Shenipsit Reservoir at a very slow pace. It was hot that day in August but in the woods we were fully shaded and were bothered neither by the heat nor, surprisingly, the bugs. There was a very short section of “road walking” before we reached our spot to stop for lunch on the northernmost shore of the reservoir. When we arrived there was a woman sitting in her car reading a book and it seemed we interrupted her solitude. I’m guessing she was on a lunch break from a local job where she was a slave, no doubt, to a cubicle and that she had probably been looking forward to this little bit of quiet and peace at this beautiful serene spot all morning. I think that this was probably her special secret place and most likely the only time she’d have to herself all day. Just 30 minutes to herself everyday and probably no time at all on the weekends! I used to be in her shoes and I knew what this precious bit of time must have meant to her. When we all found a place to sit – on a log, on a rock, on the grass, etc. – and started pulling our lunches out of our packs it became clear to her that we were not leaving. She started her car, obviously annoyed by our presence, and abruptly left. I felt very badly about that. Dear Woman in the car; if you are reading this, even though it was last August and you’ve probably forgotten about, please know that I am very sorry for the intrusion that day.

This blue blaze trail wasn’t very wide but you could walk two people across for most of it. I mostly walked on and off with 2 gals, Sheila and Joy, who were very interesting and likable. I hoped to meet them again sometime on another hike. Both these gals are from west of the river and Joy is mostly a cyclist. Sheila and I have been in touch and plan on hiking a section of the AT in CT this summer. I am very excited about that – I can’t even say how much!

My second hike was in mid November in the Storrs/Uconn area. It was definitely chilly and, while standing around waiting for everyone to arrive, I quickly dropped my pack, rummaged around in it and pulled out my gloves and jacket. Midway through the hike I would return these to my pack. I gotta say here, I am a huge fan of walking through the woods when the leaves are off the trees. These woods were magnificent. Now, I am surrounded by woods where my house site is. But you can’t walk through them and you can’t even see the ground or forest floor around them. They are covered with a thick under growth of prickers and jumbled vines and stuff. Walking through these woods in Storrs now, you could see through the trees as far as the rolling terrain allowed. It was beautiful. The bare trees against the sky, the brown crisp leaves covering the ground, large boulders and ledge out croppings here and there – all of these things just really speak to me. I can’t say why; they just do.

As mentioned earlier – there would be a “but” to my saying that I enjoyed these hikes. Well, I met a lot of really nice interesting people and I finally found my tribe. There are many things we have in common with the big underlying thing, of course, being a love for the outdoors and being outside in nature, whether we’re hiking, walking, cycling, kayaking, snow shoeing, etc. And I’m really glad I have a tentative plan to hike on an overnight on the AT this summer. And I do plan on joining the group now and then. But, I prefer to set out early and I prefer the solitude of the solo hikes. Although I enjoy the company of others, I enjoy my own company too and I like to set my own pace and to stop and be still now and then and just listen and breathe. While I consider myself outgoing and sociable, I’m finding that I crave the quiet and stillness of the woods. On the second hike I went on, for the first 20 minutes or so there was a gal who had my ear and I missed a lot of the woods that were all around me. It was a “Mom to Mom” sort of conversation and I knew that she really needed to talk about issues regarding her teenagers, etc. (nuff said). At another time and different place, and perhaps over a cup of coffee, I would have been totally engaged in this conversation. But during the hike, I felt I could neither give this woman my full attention nor could I fully enjoy my surroundings – the woods that I love so much.

But these hikes gave me the boost I needed to just go out and hike. I realized that I could just, well – I could just go out and hike! And so, that’s what I did. Trip reports for these subsequent hikes are to follow in another post. There’s no stopping me now.

Roots And Wings

2010-07-31T10:36:00.004-04:00

"A man shall leave his mother and a woman leave her home."

My dear hubby and I had the extreme privilege and pleasure of helping to move our oldest son and his lovely girlfriend into their new apartment in Cambridge, MA a few weeks back. They moved from her neat little apartment – which was in the suburbs and was an apartment addition to a ranch style home - about 15 or so minutes away, into their first place together, smack in the middle of preppy Cambridge and into a charming and well kept 6 family home (3 Floors-2 sides) on a street of many similar Victorian style multi-family homes. Theirs is a 2nd floor walkup – 4 large rooms plus a huge bath, high ceilings, plenty of large windows and natural light, hardwood floors and lovely woodwork trim which is typical of these gorgeous older homes, including crown molding. They had been busy painting it the week before and the rooms were wonderfully done in shades of off red, pea-greenish green, slate blue and I can’t recall the bedroom – perhaps a beige-ish/brown-ish color. Some of the homes on the street and surrounding neighborhood, although large Victorian style, are single family. I was surprised to see a lot of trees and shrubs and lush green in and around these homes, all nicely landscaped and well maintained. I had never been to Cambridge and when I hear the word “city” I get a completely different picture in my mind from what it actually was. The neighborhoods – just off from the “main drags” so to speak – were charming and immaculate. They are just a very short walk – a couple tenths of a mile – from Porter Square and Massachusetts Ave. Harvard Square is a mile or so away. My son’s job as Technical Instructor in the Physics Department at MIT, is 3 miles or so away and he catches the T to get there. His girlfriend’s job in Medford is about a 10 minute drive, but she can also take a bus. She will be attending Graduate School in the Fall at Leslie University, which is just a few blocks away. So, they are right where they need and want to be! The demographic here is a large percentage of young professionals. There are parks and sidewalk shops and cafes and neat brick walk ways.

We live in the rural-ish northeast corner of Connecticut on 3 acres tucked away off the road down a long driveway in the woods. (OK, if you’ve read some of my other posts – or if you’re my sisters – you already know where I live and all about my gorgeous rural “backyard”!) I’d call it country – with its beautiful back roads, cow pastures, fences, wild turkeys, foxes, deer, owls and, well, you get the picture. My son grew up far from the city. His girl grew up in southwestern Maine with lots of animals and a 45 minute drive to the high school in another town. So she too was far from the city. You may recall the children’s story entitled, something along the lines of “Country Mouse, City Mouse.” Well, now my little Country Mouse and his Country Mouse girl, are definitely City Mice! And, I think they are adapting well – public transportation and all! My son says he really enjoys taking the “T” to work and feeling like a true Bostonian!

They had met in college – Wheaton College in Massachusetts -- and were happy to be moving very close by to another Wheaton grad friend, who lives a mile or so away near Davis Square and who had offered to help them with the move. Manpower thus supplied, we supplied the truck and “know-how.” Mike was glad he wouldn’t be doing any heavy lifting and was happy to orchestrate the actual moving, having had much moving experience in the past. Did you know that the best way to move a couch is not to just pick it up – keeping it parallel to the floor, etc.? But rather, you stand it up on end and can now walk it around the opening of a door, a corner, etc. Who knew? This you can only learn from experience. Mike was very good at knowing the logistics, strategy and mechanics of this move and his leadership and command of the situation was welcomed, respected and invaluable. In order to take the couch out of the apartment, the door needed to be removed from the hinges. Mike assessed and concluded this almost immediately and of course had the tools and knew exactly what to do. This might have been overwhelming to anyone who did not have the experience (or tools) to realize what needed to be done or otherwise how to do it.

The 2 younger men had an abundance of energy and, although sweating profusely, seemed otherwise unfazed by the high temperatures on this Sunday afternoon in mid-July. Indeed, the mood was almost festive – it was a joyous occasion – and at any minute I expected to hear whistling, specifically, to the tune of “Whistle While You Work!” My role in the move was to lend moral support when needed (I was good at that) and to otherwise stay out of the way, (I was good at that, too!) There was already an ample number of both “Chiefs” and “Indians,” (Oh dear, I’m afraid that is politically incorrect, isn’t it?!) and one more, in either capacity, was simply not needed. Knowing and understanding this simple truth, I suppose, also comes from years of experience. Perhaps we do grow wiser with age?

As I was doing my part of staying out of the way in the kitchen – which, by the way, has a “back” door out onto a very cool fire escape and roof top – I heard the grunts and groans and logistical talking of moving the couch into the apartment from the hall. The stairs twisted and were narrow, as was the hall and the door opening. I think the couch was half way in and then out a few times when I finally heard a collective, “yes!” The couch was in! This was a big deal. High fives were given all around (I think – I was still in the kitchen) and then I heard Mike say, “OK, how many Wheaton Grads does it take to move a couch?” Very funny. All kidding aside though, these Wheaton grads – these fine young capable people -- I’m sure could move mountains if they put their hearts and minds to it. I’ve no doubt that someday they will.

A cooler packed with cold water, juices and homemade pizza awaited us now that the immediate task at hand was completed. As we sat around their new kitchen table on nicely reupholstered chairs, Zack commented, in all sincerity, “Wow, where you’d get this pizza? It’s really good!” Well, Mike had made the pizza and he’s always working on improving it – constantly tweaking it and trying something different. It’s his thing. So, I think he was glad that it was enjoyed enough to have been commented on in that way. This, I believe, made his day, at least to a small degree.

It was now time for us to leave. They all had a lot more to do – going back for their clothes and shopping for at least a shower curtain and a little food. Although not completely moved in, they would now be living here. The bulk of the heavy stuff was here, specifically the mattresses, couch and large chair. As we were getting ready for our goodbyes, I heard Allie mention that they also still needed to buy some beer for Zack. I smiled at this very appropriate gesture and was reminded of my old neighborhood growing up. Whenever any of the neighbors helped the other out with one sort of project or another, beer was always given in appreciation. I mean, you can’t really pay your friends. To give someone 20 bucks is just plain silly. Perhaps some of the tasks were worth 1 or 2 or even 3 hundred dollars or more if you had to actually hire someone to do it. In my neighborhood, you just bought the person a 6 pack or 2 or even a case of their favorite beer and called it even. You knew you could count on each other for help with certain tasks and you knew you’d either be buying the beer or receiving it. It was the code I guess. A person would know how much of their time would be needed – 30 minutes, 1 or 2 hours etc, -- beforehand by being told something to the effect of, “Oh, this is only a 1 six pack job.” And it was not that the “helper” was anticipating or expected any sort of reward – because the true reward was really in just being a good neighbor and friend and the pleasure derived from helping someone out – but just to know the enormity of the task at hand. I recall a time shortly after we were married when we asked our friend “the neighborhood mechanic” if he would be able to tune up our car. We didn’t feel we could trust bringing it to a garage (OK, I’m dating myself here – but you already know how old I am anyway) and of course he obliged. (I know now that this must have been an extreme inconvenience for him and probably went beyond boundaries really – too much to ask. We were very young!) I bought 2 cases of his favorite beer the next day, leaving it on his door steps. Sometimes, on smaller jobs, the beer would be consumed while the job was being done. This always seemed to make the job go easier, yet it always took more time! For these types of jobs, of course, one would say, “Oh, this is a 1 beer job, maybe 2.” And a good time would be had by all – which was really the point.

Well, our parental duties done – at least for the move and at least for now – we headed on home. Allie’s Dad had moved her into the apartment that she was now leaving, almost 2 years ago and I know her Mom helped her to paint it. I thought of her parents now (though I’ve never met them) and realized that they must have felt secure in the knowledge that someone – that we -- would be helping their daughter with the move this time. After all, our son was moving too. I’m sure they appreciated it – (just as we appreciated her Dad helping to fix Alex’s car when it got creamed in a rotary in Massachusetts a few years back.) And I’m sure they thought about it too. I think we had a little parental telepathy going because I felt their gratitude, as I knew that they knew – we had this one.

Truth be told, parental duty or not, it was truly a pleasure and an honor to help out these wonderful young adults. And I think it was gratifying - no, I know it was -- in more of a “roots and wings” kind of thing. To see your children grow into responsible, capable adults and to watch them fly off -- really on their own now – well, what more can a parent want for their child? You do your best while raising them (mistakes are made and you wonder whether they turned out ok, because of you or in spite of you – perhaps both) and hope they go off into the world, well equipped. You’ve given them wings, and although bittersweet, you watch them fly. And when my son called that night, as I listened to his words on the answering machine – just checking in to see if we made it back alright, thanking us again for helping him, and that he was looking forward to coming soon for a visit – I knew we had given him roots.

Next Up: Spring

2010-03-14T11:41:00.001-04:00

“First comes spring and summer, but then we have fall and winter. And then we get spring and summer again.” ~ Chance the Gardener, Peter Sellers, Being There

I noticed it yesterday. It was faint, but it was definitely there. It was fleeting, as it was gone today. But I have hope. It will be back. The official date for its arrival is March 20th but just as a newborn seldom comes into the world on their scheduled due date and often teases the anxious expectant parents with false labor, so it is with Spring. It’ll be here when it’s good and ready and no sooner, but will usually tease us with brief moments of coming attractions. And so it was with yesterday. Spring was in the air.

I had been, appropriately, doing spring cleaning although it wasn’t quite warm enough to have my windows opened. But when I went outside to shake out my very full dust rag, there was this very subtle hint of Spring. I turned my face into the slight breeze so as not to get a face full of dust when I shook out the cloth. The air had a faint scent of fresh grass and I was instantly taken back to my track & field days some 35+ years ago. And just as fast I thought of my older son. He had run track too and was a star pole-vaulter as well. He and I have talked about how the lovely Autumn scents remind us of our cross country days and now I wondered whether he was outside in Rochester, breathing in the fresh air and thinking of track. And if he was, I imagined him, just as fast, thinking of me thinking of him because he knows I would be. I could take that even further but it may get confusing. But then I realized we’re talking about Rochester, NY, located way up north on the banks of Lake Ontario. It is unlikely that Spring – or any hint of it – would be making its way up there anytime soon.

Now, we know that there are 4 seasons everywhere around the globe. It’s just that different regions may have different names for them. My son is always upbeat and never negative. But in listening to him talk about Rochester, which is where he’s been living for 1 ½ years, I get the feeling that the 4 seasons up there go something like this: cold, snow, bleak and summer. Many of these seasons overlap and summer is in the month of July. So I believe that right now it is bleak up there, which is the word he has used to describe it in the past – in a matter-of-fact sort of manner, not in a negative way -- although the word itself paints a very dreary picture. Either way, I did shoot him an email to tell him that it is track season here in Connecticut and that I was thinking of him!

I have seen other signs of spring recently. Robins looking for worms in my back yard for one, and there have been more birds in the early morning waking me up. The past few days I’ve seen a few bugs outside flying around. I don’t know what kind of bugs but I haven’t seen bugs outside since September. For the past few weeks I’ve heard that familiar honking in the air as the geese have been returning. And finally, the ice on the lake is disappearing and I’ve just heard that the UCONN crew teams will be practicing starting next week. They are putting their dock in on Wednesday the 17th and will begin their rowing on Thursday.

I gotta say, I do like winter and I’m not “sick” of it as some people might be, but I also like the next season. Every season I’m in is the best season to be in at the time – but I do like when they change too. It’s kind of like; say you’re at a fancy restaurant: they put a plate of something in front of you and it looks good and tastes great and you “oouu” and “ahh” over the presentation of it all as you eat it up. Then, not quite finished, but they take that plate away and present you with another one. You liked the first, but you like this one too and you never quite get the chance to fully enjoy them all and then they’re gone. But others keep coming in their place so that’s ok. Each one different but equally as delicious. And so it is with the seasons.

I could go on and on about what I like about this winter season – as it slowly slips away. The frigid air as it stings your nostrils and freezes the hairs inside your nose; the quietness, stillness and peacefulness you feel while standing in the woods with the snow falling all around; the beauty of the snow on the leaves on the ground in the woods – looking like sugar on a bowl of cornflakes; the snow sticking on the trees and the ice hanging from the branches; the silhouette of the bare trees against the sky and finally; looking out the window on a clear night when “the moon on the breast of the new fallen snow,” gives “a luster of mid-day to objects below.” But as I gaze outside now and see about a dozen robins pulling worms out of the ground in my front yard – and although I’ve not quite had my fill of it -- I’ll say goodbye to winter with no regrets. I know it will be back on December 21st, if not sooner. Next up: Spring!

Whose Backyard Is This Anyway?

2010-01-20T15:37:00.004-05:00

"Bless the beast and the children. For in this world they have no voice. They have no choice.”

As I stood on the deck in the frigid air after my morning walk today I gazed out into the woods as I always do. Though the temperature is a mere 9 degrees, I am properly layered and plenty warm. There is not a cloud in the sky and no breeze or wind and so I can really feel the warmth of the morning sun. And although I have heard no complaints from Missy, I don’t believe she should be out very long when it’s this cold, so I have sent her inside. Looking into the woods I see the same trio of deer that I have seen just about every day since last spring. Although I have truly seen deer in my backyard nearly every day for the past 20 years, I have kept track of these three specifically. It is a Mom with her 2 babies – who are getting older now, no longer babies really. I recall the day when one of them was born.

It was last spring and I was on my morning walk. As I walked through the enchanted forest – the section of my driveway that cuts through the woods – I spotted a baby deer lying in the leaves about 8 feet into the woods, just minutes old. The mama had temporarily left but was, undoubtedly, watching me and Missy from a safe distance as we passed on through. I have learned that new born deer, before the mom cleans them all up, have no scent. I’m sure the mom left so as not to draw notice to her and her new born fawn, from the dog. I kept on walking, not wanting to startle the baby or panic the mother and not wanting Missy to see her. True to form, my faithful companion/guard dog – whose eyesight isn’t all that great - remained clueless to the nearness of the brand new fawn and we successfully walked on past. On the walk back the fawn was gone.

As the baby grew and was able to string along with Mom, it was so neat to see her looking, of course, just like Bambi with all the spots that they eventually loose. The mama would walk across our yard with her baby close behind and followed also by another deer who appeared to be the older sister to the newborn. The legs on the fawn seemed to be way too long for her small body and it was as if she was walking on stilts.

Now, to be clear, there were - and are - more than these 3 deer, but I came to recognize this trio over the summer and autumn months and now, on into winter. Quite often I’d see them grazing in the field with other deer. At times it seemed as if the older deer were babysitting the younger ones and perhaps tolerating their antics. As I watched from my vantage point at the top the hill, looking down at them in the field, it was as if I was watching a Disney movie. Art really does imitate life. The babies were frolicking – hopping and skipping and literally running in circles around the other deer in juts and spurts. Deer are people too!

More than once I would come upon the deer, unexpectantly, surprising both the deer and myself. Often times, when this happened, the mama deer would stomp her front hoof once. I knew the deer would be off and running in a matter of seconds. I came to recognize that this stomping was a signal which served two purposes. Firstly, it was a warning to me to stop right there and that if I dare come any closer the deer would snort and spit at me. Secondly, it was a signal to her babies as if to say, “Ok, on the count of three – we run!” And sure enough off they would go, bounding across my backyard and into the woods jumping over stone walls and following their ancient, well traveled paths. Their white tails in the air, moving up and down, look as if they’re waving. Often times, in the early morning or in the faint light of late day – at twilight – they would blend right into the woods and would miss being seen altogether were it not for the white of their under tail.

And so as I recalled all these sightings of the deer over the past months and watched them now in the woods, standing on my deck, I couldn’t help but wonder; whose backyard is this anyway? Just then the deck lets out a huge “bang” as it so often does when the temperature is this low, and three heads pop up in the woods as the deer stand “at attention.” I know the answer and am grateful to the deer to be sharing their home with me, in which I am really a guest. Of course they didn’t have a choice, did they? And although good guests usually don’t go around cutting your trees down, I have, unwittingly, provided them with really nice shrubs in my front yard to eat. We have even bought deer food for them at the local Tractor Supply. It’s nice we can live in each other’s backyard. I look forward to seeing brand new frolicking fawns in the spring.

My Happy Place

2009-11-21T14:06:00.004-05:00

“I know a place where no one ever goes. There’s peace and quiet, beauty and repose.”

This early morning found me down at the lake as usual. One might think I’d tire of this same walk and scenery day after day. But I never do. That is not to say, however, that I wouldn’t love to be walking in other places with other scenery. I would. I’ll be joining a hiking club soon, maybe next week. They hike locally every Tuesday and Thursday. Next Tuesday they are meeting in Mansfield (Storrs) just 10 minutes east of me, near the UConn campus. There are so many local trails, none of which I have walked. I am looking forward to new places and meeting these people, who I know must be my tribe.

So, I walked with Missy up to the “point.” The point, at this south end of the lake, juts out into the water, kind of like a peninsula but on a much smaller scale. There are coves on either side of the point. The town beach is on one side and the state boat launch just beyond it. On the other side, the cove extends much farther to the end of the lake. The point is wooded and fairly thick with Mountain Laurel bushes, which bloom in early June. Some pink, some white. The Mountain Laurel is Connecticut’s state flower. There are a few paths to choose from to walk up to the top. We’re only talking a hundred feet, if that; I mean it’s not a large area. It is well under an acre, I’d say. Not only is the point – an actual point – as it juts out into the lake, but there is also an incline to it. Probably only 20 to 25’ of elevation gain till you reach the top “point.” There is a concrete slab at the top on which is the engraving, “Bates’ Point.” I don’t know who Bates is. I suppose I should go to the library and study up on the local history of this town that I have lived in for 52 years.

I used to play up at this “point” as a child with my sibs and the neighbor kids, who were also like brothers and sisters to me – and still are. We’d busy our summer days catching frogs and salamanders and garter snakes. We’d walk along the shore from my house, there at the end of the lake, to the point. Walking along the rocky shore line – I’m talking little rocks in very shallow, ankle deep water – we’d pick through the rocks, turning them over looking for the crawfish hiding there. We’d always bring a pail of sorts to collect up all the creepy crawly things. It would take us forever to walk this very short distance around the perimeter of the cove to get to the point. There was so much to do and see along the way. And my Mom, looking out from the perch of our home set up a bit on the lake, could see us the whole time and we always stuck together as a group. We were carefree but we were safe. What a fantastic place to grow up! Sometimes we’d swim across the cove, diagonally, to the point, which was quite a long distance to swim. We’d use our life jackets as flotation – not wearing them but lying on top and swimming with them. Or, sometimes we’d have a tube or a raft of sorts. To swim directly across the cove, though, to the other side was not a long distance and would only take a few minutes.

From the top of the point, standing on the concrete slab, I surveyed the lake while Missy, off her leash now, sniffed around and ran in spurts here and there, excited I think at the freedom from her leash. There is no road to run into and no way to get lost up here. She is safe and stays close by. Missy finds the steep dirt path that leads sharply down to the water’s edge and looks back to me for approval. I tell her to go ahead and I follow her down to the rocky shore. The lake is lower now which makes it possible to walk along the edge of the shore around the entire perimeter of the point which I love to do. For now though, I sit for a minute on a larger rock and drink in the stillness. This place is my “happy place.” It is so easy to go here in my mind when I go here nearly every morning. And although I have many other “happy places,” I can’t actually get to them as readily. Those other places though, remain in my mind and I call them up into my thoughts from time to time. I comb through the smaller rocks now, looking for just the right one to skip and I skip it across the surface of the water. I watch it go, maybe 30 feet before it veers off to the right and sinks. I wish I could linger here a little longer, (“mmm I wanna linger, mmm a little longer”) but alas, it’s time to go.

I am at the very middle of the point – at the 12 o’clock mark. I walk counter clockwise now toward the beach and the park. Missy wades in the cold water not seeming to mind. Back near the beginning of the point now, I look over and see my sculling friend walking across the beach toward me – having walked from the boat launch, probably on his way to the point – with his little dog Bean. We chat a moment about nothing really, but it is always so uplifting to meet up with a member of my “congregation” – my “tribe,” a kindred spirit. I know I say this alot and it’s because I can finally put my finger on it. These people who I run into now and then (and so many out there that I haven’t met) – whether while kayaking, walking, running – well, we all have stuff in common and it’s nice to share these common threads and have this communion – this fellowship - when we meet, if only so briefly.

I suppose I need to get out more and meet more people from my tribe. I will be doing this on Tuesday with the hiking group. When I emailed the group leader to ask about the hike and tell her that I might be joining the group, she emailed me back and said, among other things, that in addition to hiking she was a “paddler,” which I took to mean a fellow kayaker. Yes, I have found my tribe.

The Fog - The Sun - The Moon - The Lake

2009-11-13T23:18:00.008-05:00

“The fog comes on little cat feet. It sits looking over harbor and city on silent haunches and then moves on.” ~ Carl Sandburg

Today was the 4th day since setting the clocks back and I am just loving getting out an hour or so earlier for my morning walk. Monday I was out the door by 5:45, although I was aiming for 5:30, and 6:00 on Tuesday and today. It starts to get light about 30 minutes before sunrise and gets light fairly fast. Sunrise is about 6:20 now, but of course that changes by a few minutes every day. I can’t quite explain why I like being out early, but there’s just something about being up and awake and outside – getting a jump on my day I guess? No, that’s not it. It’s as if I have the whole world to myself. I love the quietness and stillness and peacefulness. This “me” time sustains me throughout my day and if I don’t have any other quiet times or solitude that day, that’s ok, because at least I had this early morning. It’s almost like I’m carrying a special secret with me all day which comes to the foreground of my thoughts now and then, whispering to me, “remember this?” as those visions from my morning walk appear as a slide show in my mind. This always makes me smile.

I know that there are a lot of people who are up early, getting ready for work and I know I am fortunate to be able to work from my home. And although 5:45 seems early now, it really is not all that unusual for anyone to be up at that point. Being up and out at 4:45 in July and August is a different story all together, I think. Nice. I felt as if I had more hours in my day than other people.

On Monday, I sat on the stonewall at the top of my driveway near the mailboxes to finish my coffee. Just as I started out from there, my neighbor appeared and so I had the pleasure of walking with my him the 7/10’s of a mile or so to the end of our street where we parted ways; he, going left up the street on his usual route and I, going into the park and continuing down to the lake there. As we approached the end of our road, you could see the moon, looking absolutely huge, as it was setting into the lake straight ahead of us. How nice to see the sun rising behind me in the east, while watching the moon setting in the west. Just stunning. And this full moon – going to bed now in the morning - was rising last night. I watched it through my kitchen sliders – stepping out momentarily onto the deck to get a clearer view. Spectacular! Big and orange on the rise, bright and white on setting. Grand entrance – big finish – a great show all around, and no charge! I wonder how many people looked at the same thing but didn’t actually see it. Too busy with the stuff of their lives, too stressed out to care, perhaps. And then I wonder how many people saw it as I did and were gazing up at it at the same time as I with a feeling of deep appreciation and awe. Those people, for whom something like this really speaks, well – those people are my tribe. And although I don’t know any of them, I know they are out there. The thought of this makes me smile.

Tuesday morning dawned clear with blue skies turning a deeper blue as the sun rose. Up top, on the road now walking northwest, more or less, I look back to the east and I see the glow of the sun’s rays – not the actual sun yet - through the trees as it nears the horizon, almost official now. Drum roll please. There it is, rising fast and washing out the orange blaze to a bright yellow. The show put on just prior to sunrise sometimes upstages the actual main event, which is the case this morning. With the leaves gone from the trees now, the contrast between the dark silhouetted trees in the foreground, with the sky on fire behind them, is quite a sight. I stand and watch for a minute.

Continuing on down the road, I am approaching the spot with the view, to the right, of the valley and hills where often times the fog lays low, thick and heavy. When I’m just about there I notice what appears to be smoke straight ahead about 3/10’s of a mile up the road. Although the road is straight and level, for all intent and purposes, there is an ever so slight incline from my mail box to the midway point down the road, about 4/10’s of a mile. Then a very slight downgrade from there to the end. You can’t notice it at all when walking it. There is no extra effort required when walking. It is only noticeable from a visual standpoint. When walking it you can see the “high” point from way back as the road dips so slightly beyond it so that anything standing at that very point – like a dog crossing the street right there – appears to be on a horizon. You can’t see the actual road beyond that point although you can still see the homes on either side. I only mention this, and try ever so inadequately to describe it, because it was a tenth of a mile or so beyond this horizon high point in the road that appeared to be where there was a heavy smoke in the road. And although I could see it some 3-4/10ths a mile ahead, I couldn’t quite make out totally what or where it was from. Could it be a downdraft from someone’s chimney? Is someone burning something in a barrel in their backyard? Is a house on fire? I can’t tell. Guess I’ll just have to wait a few minutes until I am there.

It was just at that point when I got to my view of the valley heavy with fog. I looked behind me down the road from where I walked, still clear as a bell and blue sky. There was a slight breeze and the smoke ahead seemed to be moving down the road toward me. The fog in the valley seemed to be lifting a bit and actually moving also in my direction. As I approached the halfway horizon mark I realize that the smoke ahead of me is not smoke at all. It is fog. And as I turn again to look behind me, the clear sky is fading and I am almost totally engulfed by fog that is all around me now. I have never seen the fog appear so quickly, indeed “on little cat feet,” so quiet, quick and stealth. If I were in a ship, I’d be lost at sea at this point. I look straight up and I can see the blue sky, just barely, through the fog. I know it will lift and burn away, but how strange this is. If the people in the homes ahead of me wake and look out their window through sleepy eyes, they will be deceived into thinking it is a gray overcast day. But it is not!

Well I continue on, enjoying the fog which has a beauty all its own. Down on the shore of the lake now I’m held captive by the sight. The fog is patchy and although it is thick in places it is also wispy. Houses across the shore appear and disappear in the fog. The near full moon suddenly appears through the fog, low on the lake getting ready to set. Oh, how magnificent and almost mystical, really. And, although I can't see them, I hear the voices of the Uconn Crew team that practices on the lake nearly every morning. For college students (and by that I really mean, young people, because I know it’s extra hard for them to do this early rising thing) to be up before 6AM to catch their shuttle and to be out on the lake by 6 – well you gotta know how dedicated they are. I so admire that! Here they come out of the fog, what a sight. There are three or four, 8-man scuttles out there with 2 small motor boats with their coaches, which scoot along with them calling out instructions through a bull horn. I often see them out there but it is a special treat today due to the effect the fog plays on all of this. Surreal.

As I walk back through the park toward the road I wave to the man in the Uconn shuttle bus. He is the driver who sits and reads a book, glancing up now and then at the lake, as he waits for the team to finish. It is only a 10 minute drive to the Uconn campus in Storrs. He is the same driver as last year and the year before. He is probably thinking, “Oh my god, that lady is still walking her dog down here to the lake!” He waves back and smiles.

As I continue east toward the road, I look back for one more view of the lake, the moon and the fog. The sun is bright now. I think the fog is ready to move on.

My Mother Rode Her Bike

2009-11-07T05:54:00.002-05:00

“Adventure is worthwhile in itself.” ~ Amelia Earhart

My mother rode her bike. No not recently, but some 60 years ago when she was 16 (though, later on too.) Now, to be clear, she wasn’t my mother or anyone’s mother at age 16, although marriage and motherhood would only be a few years away for her at that point and it would be another 8 years from then until I would be born, in 1957. There were 3 sibs ahead of me and 1 after, in 1960. (Hi Holly!) My parents met at an airport of all things!

Now, some kids are given exclusive use of a car when they are 16 or even given a car, period. But, my mother rode her bike. A lot of kids had jobs after school to which they walked, took the bus or drove their car. My mother rode her bike. Now, granted, some kids had to walk everywhere and didn’t even have a bike, let alone a car. My mother lived in a large metropolitan suburb of a major city and as such, the town she grew up in itself was highly populated, probably around 40,000 people back then. It had a hospital, public transportation and was easy to get around. And, as established, my mother rode her bike.

When I was 16, I had a bike too. My first 10 speed. I remember it now as clear as if it were just yesterday, riding my bike everywhere that first summer I had it. I got it for my 16th birthday. I paid for half of it with the money I saved from babysitting and my Dad paid for the balance. It was $120.00 which was a lot of money back then. I still have the odometer which, I believe, shows 1600 miles. (I’ll have to dig it up and check it out now to be sure.) Of course, years later, my two boys had bikes too and also rode everywhere on them. There were a few times when we’d all be camping together – my husband and our boys in our RV and my Mom and Dad in their Bus – we all would bring our bikes and would ride around the campground together. I rode, the boys rode and, as already stated - my mother rode her bike.

“Oh my gosh,” I bet you are saying, “enough already about the bikes! What is the point of your blog?” Well, you’ll just have to trust me and keep reading!

My mother was sort of spoiled when she was a little, I think. She had lessons of all sorts (and a bike at age 2) and nothing was too good for my grandparents’ “little girl.” Among other things, my Mom had piano lessons. When she was 5 she could play the Star Spangled Banner – with both hands! She could read the sheet music! How do you read 2 different lines (staffs) of music at the same time and move your fingers to the right keys, period, let alone when you are 5?! I could never figure this out. Your right hand plays one thing – reading the music in treble clef – and your left hand plays something different, at the same time – reading, at the same time something different in bass clef. Maybe I don’t have that quite right. I’m not sure. But I have tried to play the piano and I just don’t see it working for me. I guess that’s why I played the trumpet in school. 3 keys – 3 fingers. It couldn’t get any easier than that. Now, my sons played instruments with both hands too – taking after their Grammy I guess! My oldest played the clarinet in school (like his Auntie – Hi Teri) and my younger son played the sax! 2 hands – 10 fingers moving differently – amazing! I am in awe of this talent. My younger son is still serious about his music and plays the guitar (2 hands - 10 fingers, doing different things at the same time!) It is really amazing to me and I really love to hear my son play his guitar. He is truly talented and I couldn’t possibly be more proud of him and in awe of his talent.

OK, back to the various lessons and talents my mother had (in addition to her bike riding talents, for which she needed no lessons and was riding at age 2, when she got her first bike – as mentioned!) When my mother was 15 – at a time when most kids are taking driving lessons - she was taking flying lessons! You know, as in a plane in the sky! Flying lessons! I mean, how cool is that?! And when my mother was 16 – when most kids get their drivers license – Mom got her pilot’s license! Her pilot’s license! Now wait, it gets better. For her sweet sixteen, my grandparents bought their little girl a plane! A freakin’ plane! (I know, I keep repeating myself. I can’t help it.) “My mother had her own plane!” (I’m shouting this now.) She must have promised to get straight A’s, I bet. My mother’s name is Alice and she named her plane, appropriately, Wonderland. She had it painted on the side. I guess I don’t need to state the obvious – you know, what people would say when they looked up in the sky and saw my mother in her plane! Isn’t that just too cool?

Now, as it turns out, there was a handsome fly-boy at the airport where my mother kept her plane. He owned his own plane too. It didn’t take long at all for him to notice her. I mean, how many young women have their pilot’s license, let alone their own plane!!? She was probably the only gal there. And, as mentioned earlier, it was at the airport where my mother-to-be met my father-to-be, (lucky for me) who was 4 years older than she. They would fly together, quite literally, off into the sunset! How storybook is that?! And the rest, as they say, is history. Oh, there’s just one last thing. The small airport where my mother kept her plane was 2 towns away from where she lived. Now, I don’t know how many miles that was, but it was a lot. She didn’t have use of a car or even have her driver’s license for that matter. So, with no other means to get to her plane – and in order to be able to fly - my mother rode her bike.

“I’d Rather Be Flying.” ~ Alice - in Wonderland

Author's Note: OK, I'm sure you're wondering where did this all come from and why have I wandered from my "backyard" theme. Well firstly, I guess since this is my blog I'll write what I feel and I will stray off topic from time to time. Secondly, we took Mom to see the movie "Amelia" last week. Great movie - good visual - stunning really (oh, I know I use that word too much!) Anyway - I really could go on and on about the movie and the woman, but I'll just leave it at that.

We've Got Turtles - Snapping Turtle: Part 2

2009-11-01T12:22:00.018-05:00

“And God said, ‘Let there be turtles,’ and there were turtles. And God saw that the turtles were good.”

The Jeopardy Category: Turtles & Things – for $200. The answer: 105. You are quick at the buzzer because you know the question – You know this one: How many days did it taken for the “High Street Turtles” to make their entrance into the world? Yes! September 30th was the magic date. And, although a picture is worth a thousand words (well, in my case 1500 words – I’m really trying to shorten these posts!) here is an accounting of that day and this extraordinary event, which, were it not for a series of coincidences, might easily have gone unnoticed!

September 30th was a gorgeous Wednesday and although the day dawned with a bit of leftover sprinkles, these quickly eased up and stopped completely by 9:00. Plenty of sun and blue skies followed. Now, I love the rain and have all the proper rain gear. I will not let a little rain keep me inside or more amply put – keep me from my great outdoors. (Nor will the “cold” keep me in – it’s just a matter of proper layering. It’s amazing, all the lightweight cold weather stuff they have – not like when we were kids – but all that is for another post!) However, my little dog (well, she’s more like a small pony) does not like the rain and she’ll cower and tremble uncontrollably, because she associates it with thunder. During thunderstorms she has been found hiding in the bathtub. So, because we are up way earlier than 9:00 – and so it was still raining - we had to skip our morning walk and opted to just go around the yard. Missy, cowering, quickly did her thing (after some convincing from me that she had to do it and couldn’t just run back into the house like she wanted!) and inside we went. Sigh! So, coincidence #1 was that it was raining, thus causing us to skip our morning walk.

Later in the day, at around 2:00, Mike asked if I could go up and get the mail as he was expecting something. Now, usually we are in and out during the day on appointments, etc. (we work out of our home) and will pick up the mail on the way back. Or, if Mike wants the mail – and we haven’t been out and won’t be – he’ll just drive up himself and get it. He must have been in the middle of something and so he asked if I wouldn’t mind getting it. So – that is coincidence #2. I had been planning on taking Missy on her walk later on at around 5 or so, but it was totally gorgeous out so I jumped at this opportunity to grab her leash and off we went. I would come immediately back with the mail if Mike’s expected mail was there, otherwise, we’d continue on for a brief walk.

So, up at the box, Missy is drawn to something in the road and is sniffing it. I pull her away. I sort of glance at the thing and at first I think it is a mouse or frog (toad?) that unfortunately didn’t make it completely across – stopped short by a car. Oh, poor thing, I think. Suddenly, I realize it is a little bitty turtle and - just as I thought “oh, it happened – it happened,” - I see more crawling through the maze of grass and leaves near the mailbox toward the road, and I realize, “oh my gosh, it’s happening right now!” I, again, cannot believe my eyes. Oh, what to do? They actually want to cross the road. I see where there are a few already that didn’t make it. They are still coming out of this hole. Amazing, look at them go! One, two, three, ---- I count seven of them crawling around. Now, I know from my research that there are between 20 and 40! I only see 5 that didn’t make it. I pick up several of them, one by one, and move them away from the road. I run down the driveway and stop at my neighbor Terry’s house and ring the bell. Good, she’s home.

“Terry, the turtles are being born right now. I’m running home to grab my camera and a box or something.”

Terry has company so she cannot get away right now, but will be up soon. I bring Missy into the house; grab the camera and a big empty box that 2 bags of Cheerios came in (Honey Nut). I tell Mike the turtles have hatched and I’m going to go back up to help them across the street. Mike sees me running out the door with the Cheerios box and he says, in all seriousness and as if he thinks I’m a little crazy, “You’re gonna feed them?” Um, no!

This time, I take the car "up top." No more casualties. Good! Guarding over them, and protecting them from the cars whizzing by, I take some pics and some video. I take more video then still pics. Terry comes up after a few minutes because her visitors had just left. We pick up as many of the little guys that we see – 13 in all – and place them in the Cheerios box to transport them across the street. Why oh why do turtles always want to cross the street? (Well, there is a small pond and brook way down there) How will they ever make it, they can barely make it through the tall grass which is toppling some of them over. They manage to straighten out and continue on. Back at the hole they are still emerging. Some seem to be stronger than others. One guy is crawling over the back of his sibling to get out.

The turtles are only about 1 inch in diameter. They can fit in the small part of the palm of your hand. The hole they are crawling out of is not that much bigger. I have seen such a hole numerous times – here and there - and have often wondered what the heck the hole is all about. Now, I know. There is currently a hole like this down by the lake. It is probably about 50 to 60 feet from the shore. A better location than right near the road? Perhaps. However, there are 2 retaining stonewalls each with about a 3 foot drop before you get to the sandy beach. Oh dear! It is never easy for our little creatures out in “the wild” is it?

After a few minutes of collecting up these cute little, almost dinosaur looking, turtles, my son arrives home from work. Of course he stops in the driveway to see what is happening. I’m glad he got to see this too! I’m glad Terry was home to see this. I emailed the pics to Jack and printed out pics for Art. I didn’t have his email address. I put the pics in Art’s mailbox the next day. He called me when he got home to thank me and we agreed on how awesome it was and we were glad that they hatched this year. I told Art he did a good job as Keeper.

About the series of coincidences: If it had not been raining that morning, I would have gone for a long walk with Missy. If I went to the mailbox without Missy I might not have seen the turtles – as she was drawn to the ones in the road and made me take a closer look. And, usually we pick up the mail at the end of the day anyway – very rarely making a “special trip” to get it. Mike was expecting something and I was happy for the excuse to get out. In any case, I definitely now know for sure that the turtles never hatched last year, in 2008, as I never saw a hole like this one there. It wasn’t a case where they hatched and we didn’t see it as it was happening and so, never knew about it. I was always looking at the ground right near the mailboxes. Not knowing exactly what to look for, I would have noticed the hole and realized what happened. I’m positive none were born last year, poor things. And if I hadn’t have happened to have been there between 2 and 3:00 on the 30th of September this year, I still would have seen the hole that they had dug themselves out of and I would have known that they had been born - and I would have been very happy just knowing that. That would have been enough for me. But actually being there and seeing it all unfold – well, you know – it was beyond double icing on the cake for me.

Now, I’ll be keeping a close eye out as June 15th of 2010 approaches.

Snapping Turtle - Part I

2009-10-25T15:52:00.005-04:00

"That this miracle of life, this reproduction - birth, occurs innumerable times every day and has for thousands and even millions of years, does not make it any less of a miracle each unique time, but even more of one."

I was walking down my driveway a few months back, coming home from my morning walk with Missy. As I got down to the bottom fork I was met by my neighbor driving out in his truck. He stopped for a second, stuck his head out the window of the truck and said, “The turtle was back yesterday.”

“Oh my goodness,” I responded, thrilled to hear the news even though I did not witness the sighting. “I can’t believe a year has passed. It’s been one year to the day! This is great, we get another chance!” The countdown begins again.

The first sighting of this turtle, whom we are assuming is the same one, was last year in 2008. It was June 15th. I remember the date because I had made a conscience effort to do so. I made a mental note of it at the time so that I could track the progress and start the countdown. This is how that day begun.

As mentioned, June 15th 2008, I was walking my dog in the early morning. It was the beginning of our walk and it was a beautiful warm morning. When we got to the top of our driveway at the road, we turned right to go onto the grassy area between the mailboxes and the stonewall there, alongside the road. Right next to the last mailbox, on the grass just inches from the road, something catches my eye. Surprisingly, Missy either does not see it or just doesn’t care. Her eyesight doesn’t seem to be all that great and I wonder if she thinks it’s a rock. I am stunned. I just cannot believe what I am seeing. I have never, ever witnessed anything like this.

I see this big snapping turtle, (yes, I’ve seen turtles – but wait, there’s more) probably a bit smaller than a dinner plate – about 8”- 10” in diameter I’d say. I’m wondering why she is not moving after seeing me. I come up to her and am about 1 foot away now. I’m careful to keep Missy at bay, (I picture her going to sniff and getting her nose bitten by this turtle – who could probably take a finger off) although she still isn’t interested. Upon closer examination it becomes clear to me why the turtle is not moving. She is straddling over this hole in the ground. The hole is about 5 to 6 inches around and I can see 2 mounds of dirt on either side of it that have been dug out from it. This mama turtle is laying her eggs there. Amazing! I go and tie Missy’s leash around the wire fence nearby and go back to watch. As I stand behind the turtle I see the eggs dropping out. I stayed and watched until she was done. I counted 13 eggs in about 20 minutes. The eggs are off white in color, round and smooth, and a bit smaller than a golf ball. After every 2 or 3 eggs the turtle reaches down – in slow motion like – with her rear leg (foot?) and, although I can’t see into the hole and so I can’t see the eggs after they have been dropped down there, I realize she is moving the eggs around to make room for more. I can’t believe I get to stand here and watch all of this. How lucky am I? (I have never even seen this on Discovery, although I’m sure it’s been documented.) When all her eggs have been laid and moved and situated just so, she begins to bury them. I am surprised to see that she doesn’t use any of the dirt that came out of the hole – the 2 mounds on either side – but rather she seems to be taking dirt from the sides of the hole. She stops every few seconds and packs it down. All of this is done with only her 2 rear legs.

I finally have to tear myself away because Missy still needs her morning walk, which I cut short. When I come back, the turtle is gone. There is still a little indent where the hole was and where the eggs now lay underground. Of course, I run home and Google snapping turtles to learn when I should expect the eggs to hatch, etc. I learn that the turtle will lay between 20 – 40 eggs and that it will take about 75 to 110 days before they hatch. The colder it is the longer it will take. I note the date – June 15th. The countdown begins. My immediate neighbors, Terry and Jack, had seen the turtle digging the hole at the beginning of their walk and I told my other neighbor (there are 3 homes down my common driveway, which forks at the bottom) Art all about it. I’m figuring October 5th is the drop dead date, although secretly I’m giving it until the 10th or so. (15th?) And now ---- we wait!

So, here are some little known (well little known to me until I Googled it) turtle facts for you to ponder – you know, while we wait. Well, we already know how many eggs and how long it takes for them to incubate, as mentioned above. Further, I have learned that the female turtle will just lay her eggs and will never, ever go back to check on them. She will never know if they hatched or not. She did her job, now she is done! The female turtle will walk a long way – well away from her habitat (pond, lake, etc) to lay her eggs. I guess there are more predators around the habitat area so being further away will give them a better chance of survival. The survival rate is very low for these poor little guys, which is why so many eggs are laid.

Well, October 5th of last year came and went and so did the 10th (and the 15th!) We were all pretty disappointed that no turtles were born. (Do you say they are “born” or do you say they hatched?) But as the year progressed, all was forgotten. (Not really, though.) And now that brings us to this past June 15th, a year later, when Art stopped in his truck to tell me the turtle was back.

Well, I ran into Art up at the mailboxes about a month ago around September 20th or so and I commented, (well, whined really) “No turtles?! No turtles, Art – No Turtles Arthur!” I complained, as if it was all his fault. He was responsible this year because he was the witness and so, the keeper – the guardian! (I guess last year it was my fault.) Although there was still time – it was only 9/20 - for some reason we were all skeptical and had been all along (I guess because last year’s batch didn’t take) and although we were disappointed by the non-event, we weren’t surprised. Maybe again next year? (Perhaps, still, in the next few weeks? I’m not giving up!)

Really though, I gotta say, I wasn’t disappointed at all. I still can’t believe I got to see a turtle lay her eggs!! I mean, how cool is that? Well, it’s very cool in my book. I never ever in my life would have thought or believed that I would see a turtle lay eggs! That was just amazing to me and I still picture it clearly in my mind. (Sorry, no pics – just memory) I think that just, plain ole, just seeing a snapping turtle that day – period – was awesome and would have been “enough” to make my day, (remember though, just seeing a cat makes my day! What is wrong with me?) But then – oh my gosh – seeing her lay the eggs and getting to stand there and watch – well, that is like beyond double icing on the cake for me! Unbelievable. Disappointed? Certainly not. I feel privileged, honored and -- ok I'll say it - blessed - to have witnessed such a thing.

To be continued? I hope so.

Autumn In New England

2009-10-18T08:11:00.045-04:00

"The leaves have lost hold of the branches as always; which leaves us with gold and wine colored pathways.” ~ k.d. lang

AAaahhhhhh! Autumn in New England – need I say more?! Probably not, but I can’t stop myself. Today, as I write this, is October 14th. Here in Southern New England we are not quite at peak, they say. However, some leaves are gone off the trees completely while others are not turning into their brilliant yellow, red or orange, but rather almost into a faded yellow or blotchy yellow-brown. It’s as if they skipped their peak stage. There are a lot of trees still that are completely deep green. There are many though, that bare the classic gorgeous, stunning colors you’d expect to see in New England. I’m reminded of a peacock almost – like the trees are vying for attention, each one trying to out-do the other – as if they’re in competition with one another. Which one can be the most breathtaking? It’s like at Christmas-time when the good people of our small town will decorate their homes and yards with lights, nativity scenes, reindeer and Santas. Each one is brilliant and special. Every year you know which ones you can count on and you look forward to seeing them lit up in the holiday season. And so it is with the trees in the Fall. You know which ones usually turn first and which ones are always, always brilliant.

As I started out on my walk with Missy today, I debated with myself about whether to bring my camera. I decided against it. I had already taken pictures on several mornings and I wanted to fully enjoy the colors without the distraction of trying to get the perfect shot. Besides, I’ve come to realize that my camera just does not do justice to the real thing. I’ll see this awesome display of colors bursting through a collage of green and when I look at the picture afterwards it’s just not as wonderful. I don’t have any fancy camera and I don’t claim to be a photographer. And, if you are ever in need of video, do yourself a huge favor and be sure not to ask me. You’ll have to trust me on that one. Others can attest to this though.

We live down a long driveway about 2/10’s of a mile from the road. We refer to our driveway, which we share with our neighbors, in sections of which there are 4. Starting from our house, the first section - heading SSW - is from the bottom of our deck steps up to "the corner;" then you make a left turn - heading ESE - into the section we call "the straightaway;" (there is a gorgeous stonewall that runs parallel to the straightaway on the right with woods on the other side of it. Our neighbor's house is on the left and their private drive comes out onto the common driveway here), then – my favorite section - you turn right into “the enchanted forest” and lastly, you emerge from the forest and make an S turn and on up "the hill." On the right side of the hill is a nice open field and on the left is the rear yard and large vegetable garden of “Mr. McGregor.” (I think my Mom first started to refer to the section through the woods as the “enchanted forest.” My boys were thrilled by this, but more on that in another post!) So, as you walk through the enchanted forest, of course there are woods on either side. At the beginning of the forest, which is just at the end of the straightaway, the stonewall is interrupted due to the driveway cutting through it and through the woods there. I like to sit on the stonewall while I finish my morning coffee. Missy is always impatient yet tolerant when I do this. I need to have her on her leash at this point because there are usually deer nearby which she has been known to chase through the woods. As I sit on the stonewall, I never tire of gazing into the woods along the edge of the straightaway as the sun – just beginning to rise – lights up the tips of the trees in the sort of amber hue that you only see at dawn and dusk. The sun seems to rise so quickly, moving down the trees now as the amber light becomes more washed with yellow. Even when the trees are their deep dark green, the sight of them in the morning amber light at this angle is stunning. Now, with the trees in varying shades of yellow, orange and red, it is truly breathtaking. I look down the gravel driveway through the enchanted forest. The tall trees on either side reach over to meet in the middle above the driveway and the canopy is now aglow with the morning sun lighting up this, usually darker stretch, with soft amber light. It reminds me almost of sitting in a room; the door is open and the light from it is spilling into the otherwise darkened hallway lighting it up with a gentle glow. Or perhaps, more like a “farmer’s porch” in the evening which is lit up by the soft glow of recessed lights in the porch ceiling which have been dimmed. You can’t see the actual harsh lights or light fixtures, but rather a nice faint glimmer. Just as the ceiling canopy of the enchanted forest is brilliant, the gravel forest floor here - not to be out done – is covered with a beautiful array of fallen leaves creating lovely “gold and wine colored pathways.” How much better can this get?

I walk through the enchanted forest with Missy and up the hill to finally meet the road. From my mail box here to the end of my road is a mere 7/10’ths of a mile more or less. It is level and straight. Our street has a variety of homes and is lined with stonewalls and huge oak trees. How old are the walls and the bigger trees? 200 years? There are 2 homes at the end of our street that have “historical” plaques on them. One is from 1775 and the other dates back to 1812. Where our road ends you must either turn left or right onto Lake Street (if you are driving), Missy and I always go straight across into the park and the lake is just 200 feet ahead. Also at the end of our street is the town green with memorials, monuments, plantings and walking pathways. This is where the people gather with the parade for a ceremony every Memorial Day. (Another post!)

There is a beautiful park to walk through, the water’s edge, the paths up through the woods to “The Point,” which overlooks the lake, the cemetery nearby and on and on. I’ll not even try to further describe the beauty of all this during any of the seasons let alone the Fall, (though I will describe different things about these lovely places in other posts.) I’m not a poet or a writer and I’m sure much has already been written about autumn in New England. I’ll just say I marvel at it all and never ever tire of it. There is so much gorgeousness in this 2+ mile walk. (There is so much gorgeousness in my own yard and driveway before even getting up to the road). I think every season is my favorite.

On my walk back today I stopped several times, as I usually do, just to look. I must have been stopped longer than usual at this one spot in the road. It is the area where you can see the valley and the hills beyond. The distant hills, in Fall colors, look rather like a bowl of fruit loops or trix and the early sun, of course, works its magic upon them. Suddenly I am aware that Missy is looking at me – head cocked. “How long have I been out?” I wonder and I wonder what she is thinking. I’m reminded of my favorite poem by Robert Frost as he stops by the woods on a snowy evening – just looking and gawking, no doubt, at the beauty of the snow falling in the woods, so “lovely, dark and deep,” and Frost writes: “my little horse must think it queer to stop without a farmhouse near, between the woods and frozen lake---” Missy gives her leash a little tug and grunts. Frost writes: “he gives his harness bells a shake, to ask if there is some mistake.” “OK,” I say to Missy. “Let’s go.” I tear myself away and on we walk a bit further before turning left into our driveway, continuing down the hill, through the enchanted forest – picking up the coffee cup I left there on the stonewall at the start - and the straightaway, then round the bend and up the steps to our deck. With the sun rising later we’ve been getting a later start. We’ve been out just over an hour and it is now close to 8:00. Early still I guess. (I’m looking forward to the time change soon so I can get out an hour earlier. I loved getting out before 5:00 during most of the summer.) I give Missy a treat and pour a glass of water for myself. I stand near the sliders while I drink my water, still looking, and take a deep breath when I am done. I am ready to shower and start my day.

Editor's Note: I hope you will Google "Stopping By Woods on A Snowy Evening" and also "The Road Not Taken" by Robert Frost. 2 of my favorites. If you are reading my blog, I know they are your favorites too! Enjoy!

Letterboxing

2009-10-10T20:00:00.002-04:00

“Thoughts meander like a restless wind inside a letterbox” ~ Lennon/McCartney

Do any of you out there know what letterboxing is? Oh my gosh, this letterboxing stuff is so cool! My husband told me about it last year (I think) but I had forgotten all about it. Well, he just directed me again, the other day, to the website and this time I have bookmarked it. (A huge thank you to my husband who knows this stuff is right up my alley!) (By the way, have any of you checked your bookmarked stuff lately? My list is quite lengthy and I wonder if I already have this letterboxing on it. The other day, while sifting through my bookmarked stuff/“favorites” I came upon this great blog I saved about tides in the Bay of Fundy in New Brunswick. Very cool stuff. I’m so glad I saved it and I need to check further to see all the others I’ve saved – and forgotten. Of course, all of you out there have my blog bookmarked, right? Right?)

OK, back to the letterboxing. Go to www.letterboxing.org. (Wait, not yet.) I know you all can figure it out from there. (But I’ll explain a little bit about it below) So people actually make these stamps. I remember making something when I was in the 4th grade. You sort of carved out something on the surface of a special block of wood. The wood was soft and we had special tools – (I can’t believe they let us have these sharp tools, which I remember looked something like a potato peeler.) Then you had some sort of roller thing that you rolled in ink and then rolled on your wood design and then finally stamped on a card which you brought home to your Mom. So, I think that is what they mean when they say everyone has their own unique handcrafted stamp. But, they say, you can buy one if you’re in a pinch. I wonder what they mean by that? Why would someone be in a pinch and just have to rush out to go "a- letterboxing?"

So, here’s what you do. When you go online to the website, you’ll click on your state and find your county and you may find your town or a town near you. There should be several different things listed to click on. Each one will be a whole separate thing. You click on it and they give you clues. You need a compass and it is like a treasure hunt. Anyway, when (if) you find your letterbox, inside it will be the person’s unique stamp and a pad. You stamp your pad with their stamp and you stamp their pad with your stamp and then re-bury the treasure box – I mean letterbox. Beyond that, I don’t know what else you do. I still have to find out. Of course you can go hide a letterbox and register at this site and then go online and give your clues, etc. This is really exciting stuff for me. And, more importantly though, it’s something to do with your younger children. Something fun you can do together. How wonderful is that.

Well, I can’t believe that there is a letterbox at the very place where I go almost every time I walk my dog. This place is my favorite spot to go, overlooking the lake where I live, (it is “the Point” that I have mentioned in other posts) and there is a letterbox there, somewhere. I haven’t looked for it yet, but I’m looking forward to doing that soon! Be sure to check out that site I gave above. (Yes, go there now). Enjoy!

EDITOR'S NOTE: Well, I couldn't find the letterbox at the Point, but I am going to keep on searching for it when I'm there. However, at my other favorite place to go to, which is right near the Point - (it is the cemetary - weird, I know) I did find a letterbox. Very cool and exciting! I didn't have a hand-made stamp (or an emergency store bought one) but I did sign my initials on the pad and the date and tucked it all back safe and sound! Very very cool!

Random Acts Of Kindness?

2009-10-04T18:00:00.007-04:00

“You’ve got to get up every morning with a smile on your face and show the world all the love in your heart.” ~ Carole King

When I was in college, some 30+ years ago, I believed in the goodness of people. It was truly my belief that people were basically good and decent and I was in love with the human race. I wanted to do what I could to help people who were less fortunate than me. I was going to join the Peace Corps.

Well, I never did join and soon after college – somewhere along the way – I became jaded and even turned cynical. I believe that it was soon after joining the ranks of the working class, going to work every day in the “corporate world,” that this jadedness occurred. Due in part perhaps to the game of office politics, which I learned quickly and reluctantly how to play, and partly due to my role of dealing with the public – these real people face to face on the telephone. It was then that I came to believe that people were basically idiots.

Then, later still, I had another reversal of how I viewed the world and how I looked at people. I don’t know when it was (because it was a long time ago) that I, again, started believing in the goodness of people but I’m glad I did. I believe we are all in this together and we might as well be kind to one another. For one thing it is just easier that way.

So, what changed? Well, the serenity prayer comes to mind. “Grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change; the courage to change the things I can; and the wisdom to know the difference.” You can’t change people, but you can change the way you view people. You can change your own attitude toward people. Honestly, I really don’t remember making any conscience decision to change myself, but I do know that we all have the power to look at things a certain way. Attitude is a very powerful thing. We wake up every morning and can decide right then whether or not to have a good day. The outcome of our day all depends on how we decide to go through our day. It’s 90% attitude. On one of the morning shows – years ago – one of the anchors used to sign off by saying, “Go out and make it a good day.” You really do have the power to make of your day anything you really want it to be. You can make it a good day. OK, trite I know – but “when life gives you lemons, make lemonade; and when life gives you scraps, make a quilt.” You get the idea. It doesn’t have to be that drastic though. Just resolve to have a good day. So, it is raining out. Big deal! Use your umbrella - and share it with someone who forgot theirs! Rain can be a good thing. It depends on how you look at it.

I think that most people know that the Boy Scout motto is “be prepared” but lesser known, I think, and the more important philosophy is the Boy Scout slogan, which is “Do a good turn daily.” The scout leaders were always quick to add, to do at least one good turn daily. Do good things, period. Even the scout oath says, “---to help other people at all times,---“ If we all really lived these simple principles, how much easier would life be?! When I was a den leader with my younger son’s cubscout den, our den was chosen to open the Pack meeting with a prayer. I picked this nice prayer, called “A Boy’s Prayer” which I had found in my grandfather’s 1912 pocket bible given to him from the Boys Christian School he attended in his youth. I renamed it “A Scout’s Prayer,” and each boy read a line from it. One line read, “send me small chances to do a little good every day.”

So now I ask you, “random” acts or “deliberate” acts of kindness? I know the “Practice Random Kindness and Senseless Acts of Beauty” or “Random Acts of Kindness” bumper stickers that we all see is really an answer to all the horrible headlines we see: “Random shootings. Senseless acts of violence, killings,” and so on. But I believe that we should really be deliberate in the kindnesses we show to other people and we should make this a way of life. Do a good turn daily. Seek out and create chances to do a little good every day. You don’t need to be “younger” than someone or be a “male” to do any of the following: Pump gas for someone; open the door for someone; let someone go ahead of you at the checkout; give someone your seat on the bus; tell a stranger that you like their shirt, (if you like their shirt); give a ride to someone if you know they need it; if you are able to – when you pay for your coffee at the drive-thru – pay for the car behind you, be sure to ask the cashier to tell the car person to pay it forward when they can; volunteer: and so on and so on! These are simple things that we can do. It is amazing how little an effort on our part can result in making someone's day and/or really turning their day around.

Practice deliberate and purposeful acts of kindness. Show the world all the love in your heart. Resolve to be positive. Strive to be a better person. I could go on and on (I think I already have) but I don’t want to sound too preachy and I don’t want to come off sounding as if I am “perfect” somehow. Far from it. You get the idea. We all can be better people. Now, go out and make it a good day!

EDITOR'S NOTE: (Me again) I was blessed the other day to have been sent a small chance to do a little good. While in the lobby of the post office, I noticed someone's checkbook at the table there. The address on it was right down the road from my home, so I went there to deliver it. No one was home so I left a note. Someone called to say that the person didn't live there anymore and he didn't know who the person was. I went to the PO the next day to see if the guy had been there looking for his checkbook or that maybe he had a PO box there. He had not and did not. So I drove to his bank, just 10 minutes away, and gave it to the customer service person. She was able to look up his account and see that he did not call to close out his account or anything. I'm glad he didn't go through all that trouble to close it out and open another one. She'll put a note, on-line, that his checkbook had been found - etc. etc. And - she will call him. She has a new address for him and a phone number! I'm sure he would have called to find out about it sooner or later, so I feel he's all set and will get good news when he calls his bank or they call him!

Where Have All The Daisies Gone?

2009-09-27T16:06:00.003-04:00

“I’ll give you a daisy a day Dear; I’ll give you a daisy a day. I’ll love you until the rivers run still and the four winds we know blow away.”

Daisies are my favorite flower – always have been. My love and appreciation for the daisy goes back to when I was in 7th grade. Nothing in particular happened then, it’s just that’s when I started liking daisies. I don’t know why I remember this, I just do. And it’s not that I liked a different type of flower prior to that. It’s just that prior to that – you know, prior to when you’re 12 or 13 – you don’t know much of anything. You aren’t really aware of the universe and that you actually have a place in it. (Yes, you do!) You kind of run on blind faith – doing what you’re told to do by your parents and doing what you know you’re supposed to do. You’re kind of in a state of oblivion or ignorant bliss. Then suddenly, you wake one day and you are a person (and you like daisies). Things just sort of click and you become more aware of things. But this post is not about that, so ---

Daisies are such a happy, cheery type of flower. Just seeing one puts a smile on my face. So simple and pretty. The daisy needs no flowery complicated accessories. Its petals are not intricately woven hiding secrets within. With the daisy – what you see is what you get. Sweet innocence. Understated beauty. Kind of like “the girl next door.” Fresh faced and no makeup needed. No pretense. Or, like the black cocktail dress. Simple elegance. Quiet distinction. But unlike the black cocktail dress or the girl next door, the daisy doesn’t always get noticed. It doesn’t get its due of praise, I think. That’s ok. I like you anyway little daisy. You are my favorite. I do believe though that daisies are positively associated with sunshine, happiness, peace and love. Remember the picture of the soldier with a daisy sticking out of the barrel of his gun? (Do you actually remember the 60's?)

So, I was 12 in 1969. (Being only 12 then, yeah I remember the 60's. Just a bit too young for all the crazy stuff!) My favorite “star” was Doris Day. (If my sibs are reading this, they are rolling their eyes, saying, “oh yeah, we remember your Doris Day phase.”) My father used to refer to her as “Dodo” (Doe Doe?) and said that this was a nickname for a person named Doris. He swore by it. I always believed him but somehow, secretly, I knew he was just kidding with me. As it turns out, daisies were (are) Doris Day’s favorite flower too! How cool is that when you’re 12 and your favorite star likes the same flower you do! Although we didn’t need it, the daisy and I had some validation. And Doris Day is still my favorite star – no apologies from me about that. Now fast forward some 30+ years to the movie “You’ve Got Mail” and if you have seen it a bazillion times you will have noted that daisies are the Meg Ryan character’s favorite too. If you have only seen it once (or, heaven forbid, not at all) then I highly recommend seeing it again. Not just for the daisy scene but simply because it is a feel good movie - one of my favorites. Tom Hanks and Meg Ryan have a stunning screen presence and chemistry. And, he brings her daisies!

When we were married, on the day of our wedding, my soon-to-be husband surprised me with 12 dozen daisies. One hundred forty-four daisies! This was way above and beyond sweet! We had bunches of daisies throughout our apartment. It was wonderful and the aroma was heavenly. My husband has also been known to mow around wild daisies in our field and then pick them for me. Sweet!!

And now I ask you, where have all the daisies gone? I cannot find any daisies anywhere. Of course the only florist I go to is at the local Stop & Shop. While there recently, I asked that very question. “So, where are all the daisies?” “Oh, we don’t carry them anymore,” was the reply. “What?!!!” says me. “They just aren’t very popular,” my friendly Stop & Shop florist told me. “You’d have to go to an actual florist. They probably carry them.” Well, I don’t know if I ever would buy flowers for myself anyway. I guess now I’ll never know. I wouldn’t make a special trip to a florist to pick up flowers for myself – for sure. I just thought that, well, while I was at Stop & Shop anyway – you know, buying food and stuff – and the florist is right there near the deli, that maybe I could buy some daisies to grace our kitchen table. Would I actually have bought them for myself? Well, as mentioned, now I’ll never know. They don’t carry them!

My younger son, who is 19 and lives at home, and his girl attended the wedding of a friend recently. They were chosen - or elected or otherwise somehow picked – to take home the lovely centerpiece from their table. Well, I couldn’t believe my eyes when in they walked with these stunning daisies in a clear glass vase and proceeded to set them on the kitchen table. Now, of course, I know these daisies are not for me, yet there they sat on our table. Lovely! I commented on how pretty they were and how nice that they got to take them home. I contained myself and did not let on about how thrilled I was to see daisies and that they were my favorite! They were not mine, but still I got to enjoy them, until they went home. Ahh!

Well, maybe I’ll buy daisies to grace our kitchen table. They will brighten everybody’s day and will not be just for my benefit. They can’t cost all that much I wouldn’t think. They are more like the Keds or Converse of flowers, I would think, unlike the very pricey Nike Air Jordans, like roses are! (Remember PF Flyers, the sneaker that promised to make you “jump higher and run further” – or was it faster? True to their word, I could out run every boy in our neighborhood. Now, there was a sneaker!)

I will always love daisies. And although I don’t see them very often, not even at various functions where other flowers gather, it’s nice to know that they can be found, apparently, at my local florist. Under appreciated, though – the daisy. If ever you come to my house and you want to bring something but you don’t know what to bring (no, you don’t need to bring anything, really – I’m just saying--) I hope after reading this, something will come to mind!

Thanking you in advance,
~ sheri

EDITOR'S NOTE: (Yeah, that's me - editor) Well, the daisies never were taken home by my son's girl -- they stayed on our kitchen table and lasted 2 weeks! I changed the water daily and said "good morning daisies" every morning. Doing this made me smile. (So - I talk to daisies - so what!)

Beware - The Turtle

2009-09-12T11:50:00.013-04:00

"For, lo! the winter is past, the rain is over and gone; the flowers appear on the earth; the time of the singing of birds is come, and the voice of the turtle is heard in our land".~ Old Testament, The Song of Solomon ii. 11, 12.

I had the distinct pleasure recently of observing snapping turtles within their natural habitat on 2 separate occasions. Good stuff!

I’m in my kayak, of course, in one of the coves that I like to go to which is tucked in just around the first island. (When we were kids we used to refer to this island as Crocker Island – so, from here on in it is so called!) You can go around the island clockwise then into the cove or you can go between the island and the main land (where Crocker’s house was, I guess) and you come out right into the cove. The water is still and as smooth as glass, like a mirror. There is no breeze, so no rippling of the water at all. Little things really stand out when it is this calm. I can see a leaf floating on the water from 50 feet away, as “something.” You can’t really tell what it is until you are closer and then you realize – oh, it’s just a leaf!

So, as established, I’m in the cove just sort of chillaxin and dangling my fingers in the warm water. I spot something sticking out of the water ahead. (It’s definitely not a leaf.) It’s not sticking out all that much. I am moving (coasting) ever so slowly – I’m practically still. Approaching the thing sticking out, just 5 feet off to the side and in front of me, I see now that it is a turtle. It is rather small, probably 4” in diameter. (I’m reminded of the turtle that lived under my parents dock and when my boys were small they would seek out this turtle, whom they named Tom.) Just as I saw it --- it saw me and dove down quickly. I could see it go – it’s little turtle feet and hands paddling through the water propelling it downward until I lost sight of it, after a couple feet and within seconds of spotting it, due to the murkiness of the water there. Pretty cool.

Well, a couple of weeks later, which was just a couple of weeks ago, I’m in my cove again on my way back from meandering along the rocks near shore. Some of the rocks stick out like icebergs – just the tips. There is much more to them under the water. I guess these rocks are more like boulders and I really like to weave in and around them here, looking down to the smaller rocks a foot - more or less - under the water, getting stuck here and there and grabbing onto the “icebergs” to move myself about. The water is probably at its warmest this time of year, in late August, and I like to “coast” with my hands in the water. Just up ahead I see what I think is just another large rock sticking out of the water. It’s probably 8 – 10 feet ahead but I can see it extending below the water. I realized within a second of seeing it what it was. It is the biggest mother of a snapping turtle that I have ever seen. I pull my hands out of the water. (Are there more just below me waiting for a snack?) This turtle was way bigger than a dinner plate – probably as big as the seat of a chair - the bigger chairs like you’d see in a waiting room. It was gone as quickly as it appeared. I wondered how old it was. How old do turtles get to be? I think they live a very long time. I must have heard this on the Discovery channel (I love that channel). And now I’ll have to do my turtle research to learn all about it. What I did learn though, without doing any research at all, was never to dangle my fingers in the water while in that cove again! Lesson learned! ------- Good turtle, go home! Dive deep!

It was very exciting though. Another great start to the day. There is so much wildlife right here (yes, in my own backyard) I never cease to be amazed and in awe of it. I feel so lucky and blessed to bear witness to it – some of it so fleeting. It is all such a gift (as my neighbor Terry so perfectly put it one morning). After counting my blessings – (and counting my fingers - 10!) – I headed back to the dock.

1 kayak: $349.00
1 paddle: $70.00
1 life jacket: $50.00.
1 hour in the early morning on my lake: priceless.

Please Be Patient - Give Me A Chance

2009-09-11T20:41:00.004-04:00

“Words are flowing out like endless rain into a paper cup, they slither while they pass, they slip away across the universe.” ~ Lennon/McCartney

Oh my goodness, people. Please don’t leave! I’m finding that these posts are just longer than I had intended them to be and I fear that you will all just look at the length and just say; “forget it, not gonna read it, too long. Can’t possibly read all this during the next commercial.” Please hang in there with me. I promise to keep them shorter!

Here’s the thing. When I first mulled over the idea of doing a blog, I thought;

“What will I write about? What do I have to offer? Why would anyone want to read my blog? Will I have enough “material”? Who do I think I am anyway?” You get the idea. I had my doubts. Not that I think anyone is actually out there reading – ok, maybe just one person, but that’s unconfirmed. For all I know these words are just slipping away into cyber space – across the universe – unread. But that’s ok. I’m feeling better already just having written them down.

Anyway – the point is, once I decided I was going to do this, my thoughts meandered "like a restless wind inside a letterbox,” and I couldn’t make it stop. All these years of having conversations in my head - with various friends whom I so rarely see because I wanted to just share things with them – just started flowing out and I started to write down my ideas for the various posts.

So, I will try to make them shorter and to the point. I mean, I don’t need to write a long story about everything, now do I? Like, take tomorrow’s post – already written, well, in my head anyway. Just short and sweet. A very small paragraph. Probably only 5 sentences and no “story” to it – just an observation that made my day.

Please be patient. Give me a chance! Keep reading! Write a comment! Y'all come back now! (all 1 of you) Have a nice day - really!

Close Encounter With A Cat

2009-09-07T08:00:00.002-04:00

“I am the Cat who walks by himself, and all places are alike to me.” ~ Kipling

As I meandered in my kayak, in the very early morning hours, along the shore of this ancient spring fed lake that I live near, I closed my eyes to listen to the sounds of the birds and the other creatures waking up and coming to life as their new day dawns. I stopped paddling, draping my hands now in the warm water as the kayak continued moving forward - faster than I realized. As I breathe in slowly and deeply, I open my eyes and look over some 15 or 20 feet to the shore, and I am delighted to see a black cat looking right back at me. My day is made! This black cat has white paws and white on his chest and the tip of his tail. You know the type of cat. The cat walks along the shore a bit, not at all timid or alarmed at seeing me. I call softly to him, “Hey kitty cat.” He seems only mildly interested and otherwise preoccupied with something just on the water’s edge. I can’t see, but it’s probably those little minnow fish that hold him captivated. I continue on past him, leaving him to his kitty cat ways and mysterious cat world. But I’m so happy. I saw a cat!

Now, cats are everywhere I’m sure, but I haven’t actually seen one in a while. I don’t currently own a cat – or I should say – a cat does not currently own me, though we did have one for some 15 years. I live down a very long driveway and there is a field on one side of it. Every now and then I have the pleasure of spotting a neighbor’s cat crouching in the grass as I drive past. This is always a lovely surprise for me. While crouching like that, so stealth, a wild look in his eyes, I can’t help but wonder what he is thinking. Then he suddenly turns and starts to walk in the other direction in spurts of sorts. Three quick steps – then stops and looks over his shoulder at me – then three more steps, etc. I’m reminded of a movie where a girl is being followed and walks quickly down the dark street looking over her shoulder and might stop and scream at any time. The cat disappears into the taller grass.

Back to my adventure, there’s more. As I round the bend in the cove, still maybe 10 to 15 feet off shore, I spot a crane standing in the water blending in with the tall reeds. I continue on slowly and the crane seems to be matching my pace, high stepping through the water along the shore with one eye on me. Stunning! Well, around the next bend the reeds are very thick, probably extending out into the water 20 feet. There is a wide cleared area though where you can come up onto shore. This is someone’s beach and there is a dock extending out into the water and a ground deck on the shore. I paddle in to explore a little and, I can’t believe my eyes when I spot another cat looking at me from the deck on shore. This cat seems very startled by my appearance but I am thrilled to see him. He is a grey stripped tiger cat, and reminds me of the cat we had for 15 years. This cat seems more so like the cat in the field – uptight and wild eyed - than the other more relaxed Sylvester cat I just saw in the other cove. He just sort of watches me from a safe distance as I, again, say “good morning kitty cat.” It seems he is about to run, so I slowly move away leaving him in peace.

As it comes time to head back, I feel so fortunate and am glad to have had my encounters with 2 cats (and a crane!) What a great way to start the day. I am happy, refreshed, renewed and ready for the day ahead. And although I can’t wait for my morning kayaking tomorrow, I will savor my day today.

Flight of the Hummingbird

2009-09-05T07:22:00.002-04:00

“The bird of paradise alights only upon the hand that does not grasp.” ~ John Berry

We have a hummingbird feeder. I always thought, and still do, that hummingbirds are a magical kind of bird and that seeing one is a very rare occurrence. I always feel honored and privileged when one appears, seemingly out of nowhere, to hang in the air in front of me as if to say, “quick, look at me.” Well, yesterday I was blessed 4 times with the sight of this hummingbird that, now I guess I can say, visits us regularly. I must think of a name for him. Of course, I would think that there is more than one, right? Probably at least two – a “couple” I’d think. I do have a hummingbird book somewhere and will have to study them now and find out what I can online. This is a project for me now – a mission.

So, here is an accounting of those 4 sightings:

I was upstairs looking out the bathroom window into the backyard. (I’m looking – always, always looking.) Our hummingbird feeder is attached on a pole on the rail of the deck which extends about 4 feet up, above the rail. Anyway, I gaze out and there is the hummingbird, testing out each of the 4 fake flower things on the feeder. I watch. He (she?) doesn’t seem to like what we have to offer there and is gone within 6 seconds. (We need to change that red sugar stuff, I think, so he’ll stay longer next time.)

Next. I’m sitting at the kitchen table where we have 2 sets of sliders. One on the east side of the kitchen and one on the north side. They both open out onto our wrap around deck. The kitchen is huge, really, and very bright and open. I like to sit at the table there. So, I glance up and see a swoosh of something outside and although it doesn’t hover about this time, I know it is my hummingbird. This puts a smile on my face.

Later on, at the table again, I see my bird – this time hovering and checking out the rail. Poking around under the rail where the spindle meets the top. Is he looking for bugs? Do they eat bugs? Oh, I’m really going to look this up later. I feel badly because I had just, earlier, hosed off some of the spider webs there where little bugs were trapped. Oh dear! Sorry little bird. I didn’t know!

The last sighting of the day was back out at the feeder. I was at the kitchen window this time with another good view of my little friend. I guess he wanted to see if we had changed the stuff yet and was probably sorely disappointed. It’s on my “to do” list and I’d better hurry I guess. He was gone within a few seconds. I hope he comes back again. Please come back little bird. I will change the red stuff for you!

So – 4 sightings in one day! Very cool. Very, very cool!

Fellowship

2009-09-03T08:51:00.015-04:00

"When one tugs at a single thing in nature … he finds it attached to the rest of the world.” -John Muir (1838 – 1914) American naturalist.

I woke to 50 glorious degrees this 1st day of September. Crisp, clear and gorgeous. Although the sun would not be officially rising for another 20 minutes, at 5:55 it was plenty light and I was anxious to get out on the lake. I was running behind time and was a little panicked. I felt as if the day had started without me some 30 to 40 minutes earlier while I slept and I felt this urgency to catch up – to get outside and see what I had missed. Although I had not missed the sunrise, I had missed first light. “It’s ok,” I assured myself. There’s still time. My kayak having been loaded into the truck the night before, I poured the hot coffee into my mug, (the timer had been set last night, and as always the coffee was waiting for me --- Nice!) grabbed my PFD and off I went.

As I unloaded my kayak I called “mornin” to my 2 fishermen friends who are always there. “I hope you brought your cold weather jacket,” Pete called back to me. “I’ll be warm enough. Chilly today though, huh?” I wore only a light hooded sweatshirt over my tee and my usual nylon red boating shorts. I knew that once I was in the kayak, being low on the water, I would be warm enough. I’ve learned, through experience, that the gentle breeze off the water is warmed by it and this keeps me plenty warm. Of course the life jacket is thick and this helps too. Unfortunately my paddle is aluminum which was very cold. Time to break out the gloves, I thought.

I was only 30 feet out when an osprey swooped down and grabbed a fish from the water right in front of us. I heard Pete, from behind me, comment that the bird had just caught his breakfast and “I hope he can hold on to it.” The fish did seem to squirm around but I think the osprey had a pretty good grip on him. Off they went.

As I rounded the first bend at “the point” and headed into the cove there, I spotted the guy who lives nearby and walks his dogs through the park to the dock there. We waved to each other and he commented on what a gorgeous day it was. Although I can’t recall his name I know his dogs are Glory, the yellow lab who’s nearly 11 and Missy, the rescue black lab whose age we don’t know, but she’s up there. We’ve met here, while walking our dogs, a few times and it’s always nice to chat with him. My golden retriever is Missy too – she’s 5. (see picture, taken on a different day – on the dock) While I am just beginning my day he, I believe, is nearing the end of his – working 3rd shift I think. We bid each other a good day and he turned to go up the path to the point with his dogs and I continued along the shore.

I crossed the cove and went along the shore on the north side of the lake heading west now. The sun was still low in the east behind me, trying to poke through the trees. Of course I couldn’t help to look back. I love how the sun filters through the trees this way. As I approached the first island I decided to go around the shore of it clockwise, rather than go between it and the main land. I hadn’t explored this part of it yet. I’m still a couple hundred feet out but I can see the rocks just 1 foot down. Kinda scary and exciting! I spot some fishing line and I see the lure stuck in the rocks there. I wondered how long it has been lodged there. Years? Perhaps.

As I went on a little further and came upon the sandy beach area I heard a familiar swishing sort of – that I recognized as my solo sculling friend. Since he sits facing toward where he has been rather than where he is going – he hadn’t seen me yet. I was tucked in by the shore anyway and he was out 40 feet or more. I waited until he was almost past me so that he wouldn’t have to turn his head much, and I called “Good mornin’ Ron.” He stopped paddling and we talked for a few minutes about osprey, snapping turtles and hawks. After we said our “have a good day,” we both agreed it would be hard to have anything but a good day – having gotten a great start to it like this. Off we went. He continued out as I headed on back.

It truly was a great start to the day and it was nice to chat with some of the others of my “congregation.”

Trains and Time

2009-09-01T06:59:00.001-04:00

“My grandfather’s clock was too big for the shelf, so it stood 90 years on the floor. It was taller by half than the old man himself and it weighed not a penny weight more.”

At the start of my walk this morning with my dog, still in our yard, I heard the train’s whistle signaling its approach to the intersection a few miles from my home. It seemed really loud to me and I remember thinking that I hadn’t heard the train in a while although it does keep a schedule and I believe it passes through my sleepy little town twice a day (maybe it’s 4 times)– well, actually twice (4x?) in 24 hours because you can hear it in “the middle of the night.” While I was still standing in the driveway – taking in the sight of the morning sun lighting up the trees and waiting for my dog to sniff around – my neighbors appeared, to begin their daily walk. At 6:30 AM, we had all gotten a late start today and I’m grateful for the coincidental meeting between us. My neighbor, Terry, asked if I had just heard the whistle too. We both agreed that it seemed loud and close and that we hadn’t heard it in a while. Jack had heard it in the middle of the night though. Now, it makes me wonder if I’m just so used to hearing it that I really don’t notice it anymore – just now and then. Umm!

When we first built our house and moved in, almost 20 years to the day, my husband surprised me with a gorgeous grandfather clock that first Christmas in 1989. It graces our foyer still and was the perfect addition – along with the pricey Persian rug – to make our foyer complete. The clock has this lovely sounding chime that plays every quarter hour. Well, for the first week – all through the night – I was awoken every quarter hour by this “lovely chime.” 4 chimes at quarter past: 8 chimes at half past: 12 chimes at quarter to: and finally the full 16 chimes on the hour of course followed by the foreboding chimes in a minor key ringing out the time. 1AM! 2AM! 3AM in the freakin’ morning! Well after a week or two (I guess, I really don’t remember exactly – it was a long time ago and I’m all settled in now) instead of the clock’s lovely chimes snatching me out of a - not so deep, apparently – sleep, I started waking up every quarter hour just seconds before the chiming. Will I ever know a good night’s sleep again, I wondered? Well, I guess shortly after that I must have gotten used to it and never woke again to neither the chiming nor just prior to it.

I’m happy I have the clock. The chimes really are lovely – during the day. And I’m glad I heard the train’s whistle this morning. I don’t ever want to get so used to these things that I become oblivious or otherwise desensitized to it all.

Last year when my son was home from college on Christmas break I woke one morning to discover that the clock hadn’t wound down but the pendulum just hung still, rendering the chimes silent of course. This had been done at 2AM it seems. If only time could be stopped that easily I thought. When my son woke later that morning (I figured that he had stopped it because he probably was no longer used to the chiming and it kept him up.) I showed him how he could just slide a lever up, putting the chimes on silent but allowing the clock to continue ticking, still keeping time. Why I did not think of this years ago, I’ll never know!

“Hey Mom, remember when we first got this clock and you would sing that song to me, something like ‘My grandfather’s clock----,’ you used to sing it all the time, remember?”

“Yes,” I say, walking into the kitchen so he won’t see the tears that have suddenly welled up in my eyes. I wish turning back time could actually be done by turning the hands of my clock backwards.

“Yes, I remember,” I say, feeling glad that he remembers too and feeling thankful to be sharing this moment and memory with him now, some 20 years later.

The Lake - My Church

2009-08-31T07:00:00.004-04:00

"The happiest of all lives is a busy solitude." ~Voltaire

It was late last spring when the idea came to me – just sort of popped into my head, really. I had not been thinking of this at all. It was almost as if someone whispered it into my ear as I slept – instructing me. I woke the next morning refreshed, renewed, rejuvenated. I knew what I had to do. All was right with the world.

“You must sell your canoe and buy a smaller, more manageable one,” the voice said.

Wow, I never knew. The voice was right, though. At 14 feet in length, our Olde Towne canoe was great when our 2 boys were small. We would fit the 4 of us, no problem, and off we’d go out onto the lake - all of 2 times, maybe 3. The canoe had been lying still, upside down, for years. Unloved, unwanted, unused. It really needed a good home. It was for the best.

Within a week or so of my “dream” I asked my husband if he wouldn’t mind if I sold our canoe and buy a smaller one. I knew he wasn’t interested in going out onto the lake so a smaller one would be perfect, I thought. I pictured myself, seated in the rear paddling around in the early morning pre-dawn hours on this lake that I grew up on, live one mile down the road from and am drawn to still. Of course, this vision of me paddling had me meandering along the shore, mist rising from the warm water and hot coffee in my “to go” mug sitting on the floor within reach. I stop paddling, it is quiet and still. It is light although the sun has not officially made it entrance. Yes, this is the thing I am seeking. The voice is right.

“Why not consider a kayak,” my husband responded. “Canoes are kinda awkward when paddling solo and too much like work. You might find a kayak easier going and more to your liking.”

Huh! Well I had never thought of a kayak and the voice did say canoe. People I had seen in kayaks always looked uncomfortable to me. Sort of leaning back with their knees bent a little. But the more I thought about it the more I liked the idea! My husband is wise. Yes, a kayak would do the trick.

Well, long story (trust me) short, I am the proud owner of a 10 foot kayak. A solid deep red one. I have an awesome life jacket that has a secret Velcro pocket where I keep my sun glasses - just in case. My husband bought me this wonderful thing that is a combination compass and whistle which is tied securely to my life jacket buckle. I am prepared. Also tied to my PFD is a watertight container where my cell phone just fits along with the key (not keys) to my truck. I venture out onto the lake in the early morning with peace of mind, knowing I am equipped with everything I need if an emergency arises. You never know when a barge or cruise ship will just suddenly appear on this small lake out of the early morning fog when the visibility is only 20 feet. I am ready. I have a whistle. I have a compass. I have a cell phone. If I go over, they’ll be with me. I’ll be ok.

The first morning I set out in my kayak I knew I had “come home.” The moment I sat myself down, (and contained the wobbling) nestled in, took a deep breath and exhaled; this calm came over me. Ahhh! Yes, this is great. I started paddling and it all seemed so natural to me as if I’ve been doing this every summer day for years. Well, granted – it’s not a difficult thing to do physically, so it wasn’t as if it was some amazing athletic feat. As I meandered along the shore, mist rising from the warm water and hot coffee in my “to go” mug sitting on the floor within reach, it was all so familiar. Just like my vision.

Being out on the water like this for me is so much more than the physical act of paddling, though. This is a mind-body-soul thing for me. Being out early, paddling, meandering along the shore or being out in the middle of the lake – I stop, close my eyes, breathe deeply, listen, hear, look, see, touch, feel, smell and watch the sun come up. This feeds my soul and satisfies my need for solitude. My soul is nourished, my spirit cleansed. I am renewed. I rejoice.

There is a fellow early morning lake lover who is usually just starting out - in his single man scull - when I am finishing. He put it best when we were talking one morning.

“Being out on the lake, well -- it’s like church for me.”
“Exactly!” I agreed.

I like this church I go to - this great outdoors - where every day is Sunday. I leave my daily morning mass feeling refreshed, renewed, restored - with joy in my heart and this sustains me throughout the rest of my day. Indeed, my cup runneth over. All is right with the world.

My Own Backyard

2009-08-30T21:15:00.003-04:00

“I don’t want to waste a waking moment, I don’t want to sleep.”

Remember the movie Born Free, the true story about the lioness Elsa? (For those of you who haven’t seen the “about me” yet, now you know how old I am. For those “younger” readers thinking “what?” well, you’ll just have to Google it and the song if you’re curious. You don’t actually need to, though. You can still follow along because…) Well, this blog is not about that. But there are lyrics in the title song (see my sub title) from the movie that I’m reminded of time and again. I need only step out my door right into my own backyard. Just out doing - not much - mundane things like walking up my driveway to get the mail. Just being out. Outside in the great outdoors. Let me try to explain.

In trying to let you know a little about what this blog is all about, (so you can determine for yourself whether or not you care to check in from time to time) imagine for a moment that we are walking together down my back country road, having a conversation. You are talking. I should say here that when walking down my road, (in reality) there is a place where if you look to the right, in between 2 houses, you can see a valley below and then the hills on the horizon beyond. Oftentimes, the valley is socked in with an early morning fog. It’s really beautiful. There is so much more to describe about it, particularly the way it looks during different parts of the day and times of the year. But, this will do for now – more on that in another post. So, in my scenario I stop for a moment, interrupting you and I say,

“Oh, look over to the valley down there.”

If you think you would respond in a rather annoyed manner and say, “yeah, so, what about it?” Well, then this blog is not for you. If you’d have to ask, then you just won’t get it. And that’s ok, I’m not judging you! I don’t even know you. It’s just that, I’m trying to save you the bother and the time. You can’t get that back you know. Like trying to follow a movie because you think there must be more to it. There must be a point. You hang in there until you come to the end and then realize you’ve wasted 2 hours of your day. And, as mentioned, you can’t get that back you know! So, you can stop reading now. (You’re welcome!)

If your response would be something like this;

You: “Oh, yeah! See how the fog just kinda hangs down there like a heavy weight.”
Me: “Look how bright it is with the sun shining right on top of it. It’s glowing.”
You: “Look at how the mist – over there – is lit up by the sun filtering through the trees at this angle. You really can see actual sunbeams like a spotlight on a smoky stage. It almost looks as if,”
In unison: “We’re in heaven!”

Then you get it. Now you know what this blog will be about. Really just things as simple as a view, caught by a random glance which I am grateful to have witnessed and want to share with you. Actually, I seek out this view of the valley every day now as I walk my dog in the very early morning or otherwise drive past it. I never tire of seeing it and every day I look at it as if I didn’t just see it yesterday and all the days (and years) before and I look at it as if I won’t see it again tomorrow, as if I’ve never seen anything so beautiful in my life! There is almost this urgency I feel to look all around me, to take it all in, to memorize, to savor. I don’t want to waste a waking moment. I feel I might miss something. If I miss it, I’ll never know that I did. So, I look. Weird, I know!

I’d like to share these things with you. I hope you will enjoy reading. This blog, however, is not just about things that are aesthetically pleasing like the fog hanging low in the valley, or things that are awe-inspiring like the fawn bounding through the wild flowers behind it’s mom; it’s also about seeing the goodness in people (people you see everywhere; while pumping gas, at the PO, in the checkout line – there are good people and regular fine folks like you and me everywhere you go) and finding the joy every day; and living – really living. Stop. Be still. Close your eyes, breathe deeply, open your eyes; look, see, listen, hear, smell, touch, feel, taste, live. Now, stop reading this and go out and see for yourself. It’s free. I know I can find it every day in my own backyard. I challenge you to do the same!

I hope you will check back in from time to time. Let me know what you think and let me know what you’ve discovered during your day. Please post a comment. (It’s free!) Be sure to tell me where you’re from. If your comment won’t post for some reason, (I hate it when that happens, but it does happen) please drop me an email. I mean it! It would really brighten my day. I hope I can brighten yours.