Of Loss and the Luxury To Cry

“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

"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

"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

"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

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)

“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

"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.