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.

Next Up: Spring

“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?

"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

“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.