New Harvest Moon

A glorious day dawned, though one without electricity.  We are fourth to last on the line that usually blows a fuse in any wind, of low priority to the power company.  The property is intact, plenty of water in the lake for use, ice cubes to be purchased in the generator-powered grocery stores.

The wind blasted down near us in minimicrobursts, just off shore about 200 feet.  The roof found a couple places to leak.  But all is well.  The storm evidence includes leaves and small branches littering the driveway as I made my way to McDonald's to use their WiFi.

Aug 28

A rainy day is for sorting and planning the next adventure.

An old friend came home yesterday.  I scrambled home to go to the dump, gather water, pick up the mail, and collect all the separate items that can blow away with the predicted wind.  The empty gas can gets put away, the concrete flamingoes stay. 
At the doorway a package waits on the porch.  It's been sitting for a couple days, judging by the collapsed corner and damp cardboard box.  It's from my brother!  Printed with black marker in his familiar neat hand.
During the planning of the hike for next week, a debate between hut vs tent came up.  And voila! a tent appears.  Not just any tent.  My friend!

It's the one that ripped during the last Colorado hike when I vigorously zipped open the door to escape.  Well, there was urgency to it.  My friend, the shelter and security in a dark night. 
It was surprising to find that it weighs more than the little black Walrus tent.  But only by 9 oz.  And it is my friend, dependable, familiar, comfortable, roomy, with a dry wit.

It's been raining lightly most of the night.  The wind is beginning to pick up from the east.  When it shifts to the southeast, we will be in the lee.  Until then, coffee and more planning.

Aug 27

Three hours of climbing, two hours of descending, and one hour of walking along a ridge.  Conditions: humid, foggy in the morning and beautiful sun in the afternoon.

Summit of Mt. Pierce, 4340'

The ridge to Mt. Jackson, 4052' 

The view from summit of Mt. Jackson including from left to right, Mt. Pierce, Mt. Eisenhower, and Mt. Washington.

From last week, right to left, Mt Tom (hee hee), Mt Field, and Mt. Willey as viewed from Mt. Jackson summit

Now we wait for the storm to come.  If it's as predicted, the brunt of the wind will come from our right, the ESE, as we look out on the lake.  The forecasted rainfall is 2-5 inches Sunday night.  With all this focus on the weather, I'm glad we don't have a big screen television to enlarge the anxiety.  And we're certainly grateful for our new roof.  Good luck to coastal areas in the conehead of uncertainty.

Aug 26

Jimmy the Ant is battening down the hatches for Irene while Julie the Grasshopper is attempting the summits of Pierce and Jackson.  Boing Boing, just like a grasshopper.

Christmas in August

Sitting in Judgment

The planned hike of the southern approach to Mt. Willey, 4285', is postponed due to predicted thunderstorms, getting up late, and general malaise.  One of those anxiety dreams woke me.  I dreamed I was about to miss a scheduled international flight.  I was distracted with directing the movement of an old piston airplane through a narrow pine gateway for an old farmer.  We'd already made two attempts.  My phone didn't work properly, so my traveling partners couldn't notify me of the late hour.  It didn't stop them from boarding the flight without me.  They were already in the foreign country of Indiana.

So, missed hike today.

Maybe it's a good day, like that endless day of Sisyphus, for moving boulders into the breach in preparation for the hurricane. 

Aug 24

Home from driving through Hartford at 10 mph during "rush" hour, going through the mail turned up duplicate vehicle insurance cards.  But to make sure they were duplicates, I inspected the vehicles for their cards, and discovered shredded tissue on the floor of the truck.

Uh oh.
Further examination showed the dessicated skeletal remains of two mice, one in each of the coffee cup holders, next to the packaged incense.

Jeez, we must not have been driving the truck much lately.  In fact, the last tank fill up was in March.

A rust bucket mouse cemetery.  Sorry, Dad.

Aug 23

mountebank - one stands on a podium to preach by trickery/stories
charlatan - one who sells papal indulgences in the town of Cerreto
quacksalver - one who attempts to soothe by prattling or boasting

I hear in my mind all of these voices.

I hear in my mind all of these words.

I hear in my mind all of this music,

And it breaks my heart,

And it breaks my heart.

- Regina Spektor

Aug 22

Sunshine outside the west-facing window lights up a hayfield in the distance, newly mown.  Likely a cooperative effort to feed the pigs or cattle in a neighboring town in exchange for milk or something else.  The wind is blowing after the heavy air thunderstorms of the last few days.

A mandala marks the exit that I'll take in a couple hours to drive back home, after a nourishing grainy breakfast at the silence table.  Mondays here are quiet at mealtimes, bordering a field of lonely.

Aug 21

Recently the phrase "elephant in the room" has been appearing; an obvious truth or problem is present, but ignored or avoided.  I wonder what an elephant does with a head cold.  Does he stay awake all night snorting and breathing through his mouth?  What substitutes for tissues?  Are his ears destined for congestion?

Not even the sacred fire burns away a virus, gone viral.

The characteristics of a master are three.  She does what she wishes to do.  She does not do that which she does not wish to do.  She can undo that which has already been done.  Would that I could undo that handshake with a contagious elephant.

Aug 20

Thunder and hail, a deluge of rain, viral judgment day.  A cold virus is knocking at the door of the throat, seeking entry.  Noooooo!  You are not welcome here!

Will this virus dissipate as quickly as the storms of yesterday? Or will it pass to the north? 

These are some of the thoughts entertained while drinking morning coffee from the car and watching the sunrise over the parking lot.

Hiking God

 Above tree line in the East

It is easy to see why the phrase "a commanding view" might apply to the Presidential Range in the White Mountains of New Hampshire.  It was my good fortune to hike yesterday with Peter, the hiking god with frog's feet.

This is not the first time these five-fingered vibrams have appeared on a hike.

The first sighting was a source of great amusement.  They were used as camp and river-crossing shoes on the recently past Colorado trip.  Amusing enough to make one look up the nearest store that stocks them (Red's Shoe Barn).  It was a sign to buy with the appearance of the second pair.

Peter talked us into hiking an extra 2 miles to get to Mt. Franklin at over 5000 feet.  In the middle background is Mt. Eisenhower that we tackled next.  It was a little downhill then a little uphill.  Peter had been sick with a cold and was slower than usual, but it was like running for me, two steps to his one.

Today I am driving through the Hartford corridor for a seminar in Pennsylvania.  No hiking for a few days.

Aug 18

On the way to Mt. Eisenhower, 4780', described as a comfortable nonchallenging hike of 6.6 miles.

Yesterday our flight to the seaplane base for fuel was shy of Ike's summit by 3700', but the view of fields and landing seaplanes was unrestricted.

What will today's summit bring?

Aug 17

Tomorrow at dawn this view will be in my sights.  Namche Bazar is 3440 meters.

Mt. Everest base camp is higher.  The smart phone is downstairs and this computer is in use, so I can't look up the altitude or location just yet.  Later.  After the overdraft on the bank account is paid.

Love and Truth

Mother Mother sings a song called "Love and Truth".  In searching for love and truth, I dream about a heart flush and a cormorant. My universe is a coyote, a trickster, who never quite gets it right. Always just a shade off.

The dealer stood to my right. He was a tall thin man wearing blue jeans and a black long sleeved shirt.  He shuffled the cards and dealt to the five players, cards lying face up.  My hand contained all hearts, a queen-high flush, the winning hand.

The dealer was flustered, but tried to cover his confusion by making a teaching point.  "Let's look at this hand," he said.  "For all the talk on the webinars about cooperation and working together, there is nothing like a winning hand for the winner.  Would one person who was winning really feel better if everyone won?"

The cormorant showed up again after a day of rain, rain, and more rain.  I thought it might have something to do with the heart since "coeur" means heart, as in coeurmorant.  But no.  A cormorant means "sea raven" with a reputation for voracity.   I'm looking for veracity and get voracity instead.

Love and truth finds a heart flush and a ravenous appetite.  What a kidder!

Mid August

The theme is cherries, as in "Life is just a bowl of..."

I have been waiting for the paperback version of mystery writer Louise Penny's Bury Your Dead for about a month.  My favorite bookstore is going out of business and I did not expect to find the book there.  I went to weigh in, lost weight, strolled by car to the favorite gaunt and failing bookstore, found the paperback misshelved in the F mystery authors.

I did a celebratory dance, drove home, baked cherry cookies

and ate cherry ice cream.

When life gives you a bowl of cherries, participate fully.

Aug 14

In the beginning the railroad station in Crawford Notch wasn't very busy.  It was early on a Saturday morning.  The New Yorkers were sleeping off their rum and cokes and Blue Hawaiis.

The trailhead crossed active railroad tracks and began its climb up over rocks and more rocks.

 Between the trailhead and Mt. Field, the summit of Mt. Avalon boasted the best views of the day.

Continuing for another mile or so, the partially restricted view from the summit of Mt. Field, 4340', revealed the Mt. Washington Hotel in the valley below.

From Mt. Field, the trail descended to a col on the way to Mt. Tom (hee hee)

Mt. Field is on the left as seen from the false summit of Mt. Tom, 4,051'.

It was a good 7 mile hike.  The day was hotter than predicted.  The car traffic on the way home jammed up everywhere; Naples causeway, HW 302, Jordan Bay turnoff.  Glad to be home finally.