Hiking the Hudson...

What I want to remember about today:

That I really wanted to go hiking and we made it happen, in spite of... having to bail on the early hike, missing the train to the later hike, rushing back home for our hiking book and nearly missing the next train, and then discovering that the last train to our hiking destination was the one we missed. Grrrrrr.......but I remember thinking "it's going to be ok" and it was better than ok.

Going up....and up....and up...

Breakneck Ridge

All of the people scrambling up the rocks with us. Everyone seemed to be out on this gorgeous fall day!

Watching the mile-long train across the river, (or was it only a half-mile? a lively debate ensued), while eating a morning snack of bananas and Oreos.

Lots of talking with husband-o, as always...then a bit of solitude on the wooded trail heading back. Nice to stop for a chat, a hug and a reminder to root for the home team!

Go team!

The lonely, lovely stone architecture left from an abandoned dairy, especially all the arches of what must have been a beautiful, large multi-story home.

The light on the stream, the sun shining through the trees, the layers of color...sky, mountain, foliage...

The sugar maple leaves in town. (Right, Alexis? Sugar maples?)


Hot chocolate in town before we headed home, tangy-sweet Ida Red apples with ricotta salata cheese and watching the sun set over the Hudson.

What do you want to remember about this weekend?

Home Report

Recently, I've been struck by the beauty I took for granted when I was growing up. It was just the way it was. Once I moved away, I saw that the "way it was" is not the way it is everywhere.

When I'd go back home, I noticed the way it had been all along. (I really DID grow up in a dry state. There really aren't TREES outside of mountains or parks or yards.) And I started to regard that little part of the world as unremarkable. "It's brown! It's dry! It's ugly!", I'd whine. "It's just suburban yuckiness for miles!"...etc...etc...etc.

Lately though, I am amazed at how beautiful it can be. Yes, the mountains may look dusty by August. Yes, there is suburban sprawl. And yes, you can see it all exposed as you whiz by on the freeway (unlike the towns tucked behind the East Coast curtain of forest), but wow, Utah can be beautiful! Wanna see?

I love the land where I grew up.
It is part of me.

Finding deeper water

My life is currently shifting. Most of the changes are gradual, but I am surprised by the suddenness of others. Some of are by my design, some by circumstance and some by the decision of others. In any event, they give me more time to pay attention to what I deem most important, rather than just urgent.

So, what in the world do I do?

I'm floundering just a bit, like a fish out of water (the original title for this post). It reminds me of the salmon we saw several years ago in Alaska, fighting their way upstream, even when half of their bodies were above the water level. They'd found the current and relentlessly swam against it. Often they were splashing or stranded or struggling to breathe. (Hmmmm....is there a special word for fish "breathing"?) They swam fiercely, driven on in their final life and death swim. The fruitlessness of their reproductive attempt in this shallow stream did not change their direction.

But wait. I think that fruitlessly fighting upstream feeling is what is comfortably known. I feel more the way those fish might feel if they were suddenly plucked out of the fray and placed in the calm waters of a large and bounteous lake, with no current to swim against. I certainly know how to swim upstream, fighting (and occasionally avoiding) the current of the moment regardless of the importance of the endeavor. (I'm thinking of "urgent camp" t-shirt obsession in the middle of a fabulous family reunion, for example.) I am skilled at focusing on the struggle and turning a half-blind eye to the things that fall by the wayside. But without the current? I don't know what to do.


Today, I find myself with little current to push against. I stare at my dishes...do a little menu planning...wonder about some sewing...wander over to the computer. I'm moving in starts and spurts with long, lost pauses. It is not for lack of things to be done, but a lack of anything urgent. I'm not used to this way of being. I think it's going to take me a while to find an inner current.

Let's hope I don't get buried under dirty dishes first.

Wilderness II

"We need the tonic of wilderness."
- Thoreau -

Upon my return from staying in a little cabin by this stream, I couldn't agree with Mr. Thoreau more. Off again for a few days with a church youth conference. Hope you have lovely week.