tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-44276992832484404882024-03-13T12:17:57.625-06:00smallTown<center><i>All is calm and bright</i></center>smallTownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01870250786732329787noreply@blogger.comBlogger38125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4427699283248440488.post-70213964304911545402016-07-24T17:20:00.001-06:002016-07-24T17:27:49.418-06:00Colorado, the first weekend<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">We spread the big paper map across the coffee table to plan the weekend. Fingers sliding along jagged lines, here or here or there. </span><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><img id="id_1c1c_d475_8475_3e7a" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-G48rzzabbzM/V5VNC3TR4rI/AAAAAAAAFao/FE3YmQLQRQg/%25255BUNSET%25255D.png" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 298px; height: auto;"> <br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">I finally pulled out his camera and all its accessories, sorting and assessing. I examined them, one by one. I wonder what this filter is for? I'll have to ask Dad - </span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Oh. </span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Yeah.</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Full stop.</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Guess I'll figure it out.</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><img id="id_8164_6a92_471e_9bf4" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-VnMuTFDWeUM/V5VNDXHgNjI/AAAAAAAAFas/5d830PWFTRc/%25255BUNSET%25255D.png" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 298px; height: auto;"> <br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Long after dark we drove into the Sangre De Cristo mountains to find our carefully selected 14er. We navigated miles of four wheel drive trails and back roads as midnight came and went until</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">A road closed due to landslide saw an abrupt end to our carefully constructed plans. Full stop. </span></div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><img id="id_e97b_ae1c_89a1_666c" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-NVv1XAb3v4U/V5VNDrRAJtI/AAAAAAAAFaw/9F57pCi30Y4/%25255BUNSET%25255D.png" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 298px; height: auto;"> </span><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">The next morning we drove back out of the woods to a small town we'd gone through the night before - Gardner - and a cafe/grocery called Wildflower, the only place in town. </span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><img id="id_74c1_1aee_aea5_41e" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/--ZymlZ9AgSs/V5VNEIoShsI/AAAAAAAAFa0/lZn43xCWA14/%25255BUNSET%25255D.png" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 298px; height: auto;"> <br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><img id="id_2016_96bf_9643_7374" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-HWztcVt_SnI/V5VNEoqYFwI/AAAAAAAAFa4/9PR12SY_01A/%25255BUNSET%25255D.png" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 298px; height: auto;"> <br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Shortly after we sat we noticed a guy digging through some bins labeled Free Stuff because another guy started yelling and whaling on him. FILTH AND FOUL AND FOUL AND FILTH <i>smack. </i>Rinse and repeat. </span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">We exchanged looks with the only other guy in the cafe, who sat calmly reading the paper. With raised eyebrows and a small deprecating smirk and shrug he said to us "Welcome to Gardner."</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">We soon determined the only plan that couldn't go wrong was the one we didn't make, so after consulting the map we started driving down around the peninsula of the Sangre De Cristos, and up the other side. </span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Passing through a dusty little town of unknown name we passed this sign </span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><img id="id_6a3c_a8fd_e49c_57c6" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-Hb_WPJDsmRk/V5VNFBzx6qI/AAAAAAAAFa8/B3SpnMeB8jE/%25255BUNSET%25255D.png" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 298px; height: auto;"></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">"Want to go to a yard sale?" I said, half joking.</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">"Yeah yeah, let's go," he said, whipping a uey. "Ok we'll do a drive by first and you check to see if there's anything worth getting out for." <br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">"Oh we're getting out," I declared, in for a pound by then. "Totally getting out," he agreed. "I see tons of stuff." Which I thought was hilarious until I realized he wasn't kidding. </span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><img id="id_4b6d_7118_8ec0_46dd" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-toB3UY0_lvI/V5VNFwmvuII/AAAAAAAAFbA/7tV0W5ZTaQw/%25255BUNSET%25255D.png" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 298px; height: auto;"> <br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><img id="id_fe8_6487_e036_348c" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-Vf0K_FAD_ZU/V5VNGbWloNI/AAAAAAAAFbE/gYaKg9ZDQ4Q/%25255BUNSET%25255D.png" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 298px; height: auto;"> <br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">("Tons of stuff.")</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><img id="id_fe11_a002_be21_63b" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/--lSKKIF8avY/V5VNHCv43OI/AAAAAAAAFbI/GaL9lXaI6mI/%25255BUNSET%25255D.png" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 298px; height: auto;"> <br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">(Still in the package! Score!)</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><img id="id_ad66_c6e6_2e73_eb8d" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-pSU0x0Gw85g/V5VNHs5KaHI/AAAAAAAAFbM/0YHLF3d3kd8/%25255BUNSET%25255D.png" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 298px; height: auto;"> <br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">(Napkin holder comes with napkins! What a steal.)</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><img id="id_861b_b137_61b6_c3ca" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-Xtmxl6IEUMs/V5VNICXM5iI/AAAAAAAAFbQ/hRg9mPWx4NY/%25255BUNSET%25255D.png" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 298px; height: auto;"> <br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><img id="id_75c7_de1b_4285_6395" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-7g98Cyjy-Q0/V5VNIoHrxnI/AAAAAAAAFbU/oKFEgYEctO0/%25255BUNSET%25255D.png" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 298px; height: auto;"> <br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">("What's this?" Asked the young boy. "It's a rotary phone." His dad answered. "But what's it for?" We all laugh in that way that makes friends of strangers and another man says "Does anyone else here feel suddenly old?")</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">It was hot and dry and mercilessly sunny and we chugged along in the old jeep, the soft top and my hair flapping in the wind, until we reached the Great Sand Dunes, which were sandy and duney as you might imagine and which were so hot they burned my Chaco feet until I had to turn back. </span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><img id="id_5775_acc1_3b4b_edf6" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-i-C2BMTlpEg/V5VNJKrPwEI/AAAAAAAAFbY/DjZGStZC9dE/%25255BUNSET%25255D.png" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 298px; height: auto;"> <br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><img id="id_4030_e439_8ee0_9d7b" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-rA3YYewpA78/V5VNJvZ5MMI/AAAAAAAAFbc/pMDvqN7Q38k/%25255BUNSET%25255D.png" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 298px; height: auto;"> <br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">We drove around the backside on a rough four wheel drive road, past the Point of No Return ("There's never a point of no return in a jeep"), until we found the side where tourists don't venture. I took a cool picture and then mosquitos basically had me for dinner and I made a run for it and we high tailed it out of there, in search of yet another misadventure. </span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><img id="id_6e26_41bc_bd51_e13d" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-qz73T612xQs/V5VNKKLwfYI/AAAAAAAAFbg/CjStVKa7b4s/%25255BUNSET%25255D.png" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 298px; height: auto;"> <br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Crestone is off the beaten path and works its easy way up the base of the mountains. Small and charming and quirky with a hippie vibe. I bought local peaches from a boy in a booth alongside the road. </span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">"We're debating the legitimacy of cotton candy ice cream," Matt said to the man behind the counter at the ice cream shop. "Well come on over here and have a look and I'll explain it to you," said the man with the beautiful eyes, gently smiling and with professional pride. He wasn't an ice cream guy, he was a connoisseur, an ice cream artist, creating taste with natural local organic ingredients, and blending flavors with care and exquisite precision. I had blueberry and lemon and Matt had blueberry and mint chocolate chip because he's a peasant, apparently, and there's no accounting for taste. It was life changing ice cream. Amen and amen. </span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><img id="id_8e74_1a9c_cf6e_d479" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-IOW5z--7odk/V5VNKhCab8I/AAAAAAAAFbk/AaVkLdSuUQc/%25255BUNSET%25255D.png" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 298px; height: auto;"> <br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><img id="id_6505_17ef_a361_3968" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-zeLr8x24E_k/V5VNLHMDvFI/AAAAAAAAFbo/r96enYkoKHk/%25255BUNSET%25255D.png" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 298px; height: auto;"> <br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><img id="id_447f_aef0_4daf_bdea" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-suZLO000Org/V5VNLobLsTI/AAAAAAAAFbs/ISSnRfFJ9eI/%25255BUNSET%25255D.png" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 298px; height: auto;"> <br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><img id="id_3283_c19_ebb3_4890" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-u0-UHCeLR8Q/V5VNMFMv6KI/AAAAAAAAFbw/z19HwdyqK_4/%25255BUNSET%25255D.png" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 298px; height: auto;"> <br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">"I have to pee so bad," I said rhetorically twenty minutes from Buena Vista as the long day started to wane. "Are you ok?" He asked seriously. "Can you hold it? I can pull off somewhere. Just let me know." Of course I can hold it, I've been an adult in full control of my bladder for quite some time now, but his guileless concern is always completely organic and unaffected. Sometimes that weekend his southern ways drove me crazy - I wanted to GO and he wanted to mosey - but how can you be aggravated with someone who is so sincere?</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Finally that night outside Buena Vista we almost declared ourselves adventured out and returned to Golden without having gotten to climb a 14er, after all that. </span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">I wanted to love you, Colorado, with your mountains and dramatic skies, but Lordy your crowds. I decided the mountains are like one giant mountainous city. People. Everywhere. I love mountains but your mountains full of crowds are unforgivable, Colorado. </span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">"I'm over it," we agreed, me disenchanted and disappointed, but after midnight when we'd turned back we found a spot to camp for the night and decided to have a go at it yet.</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><img id="id_b900_9afc_92ad_bf1e" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-ApVU8zroAMs/V5VNMmvAiiI/AAAAAAAAFb0/ATpkATVbsCo/%25255BUNSET%25255D.png" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 298px; height: auto;"> <br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">At dark o'clock in the chill morning, after four hours of sleep and a leaky camel bak which soaked clothes and left us short on water and after a minor melt down by yours truly, we started up the mountain with dozens of other people. </span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Three miles and 4,500 feet altitude later we reached rhe summit, and started down the back side, through alpine meadows of flowers and snow. The people were few and far between by then, the mountain was lovely and good and offered some solitude and peace as I walked ahead and alone for a time, Dad's camera clutched in my hand. The mountain understood, kept silent company and didn't say anything when I cried. </span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><img id="id_26e0_89b3_9c9_6060" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-Z9wgKYXclcw/V5VNMxGJydI/AAAAAAAAFb4/RNASQnVdNGs/%25255BUNSET%25255D.png" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 298px; height: auto;"> <br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><img id="id_97f4_3d4a_d266_28aa" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-MxyIrGbOHrI/V5VNNFCNDEI/AAAAAAAAFb8/NDpRPa9KknY/%25255BUNSET%25255D.png" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 298px; height: auto;"> <br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><img id="id_2983_b165_71cb_8ab" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-uc5b5_hB_Mc/V5VNN5rgi7I/AAAAAAAAFcA/qB_WOIHW5uM/%25255BUNSET%25255D.png" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 298px; height: auto;"> <br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><img id="id_75f2_7c04_8f43_dad5" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-hq3ykgwtnhQ/V5VNOaV9MTI/AAAAAAAAFcE/riQ27HPFFLI/%25255BUNSET%25255D.png" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 298px; height: auto;"> <br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><img id="id_8d59_5bb4_271a_3991" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-QT5TGaKubcU/V5VNO8iyJaI/AAAAAAAAFcI/7k67DWixP1w/%25255BUNSET%25255D.png" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 298px; height: auto;"> <br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><img id="id_f4de_c28d_bdc0_1453" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-IurwloCdr5c/V5VNPimisII/AAAAAAAAFcM/aRRWVgPY7dY/%25255BUNSET%25255D.png" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 298px; height: auto;"></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">(I took dozens and dozens of photos, but due to technical difficulty and lack of tech support #thanksdad I cannot use my computer to edit and upload photos so this process is painfully slow, time consuming and frustrating, so this is what you get. You probably don't care but it's hard for me, to not edit and make it perfect.)</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Finally finally after a long weekend we reached Leadville, and I forgave Colorado for everything for the sake of Leadville. I fell in love and felt at home, stress and fatigue fading away in the embrace of that small town and its mountains and mines and friendly people and good food. I could write an entire post on that evening in Leadville but I won't. Not now. Maybe not ever. We'll see. <br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><img id="id_2f26_4024_9bd5_af6a" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-Dcbl7v4ERiE/V5VNQCeEcLI/AAAAAAAAFcQ/oVwCiqYVSgg/%25255BUNSET%25255D.png" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 298px; height: auto;"> <br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><img id="id_ffd6_a3ac_1a25_585a" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-3OWZOy1ASk4/V5VNQj7jziI/AAAAAAAAFcU/q_sYZalo0IA/%25255BUNSET%25255D.png" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 298px; height: auto;"> <br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><img id="id_2cf0_ae4b_c942_96e2" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-z8X2rQwpkVk/V5VNRIz56NI/AAAAAAAAFcY/c-a9aOfIyKA/%25255BUNSET%25255D.png" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 298px; height: auto;"> <br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Well that was snippets of my first weekend in Colorado. Not at all as planned but all together as it was meant to be, I suppose, and at the end of the day I wouldn't change a thing. We had many and many interesting and wonderful encounters. </span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">"The majority of important things cannot be said outright, they cannot be made explicit. They can only be implied."</span></div><div style="text-indent: 0px;"><span style="text-indent: -30px; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><img id="id_83a7_fc9b_f04d_3d11" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-oj8ON9faRBo/V5VNRQBlC-I/AAAAAAAAFcc/JBw8GmAPOvg/%25255BUNSET%25255D.png" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 298px; height: auto;"> <span style="text-indent: -30px;"><br></span></span></div><div style="text-indent: 0px;"><span style="text-indent: -30px; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div style="text-indent: 0px;"><span style="text-indent: -30px; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">P.S. The hours of time it took to make this blog happen are dedicated to my mom with love for being my biggest fan! </span></div>smallTownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01870250786732329787noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4427699283248440488.post-10506613158191089532016-01-25T21:52:00.000-07:002016-01-25T22:28:49.241-07:00One weekend in Wyoming...I set off on an adventure with people I hardly knew.<br />
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I liked that we weren't brought together by our love for each other, but by our love for the mountains and mutual interests. We all wanted to be away for the weekend, to be in the mountains ice climbing, to go adventuring. I knew by the end of the trip we'd be friends.<br />
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Maybe one might say we'd been spoiled in our previous ice climbing experiences by the easy accessibility of Ouray and the Black Hills. But I don't think that's the case. These climbs, though prolific, were not easily obtained. The searching in those mountains, however, wandering around the steep rocky, snowy slopes, amidst the scraggly evergreens and sage, was an equal part of the adventure.<br />
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It's never <i>just</i> about the climbing. It's about being out and exploring, and finding. We earned our ice and were pleased to do so.<br />
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When we finally trudged, out of breath, around that bend in the canyon and saw our ice fall, there all along, all still and blue and validating, it was like finding hidden treasure.<br />
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Matt. Unassuming, cheerful, much to say and not in a hurry. </div>
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An Atlanta boy grown to be a Colorado mountain man who didn't lose the Georgia drawl. </div>
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We talked about poop.<br />
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We fancied ourselves nature experts. We argued about whether or not it was deer or elk or goat poop (by the end of the day it made no difference in Eddie's scooping it up and throwing it over his shoulder at me as we hiked back to the vehicle) (he used to play baseball, he never missed), horse or bear poop (I hope you're picking up on the irony of the nature experts comment by now), whether or not bear poop changes drastically depending on whether they last ate berries or people.<br />
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We argued about whether or not bears hibernate in winter if there hasn't been much snow or cold ("Don't they build snow caves?"), whether that was a coyote or a wolf cry, if moose travel in herds, if mountain sheep can really fall over dead from fright (they can), and how much work it would actually be to have an ostrich farm.<br />
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(Of course we talked of other things too - of how they met and past relationships, of politics and travel and our jobs and previous ice climbing trips and mutual friends and childhood and injuries. But who wants to read about all that?)<br />
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We learned about Cody, Wyoming. That it's the rodeo capital of the world ...<br />
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...and that it's the gateway to Yellowstone, and the home of Buffalo Bill. And from experience we learned that although the mountains around Cody contain the most backcountry ice climbing routes in the United States, the locals don't care. They care about religion, guns, trucks and cattle. They do not care that out their back doors there are over 150 natural frozen waterfalls in a 10 mile radius.<br />
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We even went to the outdoor shop and they could tell us nothing to help us in our quest for ice. But there was a certain appeal in this, too. It wasn't a trendy Colorado sporty town full of Patagonia clad enthusiasts and wannabes. These were just cowboys and there happens to be ice out there.<br />
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So we poured over the guidebook, in all its vague and misleading glory, discussing and puzzling it out together, and ventured our way into the mountains.<br />
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We were like kids in a candy store as we pointed out to one another climb after blue iced climb, far up into those mystic canyons.<br />
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Lovely, imposing, poignant, remote and mostly unattainable to the likes of us. They whispered promises of <i>someday</i>, those endless frozen flows, those elusive heights, holding secrets of things beyond our skill and knowledge and strength to know. Maybe we haven't the heart for it, maybe we'll never have the courage for the potential heartbreak found in the magnitude of that level of climbing. But it whispers to us, and we wonder <i>what if</i>. What if we could climb that high. What would we know then? The secret of the universe lies in those heights.<br />
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We don't speak of it aloud, but the wonder of it is in our hearts and leaks through our eyes as we gaze up at those summits in longing and fear and contemplate things beyond our knowing.<br />
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I saw a moose, which I've always claimed don't exist because I've never seen one before in all my travels.<br />
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"Did you see the moose?" Matt asked casually, like it was just another mule deer. "It wasn't!" I exclaimed. "Oh, was it an elk?" He asked. Matt, in his unusual and unpretentious innocence, assuming I must be right. "I thought it was a moose." Eddie whipped the truck around and there it was, it was a moose.<br />
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It reminded me of the time I stood in an orange sunset deep down in Mexico where the river meets the Gulf, and suddenly there were dolphins jumping in the waves below. How I was so astounded and consumed with delight at the long awaited sighting. Seeing the moose felt like that.<br />
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A mile down the road we saw a magnificent herd of elk lounging in a high desert meadow.<br />
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We heard a wolf's cry and an owl's hoot.<br />
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We shared puffies and advice.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJ_Syw2O1WLz91N4g9hlFN6W7kID3ybktFNAV4dyL6QTMrbKmK-sxU6VmtZ8l921A92AUgif8BVzbVG0zHL524aCvjKRHm6btGHXRKW5hKUcRq5g_pYjiBPqJDA4d7HkvP-g5bXcRso_rQ/s1600/Cody+04.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJ_Syw2O1WLz91N4g9hlFN6W7kID3ybktFNAV4dyL6QTMrbKmK-sxU6VmtZ8l921A92AUgif8BVzbVG0zHL524aCvjKRHm6btGHXRKW5hKUcRq5g_pYjiBPqJDA4d7HkvP-g5bXcRso_rQ/s640/Cody+04.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Puffy on puffy on shell on hoodie on wool.</i></td></tr>
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We watched the sun set behind the high and broken horizon.<br />
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We saw the laziest of snows mosey down defiantly from a blue sky.<br />
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<br />
I broke through the ice on a creek crossing.<br />
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We dug out seats in the steeply angled slopes and sat conversing in the snow, shivering and uncomplaining, waiting our turn on the rope, drinking in the crisp mountain air.<br />
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Just another day in the mountains.<br />
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<span style="text-align: center;">In another year Eddie will be transferred out of state for his job, and Ashley - by then his wife - will go with him. Maybe we'll meet up from time to time on impromptu climbing trips. Or maybe we won't.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5490OVN4DprRVG-jkjwyaQk-8RkzWHFAp8MSuD5VqgxMwCBH_xYA-lXHXkM33a4r5LgbmYUABm_IRs7LKdITOHBFd9s6mYb8x64ht0t5NRhs4e9qakKI2Hlqp2weRgsxw5kek1ULovIbk/s1600/Cody+27.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5490OVN4DprRVG-jkjwyaQk-8RkzWHFAp8MSuD5VqgxMwCBH_xYA-lXHXkM33a4r5LgbmYUABm_IRs7LKdITOHBFd9s6mYb8x64ht0t5NRhs4e9qakKI2Hlqp2weRgsxw5kek1ULovIbk/s640/Cody+27.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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Matt will probably still be in Colorado and we'll remain uncommunicative Facebook friends.<br />
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But for this weekend we were together, an unlikely team, adventure buddies, sharing inside jokes and staring together at unknowable heights with our hearts in our throats. When axes and cleats slipped their icy grip and someone gasped in startled fear as they came off the ice we'd holler up "I have you. You're good", holding calmly to their belay, their safety.<br />
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We stood on belay, hunched with our faces toward the ground as shards of ice rained down like shrapnel to <i>thwack</i> mightily upon our helmets. We called encouragement and challenges, high fived successes, exhaled deep breaths of relief when he finally made that clip and the danger was past for the moment.<br />
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For this weekend we were in the mountains, holding the rope and each other's lives in our hands.<br />
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How could we not be friends after that?<br />
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I love things like that, sports like ice climbing, that bring random strangers together in the mountains and make friends of them.<br />
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There was that. And what else is there? For that moment, in that present, there is nothing else.<br />
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Nothing that I know of.smallTownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01870250786732329787noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4427699283248440488.post-37237887212255268752016-01-07T20:38:00.001-07:002016-01-07T20:38:20.365-07:00The SuckI used to think I had things to say. Looking back I probably didn't and I certainly don't now. How that switch came about I'm not exactly sure, but it's probably having to do with my expectations of what is interesting.<br />
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Mostly I find I bore myself when I write. I try to have interesting thoughts and ideas to write about but...there's nothing.<br />
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Where was I going with this?<br />
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I can't remember but there's a quote, this quote by AJ Jacobs - whoever that is: Embrace the Suck.<br />
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Not the suck like "I suck"...<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbPI4F2hMh-pPhxhG_bkzwlz7LELO6CC5ARhl4wAFSbeYKPYuJMMskz43vvza64DGSdp87Ew6Dp_kjxLbZYrmXGZL6O3J6i1BmtXM8ucRlDW4mO__QPwXMTPhTx9c2xIR2WTsakrnXC3Uu/s1600/sucks+to+sucks+Eric.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbPI4F2hMh-pPhxhG_bkzwlz7LELO6CC5ARhl4wAFSbeYKPYuJMMskz43vvza64DGSdp87Ew6Dp_kjxLbZYrmXGZL6O3J6i1BmtXM8ucRlDW4mO__QPwXMTPhTx9c2xIR2WTsakrnXC3Uu/s400/sucks+to+sucks+Eric.jpg" width="356" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Sucks to suck, Eric</i></td></tr>
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...but the hard uncomfortable stuff, the boring stuff that brings about results that aren't boring - the 4:30AM wake ups, going to the gym where you don't have any friends, eating the spinach, not eating all the things that you want to eat - all the things! - running when it's 5 degrees, going to bed early. Those things...they suck. They are gritty and beautiful and satisfying but then I'm like "It's Thursday and I DON'T WANT TO DO THAT. Any of that. I want to eat bread and chocolate and binge read fiction books and online shopping and not do anything at all on my To Do list. Sometimes I basically go to my Do Not Do list and do all those things - every one of them - because I look at that and I'm like <i>Look at all these great things!</i> and YOU CAN'T TELL ME WHAT TO DO and then I'm like WHY DO I SUCK MY LIFE IS FALLING APART and it's like Yeah well they were on the Do Not Do list for a reason and now you're sad and chubby. Should have listened to your rational self who wrote the Do Not Do List in a moment of clarity and ambition.<br />
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My life.<br />
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So yeah but what AJ was talking about was the gritty stuff, the stuff that only sucks when you're thinking about having to do it right now, but once you start you're exhilarated and once you're done you're happy and healthy. Those are the things I'm trying to do.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjE3X0kBMACHI3ysiffjL5gCQnfmpYxD_l3CrHnOddSq317m6m3RLVIMUsZNcnspGlaaHhP67rR8R3Ndw4bHgK7vezYDsPcFCnpO8Me2eKp2Ekg1qrZ93MLy8MY3_0-mfSrrQf4-vTNMSwT/s1600/To+the+gym.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjE3X0kBMACHI3ysiffjL5gCQnfmpYxD_l3CrHnOddSq317m6m3RLVIMUsZNcnspGlaaHhP67rR8R3Ndw4bHgK7vezYDsPcFCnpO8Me2eKp2Ekg1qrZ93MLy8MY3_0-mfSrrQf4-vTNMSwT/s400/To+the+gym.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Who knew?</i></td></tr>
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Embrace the suck.<br />
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I don't know if it ever stops sucking, but eventually you give up arguing with yourself about it, which really is the exhausting part, and don't even acknowledge that there is another option so it's no longer "This sucks" it's just "This is what I'm doing now". Wish we could just skip to that part. But that beginning This Sucks phase is part of the suck that must be embraced and so can't be skipped. At first my whiny side is all You want me to do <i>what?! </i>Don't be ridiculous! Have a nap, you're clearly unwell. Eventually, if the rational gritty self wins out enough, the whiny side tries a wheedling But...but...but...naps! And pastries! And eventually it just gives a perfunctory <i>No </i>but already knows the battle is lost. Or won. And my bad ass self is like YEAH SUCK IT.<br />
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Also, I really miss riding my fucking bike (swearing is on the Do Not Do list but pretty sure it's the only thing on the list I haven't accomplished yet today and I like to be thorough). And I miss being at the point where I was fit enough that riding was fun. But anyway it's snowy and I don't have a fat bike and all my friends who ride are in another town so it's all beside the point. Moving is disruptive, everybody, I don't recommend it unless you're an adultier adult than I. Which is likely, let's be honest.<br />
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OK. Tomorrow I'll try to accomplish the <i>other</i> list. ONLY BEGIN. It's the only hard part, truth be told.<br />
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Embrace the suck! Be all THIS SUCKS...yeahhhhh, isn't it great?<br />
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<br />smallTownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01870250786732329787noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4427699283248440488.post-77637941612939651332016-01-01T14:08:00.002-07:002016-01-01T14:54:39.756-07:00And it was happyThere is an old fashioned and unremarkable magic about Galena.<br />
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It never fails to provide a refreshing elixir of simplicity, nonsense, community, acceptance, laughter and all other such things. TV doesn't play in the background because there isn't a TV. No one is huddled in exclusive seclusion on the couch engrossed in their phone because there's no cell service or WiFi. That leaves so much room for engaging with one another. That's all there is, really. Everyone there is everyone's priority. What a strange and wonderful concept.<br />
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Snapshots from the last day of the year, in no particular order and with no great quality:</div>
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Ryan and I weren't quite as thrilled about the special New Year's drink as some of the others. We sipped bravely until the countdown had passed and then abandoned ship.<br />
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They were huddled together engrossed in wedding pictures and memories, so I said "Hey look at me".</div>
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The important thing is that I was included.<br />
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It was after midnight when Rob and Seth were animatedly discussing something in the other room, and I said to Ryan "How can they still have so much to talk about this late into the night??" "Who knows," he shrugs, and then we returned to our own animated discussion about books, the irony escaping us. There's always something to talk about in Galena.<br />
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Looking in,<br />
windows of warmth.<br />
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Looking out, pipe smoke on the porch in the woodsmoke tinged cold.<br />
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That interesting picture.<br />
Look at it.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpBrh4-5nVoVhwN-SfGQkZTn4wCyxIKPwt8HVQli_EChGDyClJiC3W5s1AARY2iZMG2y2g8gqEt7kuuYV4kAdpr1WlCP4mJjL3ccrB87QqtPRucgXCkujzsKdd9wGf_YCEY3o5RWvKdM1F/s1600/13.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpBrh4-5nVoVhwN-SfGQkZTn4wCyxIKPwt8HVQli_EChGDyClJiC3W5s1AARY2iZMG2y2g8gqEt7kuuYV4kAdpr1WlCP4mJjL3ccrB87QqtPRucgXCkujzsKdd9wGf_YCEY3o5RWvKdM1F/s640/13.jpg" width="480" /></a></div>
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The most magnificent god-awful white elephant gifts. They will be conversation starters forever now.<br />
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We made it until 1:30AM. We were all fading and sleepy but ended up congregated in a circle around the wood stove, loathe to leave the warmth of the conversation and fire for the cold bedrooms. But by and by we bid goodnight. Gwen had gone up earlier and turned on the electric blanket on my bed so it was warm and ready and I drifted off cozy and happy.</div>
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In the morning everyone wandered down, one by one. Coffee percolated on the stove and after good mornings we each ended up picking up the nearest book to hand and reading in quiet companionship, sometimes making remarks or sharing something we found interesting. When coffee was ready and passed around and everyone was more awake, conversation picked up...</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFmDwN_M5DWC_JpkdiQiXWTauAMu1-7xGGp2lpSP9sfhxfrwlRaKpyYJYzA4qewAjnYAN3b4MwityBPETOqnG5wqzGQsBBTPcSlQv7k0ZbpCJZbqSU2Hf0eX-bRLNOPIwP0VGCTF3weJ6W/s1600/16.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFmDwN_M5DWC_JpkdiQiXWTauAMu1-7xGGp2lpSP9sfhxfrwlRaKpyYJYzA4qewAjnYAN3b4MwityBPETOqnG5wqzGQsBBTPcSlQv7k0ZbpCJZbqSU2Hf0eX-bRLNOPIwP0VGCTF3weJ6W/s640/16.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2GPl-qCpQ77Bt1V6VdnVLLpaPWarrX_UAh98N60zm6rYsJa3qddar1IN_0eZaPvR3Q2Lhexd9Dhc2bn656ucqJGP0CAXxkkTYW4exWYEhKCMtsp7LIdiwbd26MZXJf0MF5xCpodKdGXlQ/s1600/17.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2GPl-qCpQ77Bt1V6VdnVLLpaPWarrX_UAh98N60zm6rYsJa3qddar1IN_0eZaPvR3Q2Lhexd9Dhc2bn656ucqJGP0CAXxkkTYW4exWYEhKCMtsp7LIdiwbd26MZXJf0MF5xCpodKdGXlQ/s640/17.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="text-align: start;">...of books and anarchy and old family recipes and how people in Spain have a different concept of time than we do.</span></div>
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And that's how I welcomed in the new year.<br />
That's pretty alright.<br />
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Hope everyone's was as happy, in their own way.<br />
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smallTownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01870250786732329787noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4427699283248440488.post-13678146539874081782015-12-31T16:01:00.000-07:002015-12-31T16:02:22.185-07:00January is comingThe cold days, the dark days.<br />
It is, to borrow a line from Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance, "A kind of nowhere, famous for nothing at all and has an appeal because of just that."<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidP-qnwDObpHhoziRaxrLlNzObiHilByKRdNxZkn8wNuDOL5HR1nwNzacDeTnmKet0vji8R57WnNWnsCcV4vni_fKDmS4zdGd2bCQfx2iaYvpKAImFQJpJL24DDMuF9uEa5DmHiZa7aX7g/s1600/001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidP-qnwDObpHhoziRaxrLlNzObiHilByKRdNxZkn8wNuDOL5HR1nwNzacDeTnmKet0vji8R57WnNWnsCcV4vni_fKDmS4zdGd2bCQfx2iaYvpKAImFQJpJL24DDMuF9uEa5DmHiZa7aX7g/s640/001.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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It's always the culmination of a story and a goodbye session and hope.<br />
There are so many 4:30AMs in January.<br />
I'm rather looking forward to it.smallTownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01870250786732329787noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4427699283248440488.post-55877895873793443672015-09-14T16:03:00.000-06:002015-09-14T16:12:38.234-06:00A beginningOnce upon a time I lived in a small town called Spearfish. When I left there I went many places and saw many things and this and that happened and yadda yadda until one day, many years later, I came back to this small town. It was the same and maybe, for all the years, I am too.<br />
<br />
I find myself moving into a loft-like studio apartment - which I, in all my shining ingenuity, am calling The Loft - in a nice and, moreover, convenient part of town, a block from the bike path and park and three blocks from the Blackbird coffee shop (where I am now).<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdpusYQ9d6YPbnYFg9X0S9MG4uiO2lUzaSdpF5fMsrIc2QJMPfqpTkXD96OOzMkvMs9t8KILITqPq5mlaoCtwd4jqBogcM3XvI0y4nWxREcnPAgbCTKofeL9j0ffM3UnMMms_2JfL6hyev/s1600/Blackbird.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdpusYQ9d6YPbnYFg9X0S9MG4uiO2lUzaSdpF5fMsrIc2QJMPfqpTkXD96OOzMkvMs9t8KILITqPq5mlaoCtwd4jqBogcM3XvI0y4nWxREcnPAgbCTKofeL9j0ffM3UnMMms_2JfL6hyev/s640/Blackbird.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Blackbird</i></td></tr>
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I've been staying with some (new) friends in Sand Creek, in a pretty little guest cottage where the sound of the creek lulls me to sleep every night. Although it's been lovely, I'm very much looking forward to moving into town and settling into a place of my own, even though the loft doesn't have a porch. About which I'm trying not to be bitter. Bitter, party of one!<br />
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Moving, albeit exciting, is always unsettling and I'm finding my bearings in this new life while trying to enjoy the process and reminding myself it can be anything I choose to make it. Moves are good for fresh starts and new beginnings and first impressions. What do I want to be? I ask myself. Kind. I want to be kind, and adventurous, and to do whatever I do with all my heart.<br />
<br />
I haven't done much so far since the move but here are some quick snapshots of the company I've kept and the things I've done:<br />
<br />
Me and Mom - she helped me settle into the cottage and generally kept me company that first night and day. Thank goodness.<br />
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<br />
Me and Jesus: roommate at the cottage<br />
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<br />
Me and Cows:<br />
<br />
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<br />
Me and Spearfish Canyon:<br />
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<br />
...which lead me to Me and Pancakes:<br />
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<br />
And I'll just leave you with this video.<br />
I know things here will be OK because how could they not with people like this in my life:<br />
<br />
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<br />smallTownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01870250786732329787noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4427699283248440488.post-70875059291649304802015-05-17T19:43:00.000-06:002015-09-14T14:18:48.855-06:00The other side of the counterI'm wearing dirty, holey jeans, work boots, and a worn out thermal shirt. It's raining to beat the band. I drive up 9th street and out of habit unhesitatingly go straight at the light, toward the back parking lot of the place-formerly-known-as-Bully Blends. I chuckle, a little sadly, and whip a u-ey and park in front of the shop.<br />
<br />
Inside, the new owner greets me and introduces me to the baristas, saying "She worked here for eight years!" as though it's something. It was nice of her to do that.<br />
<br />
Pete waves from the kitchen, grinning, happy to see me as though it's been a year instead of a day.<br />
<br />
I place my order, and take a loyalty card.<br />
<br />
There are a few long standing Bully Blends customers there, and I go to say hi. They are adjusting to the changes, too, and it's surprisingly hard for some. Some people have hung out at the Blends every day for years. They ask me about things, and I smile brightly and talk positively about the new changes and new adventures. They look at me with wide eyed compassion, seeing beyond the smile the raw side of goodbye. I smile bigger and look away, their understanding making it harder. I loved mornings when I would walk into the shop and know by name every single customer there. Most of the time I knew their stories. Sometimes I had their numbers in my phone.<br />
<br />
Pete follows me out, and we chat a little out under the awning as the steady rain listens in. "Don't be a stranger!" he calls after me as I go, "Come by the house!"<br />
<br />
When I left the shop the day before, the last time as an employee, it felt as you'd imagine and I was lost and sad. On my phone I had a text from a friend asking if I wanted to ride. So we did, and as usual riding saved the day and I was OK.<br />
<br />
But that was Thursday, and on a rainy Friday I started a new job, a new chapter.<br />
<br />
Things feel strange, unreal, unfamiliar.<br />
I'm a little adrift, like I'm doing things but not for any particular reason.<br />
Not unhappy. Transient.<br />
<br />
I joined Tim - new boss, old friend - for lunch at the place formerly known as Bully Blends. He sat in his usual spot at the bar, where he has sat every day for years. Usually I stand on the other side of the bar chatting. Some days all the stools would be full of guys I knew from riding. Some of the employees called it "Jaralei's fan club". Now I sit next to Tim, having soup and coffee, same as he, part of the bar lunch group. I'm part of my own fan club.<br />
<br />
What will I do?<br />
I don't know.<br />
I don't know what I'll be doing in June.<br />
Or in the fall.<br />
Or next year.<br />
<br />
But - that's OK. It's OK. I'll figure it out.<br />
And I'm always up for an adventure.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIvTA3_HnH2P5JPu3OOo5xJ99D4oYbBPw2AOFoxRjy9WplTkRFR8Wfr_8v9JcBPYyohpHLSsxWbD4RX7RsAKA43po7YijGQmy0n9ZFxxBq3oky_UKUk532-gM-EnBg6Dwk_ILKfg5lU2fI/s1600/05.17.15+Ephemeral+life.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIvTA3_HnH2P5JPu3OOo5xJ99D4oYbBPw2AOFoxRjy9WplTkRFR8Wfr_8v9JcBPYyohpHLSsxWbD4RX7RsAKA43po7YijGQmy0n9ZFxxBq3oky_UKUk532-gM-EnBg6Dwk_ILKfg5lU2fI/s640/05.17.15+Ephemeral+life.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>This ephemeral life</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<i>(Conversations at work, March 2011</i><br />
<i><span style="color: #333333; font-family: 'Times New Roman', Times, FreeSerif, serif; font-size: 14.8500003814697px; line-height: 20.7900009155273px;">Me: Look, Pete, I tidied the baking area.</span><br style="color: #333333; font-family: 'Times New Roman', Times, FreeSerif, serif; font-size: 14.8500003814697px; line-height: 20.7900009155273px;" /><span style="color: #333333; font-family: 'Times New Roman', Times, FreeSerif, serif; font-size: 14.8500003814697px; line-height: 20.7900009155273px;">Pete: Looks great! Now it'll be hard for anyone to find something to bitch about, though. I think I'll just urinate on the floor. Someone will say "It looks like someone pissed on the floor in here!" And I'll say "Don't be ridiculous.")</span></i>smallTownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01870250786732329787noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4427699283248440488.post-2300292215919737782015-05-16T21:00:00.000-06:002015-09-14T14:18:48.801-06:00Goodbye, Bully Blends<i>I'm sitting in a dark and empty Bully Blends, long after closing time, as I have countless times throughout the years. I've always liked being here - and in our old building - alone after hours. Something about the quiet that contrasts, yet echoes, with the bustling camaraderie of the day that I always found appealing. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>It's the last time. </i><br />
<br />
Mostly I don't want to write anything at all. What to say about eight years? There's nothing that can commemorate. I remember that cold November night I walked into Bully's with my application in hand. I remember what I was wearing, and that Pete and Aida and I talked in the tea room, and they hired me on the spot.<br />
<br />
"You know," Pete said last week to me, "other than Aida, I've spent more time with you these past eight years than anyone."<br />
<br />
Yes. I know. Me too.<br />
<br />
They were never just employers.<br />
<br />
On the last day, we all laughed, and if it was a little louder than usual, no one seemed to notice.<br />
<br />
I walked slowly beside the shelves of teas, trying to decide which of my favorites I'd like to take. I know them all by heart, like old friends. Funny to feel the need to say goodbye to jars of tea.<br />
<br />
I've met some of my dearest friends because of working at Bully Blends, which has lead to some of my most amazing experiences. Customers, coworkers. Friends I'll have for life. Our Bully Blends motto is "<i>Meet your friends at Bully Blends</i>!", and it's been that for me - a place to meet new friends.<br />
<br />
It was never just a job.<br />
<br />
Bully's has been such a haven for me - friendship, color, laughter, family, coffee, belonging. It's hard to say goodbye. It's time, it's not that it's wrong or bad in any way. But it's hard. There will always be a little Bully Blends spot in my heart.<br />
<br />
I wish I knew how to write to capture all the memories, all the faces through the years. The shared pots of teas, the inside jokes, the quiet mornings chatting over cups of coffee. We always had things to talk about every morning, even though - how much could possibly have happened since yesterday? But there's too much. And I'll just have to be content to know it happened, and to savor the memories.<br />
<br />
Memories, now. Remember that one time I worked at a coffee and tea shop? Remember how we laughed? How we knew all the customers by name, knew their stories?<br />
<br />
The end of an era. This bright little world becomes another chapter ended.<br />
<br />
<i>(As Pete leaves at the end of the day he often calls out Let's do this again real soon!</i><br />
<i>Tomorrow? I respond. Same time, same place?)</i><br />
<br />
Goodbye, Bully Blends.<br />
Thanks for everything.<br />
<br />
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<br />smallTownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01870250786732329787noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4427699283248440488.post-20006437092556056482014-10-18T23:32:00.002-06:002015-09-14T14:27:46.065-06:00Dennis and Kiki To the RescueThe morning had started out so promisingly. It was chill - there was
frost on the ground, on the autumn leaves. It was still dark when I set out for my run, and the
stars were stark and bright, gleefully disregarding the sliver of moon's
eager but diminished glow. <br />
<br />
Anyway nevermind all that. Before long I pulled a muscle in my calf and walked home.<br />
<br />
After work I decided to go for a road ride to make up for the morning's unsuccessful workout.<br />
<br />
I
realized I'd forgotten my saddle bag with my road tools in my friend's
car on my last road ride. I didn't want to take the time to go to the
bike shop, as light fades fast these days, and I thought I could chance
it because probably I wouldn't get a flat, right? But then I decided
hope for the best but plan for the worst, I'd rather take 10 minutes to
swing by the bike shop than have to walk-a-bike ten miles.<br />
<br />
As
it turns out it didn't matter because when I got the flat I looked at
my CO2 cartridge only to discover in my haste I'd grabbed one with the
wrong head - it wouldn't fit on my valve. Turns out that's an important detail. Who knew.<br />
<br />
So there I
was. On a beautiful Black Hills back road on a golden autumn evening
with a broke down bike being scolded by a squirrel for loitering beneath
his tree <i>can it, squirrel, it's not like I stopped here on purpose</i>. <i>As
you seem more mobile than I at the moment, why don't YOU move or come
down here and help. Then he was all no YOU move and I was like YOU and
so it went </i>until someone pulled over and was like "Um can I help
you?" and I was all I'M TALKING TO THIS RIGID SELFISH SQUIRREL DO YOU
MIND and the guy looked concerned and mildly frightened as he pealed
away. The squirrel snickered and I threw my tire lever at him and he
sniffed, affronted, and finally scampered on.<br />
<br />
Jaralei 1, Selfish
Squirrel 0. Boo ya.<br />
<br />
Then I realized I'd have to buy
another tire lever and also maybe I'm not getting enough sleep and how
long has it been since I've had a day off, again? Too long. Also
evidenced when earlier in the day a customer had said "Have a great
weekend!" and I was like "HEY F*CK YOU, BUDDY!"<br />
<br />
OK none of that happened but I <i>was </i>stranded
alongside the road with the starburst sun setting and an evening breeze
cooling the sweat on my skin when a couple stopped and rolled down the
windows of their beat up SUV and asked if I needed assistance. "As it
turns out, I do. I have the wrong air" I said, which wasn't really what I
meant to say and the guy was like "Really? What kind of air d'you
need?"<br />
<br />
They had a big dirty dog in the back but said if
I'd wait they lived just up the road they'd unload the dog and the
groceries and come back for me. "I'll be here", I said. "We'll come
back," they said, "we will."<br />
<br />
They were plain, scruffy, homely, simple backwoods true blue South Dakotans.<br />
You know the type. <br />
<br />
I
put on my jacket and sat aside the bike and occasionally cars went by
and most of them stopped to ask if I were OK because it is, after all,
South Dakota. For a moment I thought I could hop in with anyone but then
the first two might worry. Because I knew they'd come back, like they
said. <br />
<br />
For a moment I thought about being upset, about
my trying hard to get into shape and being thwarted on my run that
morning and thwarted now on my ride this evening but then discarded that
as a useless line of thinking and besides the evening was lovely.<br />
<br />
When
they did come back we loaded up my bike and I climbed into the back and
we chatted about the nice fall weather for a minute or two and this or
that and how much we all loved the Black Hills, in any season. And then
the man said he'd lived in Hill City all his life and how he'd hiked
everywhere. Dennis his name was, Dennis and Kiki, was her name.<br />
<br />
When
Dennis talked he sometimes turned all the way around to look full at
me, for much longer than I was comfortable with him taking his eyes off
the road. But I suppose when you've driven that road for your entire
life you just know the way, taking the turns by feel.<br />
<br />
In
his enthusiasm, which was a great thing to behold, Dennis didn't just
nod his head, he nodded with his head and his shoulders and his entire
torso, up and down up and down he bobbed "Absolutely! Absolutely!" he'd
say.<br />
<br />
We got to talking about the mines when I said I
enjoyed hiking and finding the old mines and he bobbed up and down and
up and down and said "Absolutely!" and Kiki agreed and for every mine I
mentioned that I knew, they knew two or three I'd never even heard of,
or called by name ones I'd come across that I'd always wondered about.
And when I said I liked Ingersol, that it was one of my favorites,
Dennis bobbed and said "Oh yeah, I used to visit my Dad when he worked
at that mine."<br />
<br />
<i>(this one, the Ingersol:) </i><br />
<br />
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<br />
"What?!" I exclaimed. "<i>What?!</i> You were at the <i>Ingersol </i>when it was <i>operational</i>?!" I couldn't believe mine ears. "What...what was it like?" "Big," Dennis said, "big and loud."<br />
<br />
And
when I asked about Lou, the last gold panner in the Hills, they said
yes they knew him and that all that stuff Lou had had, the old mining
stuff he'd "acquired", they had now. "You mean...Lou's dead?" I asked.
"Yes," they said. "He died a month ago. Very sad."<br />
<br />
(<i>This one - Lou, the last gold panning miner in the Hills</i>):<br />
<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>RIP, Lou, I regret not going back to gold pan with you, as invited</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
And they talked about the local calenders and coins they had from
1923, and the mining equipment and rocks all around their property, and
how much the Hills have changed over the years.<br />
<br />
By the
end of the twelve mile drive back to Keystone we were fast friends and
exchanging phone numbers and promises that as soon as I get a day off I
can call them up and they'll show me all their old treasures and take me
exploring.<br />
<br />
All in all it was a great break down. I
texted Tim while I was sitting there by the road and later told him it
had all worked out for the best because I'd met some great people and he
said "You always seem to do that" and at first I wondered what he meant
and then I remembered <a href="http://a-smalltownstory.blogspot.com/2014/04/37-miles-from-nowhere.html" target="_blank">Lusk </a>and smiled to think how my "disappointing"
break downs do seem to have such refreshing endings.<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhg4ArAoU9lGzp-Q4su_oFcftpqxJ5gRViD0ZhJyNM__URD1eAFhBRguBJDt9u1WG7y-uXCJKubWYmopkUjP5SRimPFfLQymJGyM2GgZI5rAXhQF39bKrv4vMJ25zxmPAfIt9xg85btXJPl/s1600/The+Breakdown.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhg4ArAoU9lGzp-Q4su_oFcftpqxJ5gRViD0ZhJyNM__URD1eAFhBRguBJDt9u1WG7y-uXCJKubWYmopkUjP5SRimPFfLQymJGyM2GgZI5rAXhQF39bKrv4vMJ25zxmPAfIt9xg85btXJPl/s1600/The+Breakdown.jpg" height="640" width="480" /></a></div>
<br />
I can't help but think how fortunate I was to break down on Old Hill
City Road today, and that of all people at all times these two happened by. I can't wait to hang out with Dennis and Kiki and
hear more of their stories of these Hills I love and the way things used
to be.<br />
<br />
Stay tuned, I'm sure there will be further posts in the Dennis and Kiki adventure series.<br />
I hope.<br />
<br />
Maybe I should break down even more often. smallTownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01870250786732329787noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4427699283248440488.post-65612667661283224332014-04-17T21:57:00.001-06:002015-09-14T14:28:21.637-06:0036 Hours Later<i>Dirt Baggery in the Desert, Pt. 3</i><br />
<br />
<i>Chronologically, this post comes after <a href="http://a-smalltownstory.blogspot.com/2014/04/37-miles-from-nowhere.html" target="_blank">37 miles from nowhere</a>. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>See also <a href="http://a-smalltownstory.blogspot.com/2014/04/dirt-baggery-in-desert-pt-1.html" target="_blank">Dirt Baggery in the Desert, Pt. 1</a>, and <a href="http://a-smalltownstory.blogspot.com/2014/04/dirt-baggery-in-desert-pt-2-ruminations.html" target="_blank">Dirt Baggery in the Desert, Pt. 2</a>.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>After this there will be one more post, the one of Moab. And then I'll be all caught up and... ready to go back!</i><br />
<br />
36 hours later I woke up in the back of my car - the back of a stranger's car, the one I borrowed for 2,000 miles. It was cold, and out the windshield the sky was lightening in shades of pink that told me east was over there. There was a strange tree silhouetted against the pink - pinyon? I think so. I can't believe I'm beholding a pinyon tree. Edward Abbey described them so many times. It's how I imagined it.<br />
<br />
I'd wanted to camp for free in the wilderness - why pay for camping when there's free solitary camping to be had? - but when I mentioned this to Pete in passing while telling him about the sun shower I meant to buy, he said nonchalantly "Oh sure, a woman alone showering naked in the wilderness. What could possibly go wrong?"<br />
<br />
So, I decided to forgo that plan out of consideration of my friend's concern and my mother's mental health.<br />
<br />
After leaving Lusk the morning before, in the Camry which a wonderful woman - the friend of a friend of a friend - loaned us out of the goodness of her heart in a gesture that single handedly restored my faith in humanity, my Mom and I met my cousin in Denver. Mom and I said goodbye as she drove off with my cousin and I continued on this adventure on my own.<br />
<br />
I was suddenly more nervous than excited.<br />
I had butterflies in my stomach.<br />
<br />
For a mile or so I followed my cousin's car down I25, then they continued south as I headed west.<br />
<br />
The mountains were there, to the west, with solitary snow storms hanging low over some peaks, and as I drove toward them they grew closer and larger quickly until suddenly I was amongst them and they were sucking me in and I was quickly gaining altitude. The trees were covered in freshly fallen snow, the sky was low and heavy, the mountains were overwhelming, intimidating and <i>so big,</i> with a pristine, aloof beauty that left me feeling breathless and somehow frightened and so very small and alone.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQ_hQ7ZWz7_SUGEizOKjPsp_8MTvO5GXv32AQbdrrK4dHC-p5ur4Fdkf1qGUq1nnAhV1T4g5v1q4o9u50luWeFtechYtsnsrTKE2XAD90rMqkPN92mXq4Wk80MCyv7Sc3vhzMNxXNU1EET/s1600/04.03+02.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQ_hQ7ZWz7_SUGEizOKjPsp_8MTvO5GXv32AQbdrrK4dHC-p5ur4Fdkf1qGUq1nnAhV1T4g5v1q4o9u50luWeFtechYtsnsrTKE2XAD90rMqkPN92mXq4Wk80MCyv7Sc3vhzMNxXNU1EET/s1600/04.03+02.jpg" height="480" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Forgive the quality, these next few shots were shot through car windows while driving</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
But soon I settled in and my spirits rose to the occasion and soared again on the wings of adventure, listening to my audio book and completely enchanted with the passing landscape: frozen blue waterfalls cascading unmoving down rock ledges, picturesque little towns nestled into ravines and gullies, towering peaks, quaint ski chalets.<br />
<br />
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<br />
And then I was over the mountain's summit and heading down, and as the sun started sinking to its home in the west the landscape changed swiftly and I left the snow behind and the mountains became foothills and the trees thinned and became red rocks and sage. I soaked it all in to my very soul, as the road took me ever westward, to the desert. The terrain flattened, sunset came and went, dusk settled in and I ran a losing race against darkness.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiqgOEjm-p8Fu5fJBqrB9-IpY1U3tBVSvhjXdaNZfJ4NAiXh18hFME0jfymIyQdcwdOEdX8HqH2Dhx6hY73ClrFL01gVL_SlETOzuANKGfm1hAA2XSRYntlwG5u4ArWRz2P_bXwfOZ616i/s1600/04.03+05.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiqgOEjm-p8Fu5fJBqrB9-IpY1U3tBVSvhjXdaNZfJ4NAiXh18hFME0jfymIyQdcwdOEdX8HqH2Dhx6hY73ClrFL01gVL_SlETOzuANKGfm1hAA2XSRYntlwG5u4ArWRz2P_bXwfOZ616i/s1600/04.03+05.jpg" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
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I pulled into Fruita sometime after 9PM and made my way to the campground up outside of town, parked the car, climbed into the backseat and fell asleep.<br />
<br />
Now, this pink and chilly morning, I layer up and go outside to survey my surroundings. I'm on top of a plateau, surrounded by a deep canyon with red rocks
and sage, and with a view of the Fruita valley and the surrounding Book
Cliffs. I'm in a campground, up and up a sinuous road, in Monument park. No showers, but bathrooms with - very cold - running water.<br />
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I ready my bike, my riding gear, my water - hard sought, as it had been too cold for the campground to turn their spickets on yet - and food for the whole day, then head back down that road into town, out of town, a few miles down the interstate to the Kokopelli trails, where I'm meeting my companions for the next three days.<br />
<br />
All day the wind blows and the clouds skitter grey above this landscape I can barely tear my eyes from in order to focus on the instructor and our drills.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyNJt40YhO9eETqM5MR_lptW7rz5Q8XXlxIqHO81BLeThVd4PZJCBRprHWY3_ePeMIRrRSzimpA9R3jyehHlOJr_2UbM6-WAxBQEPq2YyjkkykTc1LVgouxs3FazuJ7pnS3hOuMt1Cw8jH/s1600/04.04+05.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyNJt40YhO9eETqM5MR_lptW7rz5Q8XXlxIqHO81BLeThVd4PZJCBRprHWY3_ePeMIRrRSzimpA9R3jyehHlOJr_2UbM6-WAxBQEPq2YyjkkykTc1LVgouxs3FazuJ7pnS3hOuMt1Cw8jH/s1600/04.04+05.jpg" height="480" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Where we hung out the first day</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
For three days we listen and question and discuss and do drills, up and down that gravel road and the next two days in a parking lot in town.<br />
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It was... crazy, amazing to be focusing on mountain biking all. day. long. Talking and learning and showing and trying and ... just mountain biking, it was the thing, it's what we did, three days straight. It was a dream.<br />
<br />
And in the afternoons... then, we'd ride.<br />
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<br />
For three days, me and these four guys shared laughs and stories and
donuts and water, cheered each other on, offered encouragement and advice, chuckled together at riders wearing skinny jeans - no lie - and watched and judged other riders ride poorly over
sections we'd just learned to clear.<br />
<br />
Andy, the instructor, was an exquisite, beautiful rider, so much finesse and ingenuity.<br />
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Such beautiful landscape. Such good companions. Such a time, those days.<br />
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At night I fell into my sleeping bag, dusty and cold, exhausted, my head full of information and my lungs and soul full of fresh desert air. I slept as the raging wind from the canyon rattled the tent and lulled me to sleep. I didn't think or dream.<br />
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I was happy, content to be there, content to breath, to sleep, to exist, knowing that somewhere up ahead was another tomorrow filled with more ...being.<br />
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<br />smallTownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01870250786732329787noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4427699283248440488.post-61087677044389094812014-04-13T21:42:00.000-06:002015-09-14T14:28:21.633-06:00Dirt Baggery in the desert pt. 2 ...Ruminations<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<i>Home and unpacked – never my favorite part of a camping
trip. </i><br />
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<i>I promise I'll go back still and give a little more detail about the trip. There's so much and yet so little to tell. I loved it, I loved it so much. I didn't do a lot, really, didn't meet that many people, didn't ride </i>that <i>much. It was one of those things that is very undramatic in the telling, because...you really had to be there. </i></div>
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<i>But there were a few people, and there was some riding, and there was a lot of ... being present, in the very moment. That's what it really boiled down to. The primitive things: Where do I sleep? What do I eat? Where can I get water? How do I stay warm? How do
I get to where I want to go? I didn't do much reading, or writing, or think deep thoughts or make elaborate meals or go out of my way to make new friends. </i></div>
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<i>The beauty was in the existing, in the quiet, in that moment, whatever it was. </i></div>
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<i>And there was beauty.</i></div>
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From here it seems so far removed, flashes of memories and sensations
from that week – this week? - those days sleeping in a car, waking in the cold
dark and eating outside, wrapping cold hands around a<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>warm tin camp mug – you know the kind,
speckled blue - filled with maple oatmeal.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Filling up every water container every opportunity I got, never sure when I'd get my next chance. </div>
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The dramatic stormy skies of the Fruita valley, windy
days and windy nights and cliffs of indescribable and shifting colors - greys and greens and browns and sand - and
everywhere sage and tumble weeds. </div>
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Alone but not lonely.<br />
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And then later, in
Moab, a different desert, warmth and color. The desert colors - red red rocks
and red red sand, soft like suede, and improbably blue skies and that desert
sun, something about that bold morning desert sun touching a land still
grasping night’s chill. </div>
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Flashes and sensations, did it all really happen? </div>
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Pete
says it’s lucky I came back when there’s only two days left in my work week, so
I can ease back into real life because coming down off vacation is traumatic.
I’d be more sad and desperate for it all if I weren’t going back in two weeks –
twelve days! </div>
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But I’ll be back so soon, albeit in entirely different
circumstances. Friends and laughter and hot showers in motels after long hot
days of riding on dusty trails. </div>
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And then I’ll be gone from there without
knowing when I might return, and I think then I’ll feel a little desperate with
the ache for that desert, that unlikely landscape, those adventurous unbridled
solitary days in that strange yet known place.</div>
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smallTownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01870250786732329787noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4427699283248440488.post-37737703316421359262014-04-07T13:38:00.003-06:002015-09-14T14:28:21.629-06:00Dirt Baggery in the desertPt. 1<i>(Sitting on the patio of a charming and eclectic cafe. The bathroom has running water with soap and </i><b>lotion</b><i>, of all things! Oh the luxury! I'm on day four of sleeping either in a tent or my car - well no not </i><b>my </b><i>car, but </i><b>a </b><i>car, from Lusk - day four with no shower, but I like to put a positive spin on it: Day four of sponge baths, Day four of dirt baggery...I've taken to wearing a kerchief tied around my hair when I'm around other people. My face is perpetually reddened either from cold or from sun and wind burn from four straight days spent outside.</i><br />
<br />
<i>The next few posts will be a most likely disorganized, not comprehensive account of the days following the previous post,</i> <a href="http://a-smalltownstory.blogspot.com/2014/04/37-miles-from-nowhere.html" target="_blank">37 miles from Nowhere)</a> <br />
<br />
<u>An excerpt from my journal from 04/06/14:</u><br />
<br />
Trying to write while wearing snowboarding gloves doesn't work so I took them off.<br />
<br />
I'm sitting on the ledge by my camp, watching the storm move across the Book Cliffs and reviewing notes from the previous couple of days.<br />
<br />
It's still chilly this morning, and no sun, but at least the wind finally let up so it's bearable. A tumbler of Puerto Rico coffee quickly cools beside me on the rock before I can drink it. Hard to keep anything warm against these chill mornings.<br />
<br />
Upon crawling from my sleeping bag - oh warm and cozy cocoon - or rather as each part of my body emerges I incrementally layer up: Stocking cap, puffy down jacket - which is like going from one sleeping bag to another - pants over long johns, shoes over wool socks. Glasses fog up. Next I exit the semi-warmth of the tent to check the weather: cold, but last night's wind has relented. And then I look to my right to check the status of the storm over the mountains across the valley: Isolated storm appears to still rage on over there, but moving east.<br />
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There sure are dramatic skies here.<br />
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<br />
I make coffee, boiling water in the Jetboil - the starter doesn't work, so I use a lighter <i>flick flick PWOOF</i> - and then pour the readied water over coffee grounds in a french press.<br />
<br />
(The storm continues to move east, then there's a break with scattered bits of sun flickering through onto the cliffs, then another storm coming in from the north).<br />
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<br />
My hand is getting too stiff and cold to write. About time to make oatmeal, clean and ready Blue for the day and head down into town.<br />
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<br />
<i>(edited out: boring notes from yesterday's lesson)</i><br />
<br />
Bits of rain are spitting down. My bottom and legs are cold from sitting on this rock. I wish I could tell about the trees and shrubs all around but I don't know what they are, except there is sage, although a different kind than I'm used to. I can smell it - pungent and spicy.<br />
<br />
The storm from the north has not followed the mountains but has headed my way and reached me wait that's not rain that's snow.<br />
<br />
And that's the way it was this morning. <br />
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<br />smallTownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01870250786732329787noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4427699283248440488.post-67571847723052715062014-04-02T22:33:00.002-06:002015-09-14T14:28:21.641-06:0037 miles from NowhereYes, I had my mountain bike towed today.<br />
<br />
My beautiful Blue, tossed onto the back of a tow truck - derailleur side down, oh how I cringed - towed on a big ol' tow truck in Lusk, Wyoming.<br />
<br />
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<br />
Here's how that came to be.<br />
<br />
<br />
If you've never broken down in the middle of nowhere - NOWHERE - on a cold windy day, you should sometime.<br />
<br />
Just once.<br />
<br />
And to really get the full experience of being absolutely stranded, make sure you're in a spot with no cell service.<br />
<br />
The best place for this ever popular character building scenario is about 37 miles outside of Lusk, Wyoming.<br />
<br />
Say, at the tail end of a six month strong winter that refuses to end, on the start of a vacation you've had your heart and hopes set on for what seems like forever now, when you're only 150 miles from a really bad day that you thought could only get better.<br />
<br />
So there I was.<br />
<br />
Hands stuffed deep inside puffy pockets, hunched against the biting wind, on the side of highway 18, trying to look helpless and miserable and doing a fine job at it as it's what I absolutely was. No one stopped. I looked as helpless and sad as I could, which usually works, but no one stopped.<br />
<br />
"Alright," I said, "I'm going to have to walk and see if I can get cell service at the top of the next hill."<br />
<br />
I take my phone and the buck knife Pete loaned me - hey you never know; you might come across a deer that needs skinning - and start walking along the highway.<br />
<br />
Soon a man pulls up in a pickup, with Paul Newman blue eyes and premature wrinkles from living in Wyoming winds all his life creasing his interesting face, and packs of cigarettes cluttering the console. "You've got a long walk ahead of you," he says. "I'm just trying to get far enough for cell service," I say. "You've got about a 37 mile walk ahead of you for that," he says in that calm and straight Wyoming way. "The best you'll get is wind burn until then. But I could give you a ride."<br />
<br />
So I gather my knife and my Mom and my bike - the important things - into the truck and we drive a very long 37 miles through very bleak country to Lusk, a place I thought was only here for passing through.<br />
<br />
Paul Newman apologizes for having to drive us so far from our car in order to get cell service - please, Paul, don't apologize to me for giving us a lift and helping us out - and tells us about his cabinet building business which is the best in a 100 mile radius. I refrained from saying I didn't think there could be much competition in these 100 miles because he seemed so proud of himself. I think he is a really good carpenter, too, because he had a pencil behind his ear as I think all good carpenters do.<br />
<br />
He drops us at the Triangle 4 Cafe, the only one in town, and when he overhears my worrying to Mom about leaving my bike outside he said "Don't worry about someone stealing your bike. No one here would for fear they would have to ride it." Regardless, I set it against a window and chose a table with a view.<br />
<br />
Mom starts calling AAA and I sit dazed and dejected, clutching a mug of bad coffee. I wasn't a very good adventure buddy, I'll admit. Not very good in the least. I hadn't wanted adventure, not this sort, not this time. I wanted to get away from work and the gym and the weather, to get in the car wearing Chacos on my feet and finally just LET GO, to chat with my Mom and listen to audio books and get a bad lopsided sunburn through the window. Instead there were snowstorms and ending up in the ditch and choking anger and tears of rage and disappointment and delays and UPS packages that didn't arrive on time and water spilling all over in the car and that was before we'd even hit pavement and breaking down and finding out AAA expired the day before.<br />
<br />
I know, I know: First World White Girls Problems.<br />
<br />
I know. I know that, I do.<br />
<br />
But I'd had my heart set on this concept of how this trip would go, and it was going nothing of the sort and I threw a bit of a tantrum. I wasn't exactly the best adventurous version of myself. <br />
<br />
Meanwhile, back at the Triangle 4 Cafe (what does that mean, anyway?), there are three grizzled old small time gents having coffee, banging their mugs on the table and bellowing for refills ("Hey, they didn't ask for more, and they didn't say please" "Yes," the ever patient waiter, "but they also didn't pound their cups on the table so they get more."), whom we ask about local mechanics, which prompts a fiery discussion amongst them about the virtues of the only two in town.<br />
<br />
Later, after they'd left, the server comes by and says one of them had paid for our lunch ticket.<br />
<br />
Time goes by and I have a delicious omelette - if you're ever in Lusk, do stop at the Triangle 4 Cafe. Charming and delicious - and many cups of bad coffee and phone calls are made and blah blah blah forever later a tow truck shows up.<br />
<br />
Jim, the grizzled, bearded old tow truck guy loads Blue, my bike, onto the back of the truck and we clamber in and drop Blue and my Mom at a motel before making the - you got it - longest 37 mile drive ever back to the car.<br />
<br />
Oh there's nothing out there.<br />
<br />
Nothing except prong horns and mule deer and longhorn cattle and - startling and delighting - a large herd of elk. Abandoned house with windmill spinning heartily - no one informed the windmill of its abandoned status - and a forgotten road slowly disappearing into the prairie grass with crumbling bridges a quarter mile to the west. <br />
<br />
I hear many things from Jim. All about his daughter who he used to race motocross with and who wanted to continue his towing business who died in a car accident. And about his other daughter now estranged who had an affair with the sheriff who weighs 400 pounds. About the body that was found in the river a while back ditched there after a Colorado drug deal gone bad.<br />
<br />
Lusk. Who knew.<br />
<br />
After we collect the wayward car (Me: "How far do we have to go now before we can turn around?" Jim: "Ah...we're there" as he whips a u-ey in the middle of the highway with that gigantic truck) we start the 37 miles back.<br />
<br />
If I never drive that stretch of road again in my lifetime it will be too soon.<br />
<br />
As the miles crawled by the sky gave up a pale wintry sunset and the horizon closed in around us, cold and bleak, and the edges got fuzzy like a charcoal drawing smudged for effect as the clouds sank ever lower and closer, something between clouds and fog and a threat of snow. The elk were still there, which I was surprised to see. "I don't know but that the weather didn't drive them down from the hills," Jim drawled. "Animals sense things."<br />
<br />
I'm beyond tears and anger at this point, hazy numbness has crept in and I watch those 37 miles go by through the high up windows of "Baby Beast", Jim's tow truck, having no idea or imagination for what could possibly come next.<br />
<br />
"Oh hey", I said to Jim as we pulled back into town. "A coffee shop!"
cheering somewhat at the prospect of a familiar morning routine, at
least. "Well it was," he intones, "Before it burned up last year."<br />
<br />
Right. Of course it did.<br />
"You must," Jim speculated at one point, "meet some nice people because of mountain biking."<br />
<br />
"Yeah," I say, smiling to myself. "You know, I really do."<br />
<br />
I'm thinking of my friend whom I texted about being stranded in Lusk who immediately took to the internet and called all the motels to find the best prices for us. And of him and some other buddies who volunteered their camping gear - and their weapons and their concern and advice - for my trip. And of all the people I've met so far - today? Has it all only been today? - on this misadventure in this passing-through-town of Lusk who have shown kindness to perfect strangers. <br />
<br />
Because, you see, the car might not get fixed but I can't turn back now and we're stuck, we're really stuck in the middle of nowhere but I've only got until 9:45AM Friday.<br />
<br />
There are no rental cars here.<br />
There are no buses.<br />
No planes.<br />
There's nothing to do and nowhere to go except there are people, smalltown people who hear of your predicament and are like "Oh honey, you can take my car." I'm like, "I'm sorry, what?" And Joyce, the owner of this fine motel, replies "Oh sure we've done it before for people stranded here." And I say it would be great to just get to the next town where there's a rental agency but how would I get her her car back? And she says "Oh don't rent a car, take mine all the way" even after I tell her how far I'm going she shrugs it off and says to call her in the morning after we find out the status of our car. <br />
<br />
And Kris, a friend of a friend of a friend, who drove us to the grocery store and then let us borrow her car (to get around town "You know, to get to the mechanic or breakfast or whatever") also said she'd make sure we got to where we're going.<br />
<br />
Why?<br />
"Pay it forward," she said. "Some stranger did me a kindness once, so you see this is easy!"<br />
<br />
All because of mountain biking.<br />
<br />
And that's it, that's today.<br />
<br />
Now we're in a little motel with one bed - I'll be crashing on the floor with my sleeping bag, cheaper that way - me and Mom and Blue.<br />
<br />
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<br />
My sense of adventure is returning, incrementally, despite being emotionally drained and exhausted.<br />
<br />
I've got 36 hours for this to all come together. <br />
<br />
I don't care how or even if I get home at this point, I'll worry about that later.<br />
<br />
I just have to get THERE.<br />
<br />
In 36 hours.<br />
<br />
Stay tuned...smallTownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01870250786732329787noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4427699283248440488.post-13556620286499466252013-07-07T20:54:00.000-06:002015-09-14T14:18:48.784-06:00Finer things indeed<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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This girl came back to town (you may remember her <a href="http://a-smalltownstory.blogspot.com/2013/04/there-she-goes.html" target="_blank">moving away</a>)</div>
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<br />
and this guy as well<br />
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<br />
and the Finer Things were back together at last.<br />
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We met up in Galena, for old time's sake, our summer weekend home, along with some other dear faces:<br />
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...and much hilarity ensued.<br />
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We were <i>so happy</i> to be back, to be in one another's company again, to be here together.<br />
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We remembered the old jokes, the old times in Neverwood, the old memories.<br />
And made some new ones.<br />
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The fun increased as daylight faded and the bonfire was lit.<br />
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A throwback to the good old days of...last summer: Hammocks. Coffee with Baily's. Reading aloud before falling asleep.<br />
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And making up new random games.<br />
Like "who do we hate?"<br />
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What else would you do with a bonfire and a phonebook? Hmm?<br />
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We maybe got a bit carried away:<br />
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Others got into the spirit: <br />
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The next day we drove to the cabin on the lake, same place we ended up last 4th of July following our canoe trip down the Missouri.<br />
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(Last year's canoe trip)<br />
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We only spent a day at the cabin this year, but it was a long day full of good things.<br />
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Many games of cribbage, and...sing-a-longs:<br />
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And water fun:<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5NdLQ2NozfjvsIhi40tAkxr5wRtebmNe_yzYyuBvR1sE_ib72hP1uCvFIco0qjrUtdttg4Rm70lYlwHxz3Zc2z7enS4aXnv-yN9umbNDIJ-jvOCCYd7enPeoHT0cqAh5_9satKgpbJVxy/s1600/07.04+05.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5NdLQ2NozfjvsIhi40tAkxr5wRtebmNe_yzYyuBvR1sE_ib72hP1uCvFIco0qjrUtdttg4Rm70lYlwHxz3Zc2z7enS4aXnv-yN9umbNDIJ-jvOCCYd7enPeoHT0cqAh5_9satKgpbJVxy/s640/07.04+05.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Camp chair in a canoe - good idea? We thought so. Also four people in a canoe with a dog on a choppy lake. We gave each other directions for steering the canoe: "Starburst" and "Porter".</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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Naturally there was a BBQ.<br />
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And then, as the sun went down, we piled into the canoe and kayaks to watch the sunset, followed by fireworks.<br />
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And naturally the night found us all at the bonfire by the lake, firing off our own little fireworks and roasting Starburst.<br />
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That night, Sas and Wrigley and I got to sleep in a hippie van, a bonafide Westfalia van.<br />
The perfect end to a perfect 4th of July.<br />
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The next morning we piled into our various cars and drove back to the Hills. Sas and her friend Jake ended up staying another night and driving back to Salt Lake in the morning.<br />
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We made the most of our last sleep over with some of our favorite things.<br />
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Jake had to sleep on the floor with my stuffed duck<br />
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and Sas and I got the bed.<br />
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<br />
It was such an indescribable delight having them home, being together.<br />
Such a great week. <br />
First thing next morning - yesterday - Sassy loaded up her things and drove away.<br />
This morning, Ryan flew out.<br />
The boys went back to camp.<br />
<br />
As I drove around this week first with Sas and then with Ryan and they soaked in the beauty and home-ness of the Hills and thought about leaving it again, I thought of what I would be feeling if I were leaving it all. It's a hard thing, leaving the Black Hills, harder still in the fresh greenness of early summer. And I was honestly glad I'm staying, that it wasn't me leaving. For now, anyway. Not this summer.<br />
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<br />smallTownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01870250786732329787noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4427699283248440488.post-13128985027149530432013-05-23T22:09:00.001-06:002015-09-14T14:18:48.779-06:00See You Never<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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</xml><![endif]-->Today was my last day of working with the kids.<br />
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I’ll admit, I’ve been looking forward to being done. But
less and less as the days wore on. It’s hard to describe how you can love the
kids but not necessarily love the job. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As each kid left, I’d hug them goodbye, say ‘bye, have a good
summer, it’s been nice having you. What else can you really say to these thirty
kids? It was casual, as though I’ll see them next week, or next fall. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But I won’t. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And what I’d have <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">liked</i>
to have said was “’Bye, kid, see you never which is really an awful concept for
me but there’s nothing I can do about that. But I want you to know I <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">would</i> do something about that, if I could.
And I’ll be thinking about you from time to time, as the years go by, and
wondering how you’re doing and how you turned out, and if you’re OK. I hope you
know you’re <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">amazing</i>, and there’s no
one like you, and I’ve been honored to be a part of your life for this little
slice of time. I hope you know I won’t forget your smile, that laugh, the look
you got in your eyes just before you burst into the most genuine and life
altering giggle. You made my day when you followed me around saying ridiculous
things because you knew it would make me laugh. I saw that act of kindness when
you didn’t know I was watching. I saw how you almost made an angry outburst but
responded with grace instead. I’m so proud of you. I hate myself for not
telling you more, for not being more encouraging. I wish I’d had more time with
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">you</i>, I love being around you, and I
know every time you tried to tell me something there were four other kids at
once vying for my attention but I wanted to hear the end of that story. I’m
daily astounded by your artistic ability, your athletic prowess, your
cleverness, your ingenuity, your quirkiness, your individuality. You’re great.
You can do anything. You’re so much <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">you</i>,
and the thought of never seeing your face or having a conversation with you
again ruins my day. I hope you find purpose, and are kind and brave and loved. I
won’t forget you.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But, needless to say, I didn’t say any of that to any of
them, with their parent there to pick them up, with chaos and children
everywhere. I wish I had. I wish I could’ve. I wish I’d tried. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Hopefully, someone sometime does. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Don’t ever work with kids. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Inevitably you’ll fall in love
with them, and one way or another it’ll break your heart.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
smallTownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01870250786732329787noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4427699283248440488.post-3906381549057975672013-04-07T12:34:00.004-06:002015-09-14T14:18:48.822-06:00There she goesIt was raining the morning we packed up Sassy's things and loaded them into the uHaul. Dark - would still be dark for hours yet - and chilly in that rainy spring morning way, where you don't put on quite enough clothes to be entirely warm, but won't layer up on principal: winter is over, it's time to take a stand and deny the cold.<br />
<br />
I'd arrived the previous afternoon and we should have packed right away but we went to lunch first. It might have made sense to pack after that but it seemed a better idea to lie about on the couch and watch 90's TV shows on Netflix (we did take a break to load four boxes of books into the trailer. Boxes we later took out in order to put the mattress in first) and wait for Cracker. Cracker arrived and we could have started packing in earnest then but we walked to the bar and met up with some friends and played pool and had beers and laughs because it was important we do that, too, before she left. Back at the house we made tacos amidst the packing mess at 10:30 at night and then we were like wow we'd better get some sleep so we crashed in sleeping bags in the living room.<br />
<br />
Which found us sleepy and sad at 4AM, finally packing in earnest. "Sassy", I groaned as I tried to roll over and found Wrigley a sleeping deadweight atop my stomach. "It's 4AM. I thought we were getting up at 5:30." "I know," she says, "But I can't sleep and I really want us to be able to go for breakfast before I leave."<br />
<br />
So we packed and cleaned and carried boxes through wet grass, and we were damp and cold and sleepy. The sun came up and the rain stopped and it promised to be a glorious spring day.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQrlqH4_filq7Ya4brERr3wkXXk9ETodU0c9JIgnzyXL8mmEuxzTKYr66gMLhVe7d1wi2pgXH0h-RgL8NmnVpOF7V955Ja8zVVLazCH-CkxzoWC9HNVviDfJQnSo5xU-mn40pIhVwZLHcY/s1600/04.07+04.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQrlqH4_filq7Ya4brERr3wkXXk9ETodU0c9JIgnzyXL8mmEuxzTKYr66gMLhVe7d1wi2pgXH0h-RgL8NmnVpOF7V955Ja8zVVLazCH-CkxzoWC9HNVviDfJQnSo5xU-mn40pIhVwZLHcY/s640/04.07+04.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Sleep deprived and ill equipped to deal with this much sun just now.</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7sf4QyhU1gjU8p8cWp67vwU5aqEVlZJ8EfDx-00I7aYiDCkur-CfdxCtzXkzR-hKx6ba4vil771KzlFOfHUt289k5xkokbYeZae5Lru_Dfem0katnIIEfFn7Nlb-OYDZdSLPEjQT63MRy/s1600/04.07+05.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7sf4QyhU1gjU8p8cWp67vwU5aqEVlZJ8EfDx-00I7aYiDCkur-CfdxCtzXkzR-hKx6ba4vil771KzlFOfHUt289k5xkokbYeZae5Lru_Dfem0katnIIEfFn7Nlb-OYDZdSLPEjQT63MRy/s640/04.07+05.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
Wrigley moped about, worried and pitiful, waffling between standing in the way in doorways, sticking to Sassy like glue, and hovering around the trailer to ensure she wasn't left behind.<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFUPqQuWSFmHn-IjMcPz5bIXgrjYmzXj2xRSYRxDZeX7D74SoK83RsJPhVTqkjd8clda16lMSK8d18lrdlPbf9QiRJuwGicSzZOYcVXVi-0vm1P_EzQlhdboPL5xhiP0v5BVcXaJIX4Zbc/s1600/04.07+01.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFUPqQuWSFmHn-IjMcPz5bIXgrjYmzXj2xRSYRxDZeX7D74SoK83RsJPhVTqkjd8clda16lMSK8d18lrdlPbf9QiRJuwGicSzZOYcVXVi-0vm1P_EzQlhdboPL5xhiP0v5BVcXaJIX4Zbc/s640/04.07+01.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<br />
We went to the coffee house when the packing we had left to do became overwhelming, coffee and oatmeal, conversation tired and thin and melancholic. I was thinking how it was Ryan and Joe who brought us all together and introduced us at boyscout camp last summer, and how now Ryan and Joe are gone and us three patchwork friends find ourselves here together now. Hard to believe Sassy and I have been friends less than a year. We hit it off from the start, this girl who is even more adventurous than me, who brought color and bright ideas to my life, who could laugh with me about things no one else thought were funny.<br />
<br />
Has it been only a year?<br />
But what a year.<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivCBv-DLdMeaus-8V8sb7sSDAo5KjelIjhvW98X4ht9rXxYe06yqYlBhECWRySCPLpft1wY4I6Eh7U0QFM1QCJNCc3jkCh6DSeC-aObuszZZh4nqigG9txubVWXeSKFbdXmP_vRLVglPG3/s1600/IMG_9283.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivCBv-DLdMeaus-8V8sb7sSDAo5KjelIjhvW98X4ht9rXxYe06yqYlBhECWRySCPLpft1wY4I6Eh7U0QFM1QCJNCc3jkCh6DSeC-aObuszZZh4nqigG9txubVWXeSKFbdXmP_vRLVglPG3/s640/IMG_9283.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjE3lA6wqX-8A5U2gDNzQ7LsS5eGhPDAvMSC8IKsSpMuSlEGWezNiGmiz4arVbO3Gm2iTYFoHU5ozzkqOSeB6GJK80ygwJTdXBaiHU3AMh3NjcQyByL2E2rPfkymj-hqIo3C9YwZpdOet3l/s1600/IMG_9286.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjE3lA6wqX-8A5U2gDNzQ7LsS5eGhPDAvMSC8IKsSpMuSlEGWezNiGmiz4arVbO3Gm2iTYFoHU5ozzkqOSeB6GJK80ygwJTdXBaiHU3AMh3NjcQyByL2E2rPfkymj-hqIo3C9YwZpdOet3l/s640/IMG_9286.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
I remember the first time she took me climbing, and I had a moment of panic clinging to the face of the rock. "I'm going to fall!" I cried out. "OK," she said calmly, on belay, "so fall." And I fell and realized simultaneously <i>oh, the rope and my friend will catch me</i> and <i>I love climbing!</i><br />
<br />
Finally, on a spring morning, we lit sparklers we found laying about from years and years ago, because it seemed a good idea, and then it was time for goodbye-that-wasn't-goodbye (<i>Don't tell me goodbye tomorrow,</i> she'd said while walking downtown the night before, <i>say Boy Voyage or something</i>).<br />
<br />
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<br />
<i>So this is how this feels</i>, I thought when the time came.<br />
I'm never the one left behind.<br />
I'm the one who does the leaving.<br />
Except that once, when my brother moved away for the first time when I was 16. I remember now that it was awful, I remember crying in my camper where I lived that summer at the lake, knowing things would never be the same, feeling, well, feeling left behind.<br />
<br />
In the intervening 15 years I've done all the leaving, saying goodbye time and again to friends and family, moving away, making new friends, eventually saying goodbye to them too and moving back. Being sad but looking forward to my adventure.<br />
<br />
Not so now.<br />
<br />
I hugged Sassy goodbye, that brave girl who knows what she wants and how she's going to go about getting it, the girl with that irrepressible giggle I love. I bravely held tears at bay, the way my Mom always did when I left, said not nearly everything I suddenly thought I should say because if I said it all I knew I wouldn't hold it together. And tears weren't allowed anymore than saying the word<i> "goodbye"</i> was. <i>Love you. Be safe. See you in a few months.</i><br />
<br />
Hugged and kissed Wrigley, who was immensely relieved to finally be invited to jump up into the passenger seat<i> </i>and who wasn't much interested in goodbye. Live in the moment.<br />
<br />
She was too tired to make the drive, really, Sassy, but there she goes. She's smart and capable, and she'll be OK. Even if something goes amiss, she'll figure it out.<br />
<br />
So she drove away and me and the boys said with great bravado "Well, now that <i>that</i> baggage is gone, the real party can start! Let's break out the <i>real </i>fireworks! Huzzah!"<br />
<br />
And then we were quiet as we held cups of coffee already cold, looking at the wet grass, and then someone said "So." and we chatted about the weather for a while.<br />
<br />
And then I got into my car, turned on NPR (all the good programs play on the weekend), and as Sassy drove West - west towards Utah (land I love though I have yet to set foot on that barren soil), the wild west, toward where the sun sets, west to her big adventure - I turned east, toward Rapid, to another week, to my beautiful life I love even as my soul is torn in its yearning for adventure.<br />
<br />
A little color seeps from my life the farther west she goes.<br />
<br />
She sent me a picture of her passenger seat.<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYBamYQh7CP6ojY1BhzG0LwByfRx6wmXL8wNYHyaVC7mN0NWbv8k0yXu9-S20TNepRZI-QverR9z1NNeVmj9O9MnN-B9MY-fV269sLsya281uGY3tD7PwUrK_gs9FagRedQlJ69l4rbSTk/s1600/04.07+11.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="478" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYBamYQh7CP6ojY1BhzG0LwByfRx6wmXL8wNYHyaVC7mN0NWbv8k0yXu9-S20TNepRZI-QverR9z1NNeVmj9O9MnN-B9MY-fV269sLsya281uGY3tD7PwUrK_gs9FagRedQlJ69l4rbSTk/s640/04.07+11.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
And I sent her a picture of mine.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnc6-34lieShRBaSWi8hSvc4p_J9dQ46Nu6ngagdQ7NeHFvX0PKkElR1RbPpJUfHiTRo5lkJNSMXKfJCwsbFb1ZNsePHowKToq-Q_wUEc9fCcuj-PNyGHeyIuXwNPWiOaI3mlu1c6EukCs/s1600/04.07+10.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnc6-34lieShRBaSWi8hSvc4p_J9dQ46Nu6ngagdQ7NeHFvX0PKkElR1RbPpJUfHiTRo5lkJNSMXKfJCwsbFb1ZNsePHowKToq-Q_wUEc9fCcuj-PNyGHeyIuXwNPWiOaI3mlu1c6EukCs/s640/04.07+10.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Hot chocolate she bequeathed me and climbing shoes I'd always left at her house because she was always my climbing buddy.</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
I silently sent word up to that Guy in the Sky: <i>God, I know she and I don't have the same point of view in regards to You, but keep an eye on her, would you? Look out for my friend? </i><br />
<br />
<i> </i>And that was that.<br />
<br />
And I don't even have an apropos ending.<br />
<br />
I'm proud of her and excited for her and her adventure.<br />
<br />
But she's gone and I'm sad.<br />
Expletive.smallTownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01870250786732329787noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4427699283248440488.post-43378553560268571962013-01-23T20:17:00.003-07:002015-09-14T14:18:48.826-06:00Miss J and the Little People<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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</xml><![endif]-->So let me begin by stating, for the record, that I will not
ever say on Facebook, or this blog, where I work or who I work for, nor will I
ever give real names of coworkers, kids, parents, teachers, anyone I come in
contact with, etc. etc.<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I will only say I have taken on a second part time job
wherein I am site coordinator of an after school program where kids come and
hang out until their parents pick them up. I have between 25-30 kids and an
assistant we’ll call Betty. For the safety and privacy of all involved details
will remain vague.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<div class="MsoNormal">
Today was Day One. </div>
<br />
Betty is a spunky, somewhat militant, 68 year old lady, and
so far I like her. “I don’t do <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">activities</i>,”
she tells me today, my first day. “I don’t play dodge ball or tag or games of
any sort. I do crafts.” This is kinda perfect because I’d rather play dodgeball
and tag all day long and you can take your crafts and stuff ‘em. You’re making
penguins out of egg cartons? What the hell for? But she loves that junk and the
kids dig it (some of them, anyway), so she can take the craft side of things
and I’ll start up a game of dodge ball or spoons (yes these kids like to play
SPOONS with plastic sporks! My kind of people.)</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It’s been quite some time – as in years and years – that I’ve
worked with kids in any capacity so I was somewhat apprehensive getting into it.
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Sure hope I still like kids</i>, I thought
ruefully. “<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Why do you want to work with
children?” </i>The application asked. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">I
like kids,</i> I almost wrote, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">They taste
like chicken.</i></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
For my first day they threw me to the wolves. I haven’t even
finished all the paperwork much less caught even a glimpse of any sort of
curriculum or agenda or received any instruction or training. My fingers were
still wet with the fingerprinting ink (yes, I got <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">fingerprinted </i>for this job! I felt more like a convict than a
childcare provider. Now if I ever want to fulfill my lifelong ambition of
robbing a bank, I’ll already be in the system. Blast!) when I was given
directions to my school and sent on my way. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Betty
thought I was in charge and I thought Betty was in charge for the day because,
well, that’s what my immediate supervisor “Layla” told me. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Layla had left a
lesson plan, but no one bothered to tell me that. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Betty said “This is Miss
Jaralei” (the kids have taken to calling me <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Miss
J</i>, and who can blame them?) “and now she will lead you in an activity<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">.” </i>I will? Well golly gee whiz, how do
you kids feel about poker? How about you all take a ten minute coffee break and
I’ll get back to you after I dig back ten years in my memory bank and try to
remember what sorts of activities one does with thirty kids.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So here I’m supposed to learn 30 kid’s names as well as
their parent’s names. That’s sixty names – I’m real good at math – for
starters, except then every kid has at least two parents and sometimes more
because then there’s step parents and grandparents who may also be authorized
to pick them up. By the end of the day I was ready to say “I don’t care who you
are or which kid you take, just bring them back tomorrow in the same condition
you found them.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Turns out I still like kids, though. They’re entertaining as
all get out, for one. “How about we play spoons with really sharp knives?” a
second grader asked. “Bravo!” I nearly congratulated, “good one!” I’m not used
to being the responsible adult in charge. I have enough on my hands trying to
remember I’m an adult myself, half the time. Kids say something inappropriate
and I laugh. Only now I’m responsible for guiding them into civilized society and
appropriate adulthood. Like I know anything about that. Do as I say, kids, not
as I do. (When a first grade boy, for example, took a toy from a fourth grade girl and was
made to give it back and say he was sorry and she tartly <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>responded “Apology accepted”, it was all I
could do to refrain from saying “<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Bitch,
please</i>”.)</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
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<div class="MsoNormal">
On the playground (What? Oh you’re not supposed to take them
outside when it’s only 19 degrees? My bad. Come on, kids, pony up) a group of
boys were playing a rowdy game and when I noticed it was getting physical I
stepped in and nonchalantly asked what they were playing. Turns out it had
something to do with everyone having guns and shooting one another. Not being a
huge fan of kids pretending to shoot one another, and particularly not at
school – come on, kids, have you seen the news lately? – I suggested they might
play something less violent. “HOW ABOUT INFECTION??” I guess it’s this game of
tag where one person is a zombie and each person they tag becomes a zombie
until everyone’s…zombified and last man standing wins. Well, end result is the
same but I guess the means is less violent so…whatever. Infect away. </div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
So we’re playing tag and “Ivan” all of a sudden is
whining. “He hit me!” He didn’t hit you, you big baby, we’re playing <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">tag</i>. He <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">tagged</i> you. “He hit me in the face and I didn’t like it!” Well what
do you want me to do about it? You look fine to me. (<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The fact that my responses are not in quotations is an indication that
it’s what I </i>wanted<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> to say, not what I
actually said</i>). “Bobby, did you hit him in the face?” “No, I tagged him!”
You’re just mad you got tagged, you little whiney punk. “He hit me in the face
and I didn’t like it!” Etcetera, etcetera. OK so they’re not <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">all</i> sunshine and puppies. Not all the
time, anyway.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiq7nMT6iXPF-LAJFG4X9-x5cowW0Vo7wSC463AW6ylO1tvOnKSnhCfIl400XUX-g2ynFXF2pIKYNvgoScnEl7JkY4PqchaUATXICa8u88Q5Iigkb24vEIvz9iZe0jfhkzpFEIQhw10aT18/s1600/kids+08.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiq7nMT6iXPF-LAJFG4X9-x5cowW0Vo7wSC463AW6ylO1tvOnKSnhCfIl400XUX-g2ynFXF2pIKYNvgoScnEl7JkY4PqchaUATXICa8u88Q5Iigkb24vEIvz9iZe0jfhkzpFEIQhw10aT18/s640/kids+08.jpg" width="502" /></a></div>
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But some of them are. Sunshine and puppies, I mean. Those
soft and sticky little hands slipping into mine. Those big puppy dog eyes (“<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Beware Charlie,” </i>2<sup>nd</sup> grader
Tony warns, “<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">He makes cute faces to get
what he wants!”</i>) looking up at me hopefully. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Do you want to play Monopoly with me? </i>And the little ones are <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">so little</i>. They follow me around and
want to hold my hand and sit on my lap and hug me, none of which they’re
allowed to do, of course. I <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">want </i>to,
I want to scoop them up and say “Yes, I will play Monopoly with you all
afternoon!” because they’ve been in a class room all day with dozens of other
kids and after school is out Mom and Dad are still working so they have to hang
out with me and Betty and another two dozen kids until it’s time to go home to exhausted
parents and probably some packaged dinner and then to bed. They just want your
time and attention and love, and because I smile at them and give them high
fives and look them in the eye they are my biggest fans, right from day one. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It’s enough to break your heart.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But of course, there are 27 other kids there and I’m not
allowed to hold them on my lap because it may be misconstrued and I can’t play
a game with just one child because I have to oversee the group. Site <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Coordinator, </i>I coordinate the crowd and
make sure all are gainfully employed and not shanking each other behind the
slide or picking someone else’s nose or robbing the convenience store across the
street. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So little Matthew follows me around and I let him help me
with some bookwork. “Nip that in the bud,” Betty warns. “Nip it in the bud or
before you know it he’ll be trying to sit on your lap and clinging to you all
the time.” </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And she’s right. <br />
It’s how it is with public child care, this ain’t my first rodeo.<br />
You can’t show more affection to any one child, can’t give individual time or
attention. Matthew has to play tamely with the others or entertain himself in
an appropriate fashion. The group is your responsibility, not little Matthew,
Monopoly Player. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Matthew never did get to play Monopoly this afternoon.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
BUT, all in all, I think the situation has potential. I look
forward to having some time to actually <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">plan</i>
an afternoon and come prepared. There will be challenges. Like when Betty says
to me “They don’t need to be outside for more than fifteen minutes, even when
it’s nice out – some have even just come from recess when they get here!” </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Bitch, please. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Luckily, she might have been there for four years, but <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">I’m</i> site coordinator and I’ll be
jiggered if the kids at my site don’t spend a good hour outside playing Zombie
Infection whatever on nice afternoons after eight hours in the classroom, thank
you very much.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Sorry this was long. I promise I’ll make upcoming anecdotes
short and entertaining. I just wanted to set the framework and put down my
first impressions. Hopefully I’ll remember which fake names I’ve assigned to
which kids. I might end up calling Betty “Betsy” or “Bertha”, who knows. Either
way, you’ll get the gist of it. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Stay tuned. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Happy Wednesday!<br />
<br />
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</div>
smallTownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01870250786732329787noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4427699283248440488.post-63467262857381400552012-11-17T21:54:00.005-07:002015-09-14T14:18:48.834-06:00How strange and wonderful<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Last Sunday it was a quiet beautiful cold, and we went exploring. </div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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This first remote spot was lovely and lonely and there was snow on the ground. </div>
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<br /></div>
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The tree branches were coated, each individual needle, in a sheen of frosty ice and the only sound in that undefined lost place in the Hills was the shivering branches <i>clink</i>ing together when the wind wandered through.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcLUYeC_8X3-RzTkai6T-opm03yvIx_gGncR8FheWPFEquhIpjmaquw0BVhlHFWWYz9AKO3MPOUZRhRnPdtcXlxmOYZ5rO5QjCNE2AyUlKql6V_GU8zctjPp0QoGZH4V_BFTpgwro1Z02f/s1600/11.11+19.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcLUYeC_8X3-RzTkai6T-opm03yvIx_gGncR8FheWPFEquhIpjmaquw0BVhlHFWWYz9AKO3MPOUZRhRnPdtcXlxmOYZ5rO5QjCNE2AyUlKql6V_GU8zctjPp0QoGZH4V_BFTpgwro1Z02f/s640/11.11+19.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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Autumn surrenders gently, both resigned and relieved, I think.</div>
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November is charming and nostalgic like that.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPiGVvdy39FPhUimtntgYkdeunto8HVQVXWyKu8tvkaoLgCtelI2ljhLYE_F9KSHGmbJI3Dhvd4cdWbrDvJ6e3PoCL4yd9KPIuDB-I89FNkwYlwF5ygFm27VkY5qtvNexBTuE4QwFWFEfu/s1600/11.11+39.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPiGVvdy39FPhUimtntgYkdeunto8HVQVXWyKu8tvkaoLgCtelI2ljhLYE_F9KSHGmbJI3Dhvd4cdWbrDvJ6e3PoCL4yd9KPIuDB-I89FNkwYlwF5ygFm27VkY5qtvNexBTuE4QwFWFEfu/s640/11.11+39.jpg" width="480" /></a></div>
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And then, on a whim, on a question - <i>What to do on a cold and beckoning day like today?</i>- I remembered hearing of a mine I'd meant to find last spring, but didn't. And I remembered Rochford with its old timers who play their old songs, and we set out to fill the Sunday with things that would be well remembered. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4WzKu4yjigckgcT1SUrciSX_SzwnA5Ius3VdpVtIC5RbJWbNisN2aucIt77vpICkz1Ty_-8DpUqBsMr5d5tELYFEJa6X5OGp2D1Oj35BFNf_PnSEvWH487i8cxr_kJJwZQYQoGNmWzAXf/s1600/11.11+08.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4WzKu4yjigckgcT1SUrciSX_SzwnA5Ius3VdpVtIC5RbJWbNisN2aucIt77vpICkz1Ty_-8DpUqBsMr5d5tELYFEJa6X5OGp2D1Oj35BFNf_PnSEvWH487i8cxr_kJJwZQYQoGNmWzAXf/s640/11.11+08.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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I didn't know exactly where the mine was -The Golden Slipper - or what exactly I'd heard of it, but we ventured in the general direction and with a dose of luck and some innate sense of <i>This feels like a place once bustlingly inhabited, now abandoned</i> we, like the miners in days of yore, struck the mother lode; they had their gold, we had our history and its treasure of desolate ruins.</div>
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We drove as far as possible on some old forgotten road, and continued on foot when the trail became impassible, walking down memory lane. Only the memories weren't ours, they were borrowed from the ghosts of long ago days, and we tried to imagine how it might have been. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7F-yF7nW2ISpg7qj0M4ziUCBQrqfIpEBhnE8W4lepiXSK9D1KLwO0zTJrdxFFWpHwsMyhVtj0KUtMJE5z6OAQ4mVU19dF2JN_KVRrcMmff6VIskDYm3ZVf2CPA7k9JPQeA58izPVvlxEq/s1600/11.11+22.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7F-yF7nW2ISpg7qj0M4ziUCBQrqfIpEBhnE8W4lepiXSK9D1KLwO0zTJrdxFFWpHwsMyhVtj0KUtMJE5z6OAQ4mVU19dF2JN_KVRrcMmff6VIskDYm3ZVf2CPA7k9JPQeA58izPVvlxEq/s640/11.11+22.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>This little one is a fearless explorer.</i></td></tr>
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We worked our way into a valley - which served like a wind tunnel, and the wind was viciously cold and my face turned numb but we ventured on, spurred on by the discoveries that <i>might</i> lie just around the next corner.</div>
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(<i>He figured out I'm addicted to seeing what's '</i>just around the next corner'<i> and that I loath turning back, so whenever we would decide to forgo a gully or route we were following for a more promising direction, as soon as we'd turn back he'd say something like 'But I bet the </i><b>biggest </b><i>discovery was right around that corner back there..." because I would whirl back around and stand in indecision, torn by the idea that he was right and that corner was The One, and then he'd laugh and laugh</i>. <i>Oh he's cruel.)</i></div>
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The valley, we decided, would be where the town was, evidenced by the remnants of cellars and foundations we found. <i></i> </div>
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We saw something that looked promising and, following the clues, began to climb up a steep wooded hillside, out of the cold and windy valley, and that's when we found it. The remnants of the gigantic mill, the mining equipment scattered about.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsD__nkD1wgJTBMntFjUwTzt1ZE6fy74XnLnqYyFdILCYbXfMHJSdyaKiWmn_8bt9N7g8WdxeVgqWfwzO6bLJd4Agv42wZYX6_elj6DD4flAHe7jRyGV8mwNj5njfENiCtg0berPEDR8tW/s1600/11.11+24.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsD__nkD1wgJTBMntFjUwTzt1ZE6fy74XnLnqYyFdILCYbXfMHJSdyaKiWmn_8bt9N7g8WdxeVgqWfwzO6bLJd4Agv42wZYX6_elj6DD4flAHe7jRyGV8mwNj5njfENiCtg0berPEDR8tW/s640/11.11+24.jpg" width="480" /></a></div>
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One thing lead to another and we worked our way farther and farther up the hill - the tall, mostly whole structure atop the main shaft, the leftover bridge pieces of what we figure was a tramway. Minor exploratory pits were scattered everywhere, the operation was much more extensive than I'd anticipated. It was thrilling, and I'd spot something away up the hill and take off running through the snow. <i>Well,</i> he'd call out after me, <i>You can run up the hill if you </i>want, <i>but I bet the ruins will still be there even if you walk</i>. I know, I just get so excited! If you've never been ghost town/mine hunting, it's hard to describe just how thrilling the find is, particularly when you aren't certain what, if anything, remains to be found.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh42Juh3OY5MXbuFvIPJqigxLYeXt-l2B1txPRzP8wIsWbsZDv8ZUTjaA9qjhrYVLdlYmfedMqk2NKpKPXkOLQcQ6YiR-XQotusSYAGcSOi7cFGeXMH57TaIzi426yaZS1hbvYpV3NhyReb/s1600/11.11+30.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh42Juh3OY5MXbuFvIPJqigxLYeXt-l2B1txPRzP8wIsWbsZDv8ZUTjaA9qjhrYVLdlYmfedMqk2NKpKPXkOLQcQ6YiR-XQotusSYAGcSOi7cFGeXMH57TaIzi426yaZS1hbvYpV3NhyReb/s640/11.11+30.jpg" width="480" /></a></div>
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These historical mysteries are all over the hills, and so few people know to look, and little by little they're eaten by time and elements and are disappearing, and no one will know anything anymore. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxIGBwO3PVqE-yJxc6moRaP1rr26twktTKNdV630V50fTyVIghvoWSA9VFs1D-6jufrQ7Nv7USY7NUw2CZaBBI5-VBwO-OVOdTUiM8462jL25yWFcOdgIvcVMPNU_7lBkpTtjyVvJKNEZ6/s1600/11.11+34.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxIGBwO3PVqE-yJxc6moRaP1rr26twktTKNdV630V50fTyVIghvoWSA9VFs1D-6jufrQ7Nv7USY7NUw2CZaBBI5-VBwO-OVOdTUiM8462jL25yWFcOdgIvcVMPNU_7lBkpTtjyVvJKNEZ6/s640/11.11+34.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiGypjgRl5BBB09wd6mZV_uFKlaWkInWdLvYJXD6GvKYAX0sJRxWAhzOgTsYojBw5zTQwlDcjAmlcBaUBCUEh-rs748h_Kw6e7wIsvxoHYhzCAC8oswUXh0RLKfkTiDTRXowqlKrKjA9HS/s1600/11.11+33.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiGypjgRl5BBB09wd6mZV_uFKlaWkInWdLvYJXD6GvKYAX0sJRxWAhzOgTsYojBw5zTQwlDcjAmlcBaUBCUEh-rs748h_Kw6e7wIsvxoHYhzCAC8oswUXh0RLKfkTiDTRXowqlKrKjA9HS/s640/11.11+33.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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(She's as elated over the finds as I am. </div>
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She's fascinated to figure out what the excitement is all about.)</div>
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Oh this pup.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcJrW7wPkL_1fRqM3Oie0D0IHL2X0j-IGThnJsGQ6vTeq7iAaG9BiaQ6X41-tVlY94dnDEgtcM6ote8PxJw_dHqDc0T0C50ruxnZJh8VBNk7Q3Jx7u5Gbd8SrZfYMxq8FWgT9qNfOLf5la/s1600/11.11+04.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcJrW7wPkL_1fRqM3Oie0D0IHL2X0j-IGThnJsGQ6vTeq7iAaG9BiaQ6X41-tVlY94dnDEgtcM6ote8PxJw_dHqDc0T0C50ruxnZJh8VBNk7Q3Jx7u5Gbd8SrZfYMxq8FWgT9qNfOLf5la/s640/11.11+04.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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She loves the snow.<br />
, <br />
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The hillsides and valley, the ruined toppled structures, all was silent and forgotten. But I could imagine the people who were there once, the men at the mine, toting their lunch pails up the road, the noise of the crushing ore, the tramway, the families waiting in the valley below, the children playing in those trees, waiting for their fathers to come home from the mine for evening dinner.</div>
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It was cold, which only added to the air of adventure, and mystery loomed over that forgotten land, once home to so many people. </div>
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As shadows lengthened and the afternoon started fading to evening, we agreed we'd found all there was to find for the day and bid farewell to the ghosts, made our way back out of history, and went back to the land of the living.</div>
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Cold and hungry, but exhilarated with our success, we headed to Rochford for burgers, endearingly bad coffee and homemade donuts. Darkness fell before we reached the Moonshine Gulch Saloon, and a few wayward flakes of snow made an appearance.</div>
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I've talked here before about Rochford, and how I love it. There's something even more welcoming and cozy about the Moonshine on a cold winter evening. The wood burning stove, the old rustic wood walls covered in...junk, the dogs wandering about greeting you and begging for food, the old backwood folk, friendly and jolly. Maybe it wouldn't pass a health inspection, if one ever bothered to venture that far out into the hills, but it's one of my favorite places to be. Back in time when important things were important. </div>
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When we arrived, the place was bustling. The old timers sang and played their guitars and mandolins, people ate and drank beer, the dogs cavorted about. We asked Betsy, the owner, if it was OK if we brought in the pup as it was cold out, and she said yes pup could join us in the booth.</div>
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She was pleased as punch with herself, sitting like a big girl in the booth.</div>
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She behaved admirably, most of the time, even around the other dogs who clamored beneath the table for her attention, and the over stimulation of the noisy saloon. That is, until she calmly reached over and pulled those white flowers from their vase with her teeth and set them on the table. Then I was reminded that she's still only a puppy.</div>
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I will let the place tell its own story of the evening, through these videos. They're not long, but they catch the spirit of the place better than photos.</div>
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This guy was quite the yodeler...</div>
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<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/vVWVokHtiis?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe> </div>
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He even kinda looks like Eric Clapton:</div>
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An interesting talent. You meet these types here: </div>
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<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/yFWviqbdv9c?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe> </div>
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Betsy, the owner of the Saloon, put this tether ball up in the dining area for Cubbin, her pup. Clever:</div>
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<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/r232lfhTDT8?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe> </div>
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This tiny puppy. Delightful. </div>
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There you have it. A perfect conclusion to an all in all Good Decision Sunday. </div>
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When we left the Saloon Betsy the owner hugged me and thanked us for coming. </div>
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And for that reason alone I would love that place, where the proprietor hugs her stranger patrons good night. </div>
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For all these aforementioned reasons, I love the Black Hills.</div>
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"How strange and wonderful is our home..."</div>
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smallTownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01870250786732329787noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4427699283248440488.post-2896789666471078522012-09-29T13:43:00.001-06:002015-09-14T14:18:48.809-06:00Playing with the big boysFriday afternoon after work, Tim and Dennis picked me up from Bully's to ride Vanocker Canyon.<br />
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I know them from their being of the lunch guys at Bully's who sit at the bar. Tim's a 50 year old who owns his own welding business, and Dennis is a 40 year old electrical engineer. And I'm a 30 year old girl who works at a coffee shop. The common ground that bridges any social gaps is that we all love to pedal. <br />
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Let me give you some advice: if you want to meet people who make some of the most amazing friends, take up a new hobby, like cycling or rock climbing or running or...snow boarding or kayaking or camping. Try anything, try something. It will expand your horizons. You don't have to be good at it before joining up with a group of others with similar passions, it's OK if it scares your socks off at first, or intimidates you - they're happy to show you the ropes.<br />
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So there we are, driving to Sturgis, Tim regaling us with tales of his recent cycling adventures/misadventures in Italy, and me doling out energy bars I'd made - earning my passage - and pestering Dennis to finally tell me exactly what it is he does for a living because all he'll ever say is "I'm a guy at a place" and I'm pretty sure he creates nuclear weapons or something.<br />
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So there I am, with my steel framed touring bike with 28mm tires which I only purchased this year - my first road bike.<br />
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And there they are, with their carbon fiber frames and 23mm tires, completely bald and slick, which they've both been riding for 15+ years.<br />
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There they are with their 0% body fat and bikes which weigh exactly half as much as mine.<br />
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And there I am with my iPod, prepared to not keep up.<br />
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Maybe not prepared to not keep up as much as I did. Didn't.<br />
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With my usual group of riding buddies I'm not one of the top technical riders, but boy I can out climb the lot of 'em. "Billy goat", Jamie calls me.<br />
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With <i>these</i> guys, riding up these 10% grade hills with wind gusting against me, with them dashing and me chugging, I felt like Rosie O'Donnell next to Gabby Douglas.<br />
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Seriously, I'd look up the steep, steep hill ahead and they weren't even there anymore, they were long gone. Pretty soon down they'd come, riding back to me. And then speed back up that hill, leaving me in the dust a second time. And there I am, in my granny gear, chugging along. Not exhausted, not needing to stop, but not having the strength to keep their speed. Pedal pedal pedal. But they didn't once make me feel like they were anything but glad that I'd come along. "It's all good," they'd say when I'd finally reach the top of a peak where they circled, waiting, "It's not a race today. Today we're tourist riding. Do you speak English?"<br />
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We only did twelve miles - not much for road riding - but we climbed 2,000 feet in 6 miles. I'm glad I didn't know that would be the case ahead of time, because I probably would've been too intimidated to go.<br />
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But <i>oh </i>the scenery was pure magic.<br />
And the weather, besides the gusty wind, was <i>perfect</i>.<br />
And the sky was blue and the sun was golden and we were pedaling and I was having the best time.<br />
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And every time a car would pass me I felt pretty bad ass, despite my slowness, not gonna lie. Because, slowly or not, I was still riding my bike up those hills they drove and I could feel them staring and marveling and being glad it was me and not them. But secretly I bet they wished they <i>could</i>.<br />
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I didn't get many pictures, just three and by the time I'd snapped them
off and put Junior away the guys had already taken off again and were
halfway up the next hill. I could've stopped at every turn to gape at those breathtaking vistas, with the late afternoon sun pouring liquid gold on those autumn colors, but stopping for pictures wasn't exactly on the schedule. At least I was moving slowly enough to take it all in as I went.<br />
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And then, <i>then</i>, we turned around and descended those 10% grade hills with the wind pushing against our backs and oh the exhilaration. No longer did we need to keep an eye out for traffic because we left them far behind in the 35mph speed limit. <br />
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Have you ever gone 45mph on a bike? I hadn't. It was like - flying. And here my steel framed 30lb bike came in handy, here I could keep up with their light little bikes. And good thing, too. I've never ridden at those speeds, so I just watched and did what they did - swing wide on this curve, outside foot down, pedal pedal, lay back and low across the bike, elbows in, knees loose.Watch out for those deer, those turkeys crossing the road. Seriously - hitting a deer going 45 mph on a bike? <i>(haha, that's am ambiguous statement - makes it sound like the </i>deer <i>is going 45 mph on a bike</i>). Death by deer.<br />
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That ride - <i>flight</i> - down made any climb against the wind completely worth it. <br />
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And then we went for burgers and beers - traditional after-riding fare - and fried pickles, and the conversation was easy and the companionship comfortable.<br />
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Ride bikes, everyone.<br />
Your life will be better.<br />
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Oh, and remember to go out today and get a load of autumn.<br />
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What a way to kick off the weekend.<br />
My life is a fairy tale.smallTownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01870250786732329787noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4427699283248440488.post-70838801701315493602012-09-27T20:17:00.001-06:002015-09-14T14:18:48.851-06:00Finding FallLast week, of a Thursday evening (good things tend to happen on Thursday evenings, lately) I left from work and headed to Spearfish to visit Sassy and Wrigley and Joe. We were going to climb, but Sass and Wrigley and I decided we were too tired and besides it's fall and the day called for a slow hike and awareness and photos and time for easy conversation.<br />
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So we made a plan (ice cream, hike, pumpkin lattes) and headed to Devil's bathtub.<br />
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I love this trail in the fall.<br />
I do.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMY_DBfEyE0iGZltY5x4fzaxIHph61hFNsZFYEAH4-QzAjB2PREwsiFNjAkscNG-d-WtHt2p7rCUxsrmS0Tommfi4-JSMwNAG522IwqG9ehN9QIzzvV14Hk0AKOlJms5FwBLznQfGCeHs/s1600/09.20+42.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMY_DBfEyE0iGZltY5x4fzaxIHph61hFNsZFYEAH4-QzAjB2PREwsiFNjAkscNG-d-WtHt2p7rCUxsrmS0Tommfi4-JSMwNAG522IwqG9ehN9QIzzvV14Hk0AKOlJms5FwBLznQfGCeHs/s640/09.20+42.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>This is Wrigley about to get in trouble for not coming when called the first time...</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
A girl and her dog:<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOkYTbeCMh3sU6h3u90dur0H8-1KZrrw0wySirfLBTf1MRzV7eibHFIxm_4Q-a3JwnBFLT-mMhk8p_L5TILUj0aYZuvBGgvYWIzi9X4mYsjUf8ePaxHC3J-JH4Oavf24_recnH2K3XgZk/s1600/09.20+12.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOkYTbeCMh3sU6h3u90dur0H8-1KZrrw0wySirfLBTf1MRzV7eibHFIxm_4Q-a3JwnBFLT-mMhk8p_L5TILUj0aYZuvBGgvYWIzi9X4mYsjUf8ePaxHC3J-JH4Oavf24_recnH2K3XgZk/s640/09.20+12.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Sung to the tune of "There she goes..."</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<br />
Just Wrigley...<br />
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<br />
We ran into a puppy named Zeus and the only thing Zeus wanted in the whole world was to be friends with Wrigley.<br />
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Wrigley tolerated him until he tried to hump her<br />
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and then she was all "I'm not that kind of girl" and snubbed him.<br />
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Can't blame a guy for trying.<br />
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Wrigley was having a great time until Sassy threw her in the creek.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvWf3yZAhVmOlAYP7sQD2sT9Jsdw7q1KrlIC5asDRxK6fyCd-tZgR0dQoYBd_7LltsNf3Mu0YpQxC_iwg7K0i1VwjoCqH6t6US-ZNZ4JYkm9YY5exSKMi6hzGJsYBMUzpW7lBR3_F8XGo/s1600/09.20+37.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvWf3yZAhVmOlAYP7sQD2sT9Jsdw7q1KrlIC5asDRxK6fyCd-tZgR0dQoYBd_7LltsNf3Mu0YpQxC_iwg7K0i1VwjoCqH6t6US-ZNZ4JYkm9YY5exSKMi6hzGJsYBMUzpW7lBR3_F8XGo/s640/09.20+37.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>This is what we call a "bitch face":</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
But she shook it off.<br />
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There were so many lovely things to see:<br />
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Really, guys, the Black Hills are just one of the best places to live, indisputably:<br />
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These are the facts, and they are undisputed:<br />
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I love the look on her face, especially since I know what she was talking about at the time...<br />
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Friends and fall and pumpkin lattes on a Thursday evening - some of the finer things of life.<br />
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It was nice to just be outside and not doing anything extreme for a change, having nothing to do and no place to be and no schedule and no challenge. Just to <i>be</i>, with a friend, finding fall.<br />
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Let's not forget the simple things this fall.<br />
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It quickly slips by.<br />
Catch hold of all you can. <br />
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smallTownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01870250786732329787noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4427699283248440488.post-22065605669418288722012-09-01T23:03:00.000-06:002015-09-14T14:18:48.793-06:00Helter skelter in the summer swelter<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Happy September 1st!<br />
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In my world, fall begins September 1st and lasts until Thanksgiving.<br />
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But it ain't been feelin' like fall.<br />
Feels like 100 degrees.<br />
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Which it was today in Spearfish when Sassy and I rode bikes up the canyon and met up with Tess and Cody to do some climbing.<br />
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This was only my second time climbing, but I'm quickly falling in love.<br />
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I've got this thing where I can try and try and try to make it past a spot, and fall and swing and try and fall again and again, and just as my muscles are exhausted and shaking and my fingertips feel shredded and I'm about to call it quits for now because I've about got nothing left, I say <i>OK, just one more try</i> and it always seems to be on that<i> </i>last ditch all-or-nothing effort that I finally <i>make </i>it. <br />
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And <i>oh </i>that feeling of exhilaration and success. <br />
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<br />
It's a cool combination of daring, strength, problem solving and grit (and finesse, but I haven't figured that part out yet).<br />
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We had a great afternoon.<br />
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It's been quite a month, August.<br />
After the Rally, which ended on the 12th-ish, it's been one thing after another. I was afraid camp, as fun as it was, would make me miss out on summer with my town friends and all that that entails, but August saved plenty of summer for me.<br />
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The other day, I looked back at my calendar and realized for the past ten days straight I'd done something fun and social every day.<br />
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I'm not typically <i>so </i>social, but it's sure been a great month and I've loved every minute.<br />
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Like, really.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Not so sweltering for these couple of days around the 15th - see? Jackets! It felt like fall!</i></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The "Mean Girls"</i></td></tr>
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There have been many bike rides with various people - big groups, core groups, just me, just me and another. There have been dinner and beers and laughs after, as is tradition.<br />
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This one night, I went alone to movie under the stars in the square. Just me and my lawn chair and my little dinner of steak and...all these people.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKoVuxUnaHyjgvIBeMfM9-ctT5431ZxY2XGo65mcex8GLMBAdiPTGtjv_1yUs0aj-mFJu13waNfgUTcQbzwNIh4U-RWMO2mYaTVUWr1p5rPayhXmz2LGHFvjvwa9hLgLWcyxWpJQQK850/s1600/08.20+01.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKoVuxUnaHyjgvIBeMfM9-ctT5431ZxY2XGo65mcex8GLMBAdiPTGtjv_1yUs0aj-mFJu13waNfgUTcQbzwNIh4U-RWMO2mYaTVUWr1p5rPayhXmz2LGHFvjvwa9hLgLWcyxWpJQQK850/s640/08.20+01.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>They played MIB I. "'Cause I thought it was odd that he asked me for sugar water, and not lemonade or ice water or regular water or tap water."</i></td></tr>
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And then towards the end of the movie Matt, Alaina and Sean showed up looking for me.<br />
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I tried to take a group photo.<br />
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It took a few tries.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgx6W1M5xy0dpp-QKE6AeitwS8D1uD3XJ7Dr_1njuUHgrezgyPDA2X4Ar2B2K-B5HbLAbvqgFgWX4Poc1iXZt74JjuEBv5llh2dNVOpsfjOqnahbHSskraXxcQy2XlK99JbbVnZM_fevhI/s1600/08.20+02.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgx6W1M5xy0dpp-QKE6AeitwS8D1uD3XJ7Dr_1njuUHgrezgyPDA2X4Ar2B2K-B5HbLAbvqgFgWX4Poc1iXZt74JjuEBv5llh2dNVOpsfjOqnahbHSskraXxcQy2XlK99JbbVnZM_fevhI/s640/08.20+02.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Oops, I cut me out.</i></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg74s38-6QJ3zbKzBv73HjOwI6BqHBKBAh51iRhW7SegckZnTGxadVmwiowjH0rwO78mQ-0Pipf58UdZ_iGKZ8wg2UBnBTCEDO2hcz7yK2OcVEvuKIWJ8akoMzPN2y-VSTOxZfjtMDD0Ys/s1600/08.20+03.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg74s38-6QJ3zbKzBv73HjOwI6BqHBKBAh51iRhW7SegckZnTGxadVmwiowjH0rwO78mQ-0Pipf58UdZ_iGKZ8wg2UBnBTCEDO2hcz7yK2OcVEvuKIWJ8akoMzPN2y-VSTOxZfjtMDD0Ys/s640/08.20+03.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Oops, cut Matt out.</i></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5XXF5xHZ3RVI1gfEoofICisjFFMJj8p_w-5EFS0fdbu7XLk_JbCeObvduU2bkwnH_-6Beol-nwuxBxLpCIq6pQ_R0srjlZLWi9E51_823RmiYk8LfvQSMKHZ4twHLL-1Yq3iKxRaufDQ/s1600/08.20+04.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5XXF5xHZ3RVI1gfEoofICisjFFMJj8p_w-5EFS0fdbu7XLk_JbCeObvduU2bkwnH_-6Beol-nwuxBxLpCIq6pQ_R0srjlZLWi9E51_823RmiYk8LfvQSMKHZ4twHLL-1Yq3iKxRaufDQ/s640/08.20+04.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Ooh, fuzzy Matt.</i></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbYAH7AgNMR_Ob7hdAXHbBIlfeqwwOAySxgNHioBAx8kAJbbpOUuBXpkMc21Vy4ejLoVxCXE5USR1-46k-ztfnlx2CfhA4vpcHq7fKeGKVAjNfhQ3-etMCVwf6Utp-DLBVKTRvQgrl2PA/s1600/08.20+05.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbYAH7AgNMR_Ob7hdAXHbBIlfeqwwOAySxgNHioBAx8kAJbbpOUuBXpkMc21Vy4ejLoVxCXE5USR1-46k-ztfnlx2CfhA4vpcHq7fKeGKVAjNfhQ3-etMCVwf6Utp-DLBVKTRvQgrl2PA/s640/08.20+05.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Close enough.<br />I think it's funny how Sean's smile fades a little more with each picture.</i></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><br /></i></td></tr>
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And then they said "Hey, we're right downtown by the theater, want to see a movie?" and though I'd just seen one and it was ten o'clock at night, we did.<br />
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Well, that was my photo dump of the pictures I've acquired since being back home.<br />
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And now...I'm in Spearfish watching a movie with Sassy, going to crash on their couch for the night.<br />
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And in the morning - the Five-O! (<i>Good luck, Cory and Timmy and all the others!</i>).<br />
(As for me and a few others, we plan to take a short-cut ride to the "Bacon Station" at around mile 30, and then hang out eating bacon and waiting for our friends to ride by.<br />
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Sounds OK by me.<br />
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Happy last few days of summer, everyone!<br />
Pack in every last magic moment of summer adventures.smallTownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01870250786732329787noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4427699283248440488.post-79765858127435586692012-08-01T21:32:00.001-06:002015-09-14T14:18:48.859-06:00It was GoodbyeIt was one last night in my cozy camp room...<br />
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It was one last time of brushing my teeth in the woods...<br />
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It was making one last french press with the electric tea kettle in my room...<br />
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<br />
One last walk down dirt trails...<br />
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<br />
...by which we commute around camp, "our house".<br />
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<br />
It's like the entire camp is our house. So I'd leave my things in, say, the office - water bottle, sunglasses, jacket - and walk off. But rather than going into the other room like in a <i>normal</i> house to retrieve the forgotten item, I have to walk ten minutes across camp and possibly climb a substantial hill.<br />
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It was one last time of entering numbers into the computer at "my" desk...<br />
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<br />
(with many a' interruption, such as collaborating with Ducky and Bomb to get the chipmunk out of the other room)<br />
<br />
...in the office...<br />
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<br />
<br />
...where Tiny always left his shoes in a corner, and Mauli the Dog hid under my desk during thunder storms and stank to high heaven, and Odin photoshopped our faces into funny pictures...<br />
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<br />
...the office where the Magnificent Seven (management) hung out, making daily office polls on the whiteboard about whether the office had gotten dirty enough for Gypsy (i.e. <i>me</i>) to go crazy and clean it up and throw <i>everything</i> away again, or whether Buck or Gypsy would get back first from town, or which troop would arrive last on Sunday and what time, or whether Ducky's truck would break down next or the trap thrower.<br />
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It was one last look up that road...<br />
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<br />
It was one last laugh.<br />
<br />
It was hugs all around.<br />
<br />
It was goodbye.<br />
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<br />smallTownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01870250786732329787noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4427699283248440488.post-22272875145959012862012-07-23T19:55:00.000-06:002015-09-14T14:18:48.797-06:00Small, dark places in the deepToday on the menu: Caving.<br />
<br />
I joined Cracker and his boys at Rushmore Cave today, which is very unlike Bethlehem Cave.<br />
<br />
There were some<br />
<br />
Very.<br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">Small</span>.<br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Spaces</span>.<br />
<br />
Below is pictured the entrance to the crawl spaces from the main cave via a ladder.<br />
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(These pictures of course don't do justice, since I had to use the flash it makes the cave seem well lit.<br />
<br />
It wasn't.) <br />
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There was a tour going on of the main, commercialized portion of the cave at the time, and they all stopped, amazed, to watch us shimmy through the crack and the tour guide made us part of the tour. We felt like celebrities. <br />
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<br />
We took the boys in two groups, as the nature of the cave had us
crawling through worm holes for extended periods of time where each
person nary saw any but the feet of the one in front of them. Each
person was expected to make sure they knew the person behind them was
still there.<br />
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Some of these spaces were so narrow you had to slide in sideways.<br />
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Some were so low you lay flat on your belly with your arms stretched in front of you, and there wasn't enough room to lift your head to see where you were going so we lay cheek to the ground and squirmed forward.<br />
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I brought up the rear of the group, so there were those times when the last one had gone into the hole in front of me and I was waiting to give myself enough space so that he wouldn't kick me in the face, and there was this moment when I was all alone in the darkness with my lonely little headlamp, left behind.<br />
<br />
What a sensation.<br />
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And even though you <i>know</i> the boys in front of you (seem) to have made it through the miniscule opening and you know they're bigger than you, your brain starts looking at that small, dark, unknown hole and saying things like "Um, I'm really not sure this is going to turn out well for us, here. Probably, you're not going to make it." <br />
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<br />
These boys were a great bunch. At one point, Cracker has us turn all the headlamps off to experience complete, unadulterated darkness. Everyone's quiet, alone in the blackness, until one voice says "This would be the perfect place to kill someone." And of course after that I hear from time to time voices drifting back through the tunnel saying things like "I found the murder weapon! It's a shovel!" (They're still digging to try and meet up with other passages in the cave, so occasionally we'd stumble across tools).<br />
<br />
Boys.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaoRMCqqgaSdpEIOVAxn3vPKIsQJT5i07VBsvdh_7DYVxBdGs53NXJ0RfLmeyRMwaXoRbXLJ7FiMYSKWAqzSWYnqHRRctTXWjsZo9ywkQDlu2OB5Ognp9lUBFSjQIZEB4yZT4NJCwgvUw/s1600/07.22+08.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaoRMCqqgaSdpEIOVAxn3vPKIsQJT5i07VBsvdh_7DYVxBdGs53NXJ0RfLmeyRMwaXoRbXLJ7FiMYSKWAqzSWYnqHRRctTXWjsZo9ywkQDlu2OB5Ognp9lUBFSjQIZEB4yZT4NJCwgvUw/s640/07.22+08.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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During a long stretch where we didn't see the front of the group for a good half hour, I could hear the boy in front of the boy in front of me saying things like "What, Bob? Can't you see the person in front of you? You don't KNOW for sure if they went left or right??"<br />
<br />
THAT is a frightening thing to hear in a cave.<br />
<br />
So there was a time when I really wasn't sure if we were still part of the group.<br />
<br />
We were ready to use the shovel on Bob.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgP2CRC8RKiQPlP-41vMmVMeDXEWTNHLEtTuiJrNxgCZwsF0mk6J11p12l80H0GD39o3QYdW4cWhCPk2nuDd66Y4QXx7EOZQ5yP_LVzLqDuhWmZ2zRNLAEP7sxPsfpvUlAnz-NKtMgDJbE/s1600/07.22+10.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgP2CRC8RKiQPlP-41vMmVMeDXEWTNHLEtTuiJrNxgCZwsF0mk6J11p12l80H0GD39o3QYdW4cWhCPk2nuDd66Y4QXx7EOZQ5yP_LVzLqDuhWmZ2zRNLAEP7sxPsfpvUlAnz-NKtMgDJbE/s640/07.22+10.jpg" width="480" /></a></div>
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It was a good deal of exhilarating fun. A different sort of challenge than, say, mountain biking, to be sure. More mental than anything. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSFAMCrgYQxfadavPoXCjl5UwAAw-Uh2aQXEJaln7Co5ntpHb3u-zDQ-p8w3iFnKfgURWM3Rf6Q9cpcSiU3YV2Fc77rk8M4oM1Yb6Wsp5X6FKcN0ugrt4jvQo8KbuCKW4U7DbU1liEtGY/s1600/07.22+01.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSFAMCrgYQxfadavPoXCjl5UwAAw-Uh2aQXEJaln7Co5ntpHb3u-zDQ-p8w3iFnKfgURWM3Rf6Q9cpcSiU3YV2Fc77rk8M4oM1Yb6Wsp5X6FKcN0ugrt4jvQo8KbuCKW4U7DbU1liEtGY/s640/07.22+01.jpg" width="480" /></a></div>
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When we were done we went outside to hang around while the second group went in. We ate lunch and played cards and Catch Phrase, which was a good time because little Bob started out every time with "What happens when..." which didn't usually produce good results. And the boys wrote me a haiku to get my name. It went like this:<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">
Eating Bob was fun</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Because he lost us in caves</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Canibalism</div>
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<br /></div>smallTownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01870250786732329787noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4427699283248440488.post-3140167161769550642012-07-22T22:23:00.002-06:002015-09-14T14:18:48.813-06:00Where have all the pictures gone?Found 'em.<br />
Here's another random smattering, playing catch up with my pictures and stories. <br />
<br />
A few years ago, I started this thing where every year (or so) I'd take up a new hobby for a year. I may or may not keep up with it, but I had to at least give it a shot.<br />
<br />
First it was snowboarding (which I haven't done now in about five years, but hope to get into it again this year).Then it was mountain biking.Then running.<br />
<br />
This year it's rock climbing.<br />
I tried it once as a teenager and it freaked me out and I never tried it again. I didn't know if I could really get into it, as it's a completely different activity than what I'm usually into. But decided to give it another shot this summer. We haven't gone climbing as much as I'd hoped here at camp, but enough to know I can love it after all. It's a completely different challenge, which is exciting.<br />
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A couple of weekends ago, a group of us went to Spearfish Canyon on a hot and muggy day.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXbSwoEvnw_baDkQgwQNJRn_Q7gPT9egNYckUBVGFfd6Cok29D86KpQCnVUkI7ZZjczF3m66dAYhiFW_tqmkCHhv2VoTvpt5449lD7iZh4SibhHic3EWDxYZVpdEYmn7IEePOyNx0DX9k/s1600/07.14+10.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXbSwoEvnw_baDkQgwQNJRn_Q7gPT9egNYckUBVGFfd6Cok29D86KpQCnVUkI7ZZjczF3m66dAYhiFW_tqmkCHhv2VoTvpt5449lD7iZh4SibhHic3EWDxYZVpdEYmn7IEePOyNx0DX9k/s640/07.14+10.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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This girl is now in Alaska. It was so great meeting her at camp. As I said when we hugged goodbye, "This summer wouldn't have been anything without you." And it's true. We pretty much did <i>everything</i> together, from laundry to sleep overs to climbing to Outpost to cooking dinner to reading to making weekend plans. It's not typical, once out of the college dorms, to be in a situation where one spends such time with someone because you <i>want</i> to. Camp presents many various opportunities not always available in the "real world". <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisiNOPyXQHV-2uCG9cqJ8C163J1_vVp-AHCl_2M-29r6Z4aqqxx4mBlfBuYdBgstcnpW2I9AnwIGY8S2yzUWfO4ZzYyrbO3qiXDXMsXAZ-VjUl3cs-HKSTnSz9VxlFDZwCnZnOBJTNoRk/s1600/07.14+01.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisiNOPyXQHV-2uCG9cqJ8C163J1_vVp-AHCl_2M-29r6Z4aqqxx4mBlfBuYdBgstcnpW2I9AnwIGY8S2yzUWfO4ZzYyrbO3qiXDXMsXAZ-VjUl3cs-HKSTnSz9VxlFDZwCnZnOBJTNoRk/s640/07.14+01.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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So we had a great summer and now Sassy's in Alaska for a month, and when she's back camp will be over and real life will have resumed and we'll live 45 minutes apart, but we still have our plans for fall and winter, don't worry.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQ-7ytpcZmQIv9tniNznnjQyx3qvmSux33_nX766Ml-SElErZRdVf-3kIrli89trsFq2klqdRAJ-A5NA9edxQrZWF8_Xwynrk89gcPB4oAoXE_AYudBJfIdmUzLdPufot6mnOwJwVUT-s/s1600/07.14+03.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQ-7ytpcZmQIv9tniNznnjQyx3qvmSux33_nX766Ml-SElErZRdVf-3kIrli89trsFq2klqdRAJ-A5NA9edxQrZWF8_Xwynrk89gcPB4oAoXE_AYudBJfIdmUzLdPufot6mnOwJwVUT-s/s640/07.14+03.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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This here's Cracker: climber, mountain biker, slack line extraordinaire: <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNn1rdkyAUU_bIRrmHUzaaXz6sUMktwQlV4vApr71RqAYqwFU_m1NCbaU1lqP1OE3Kd20XpBPjGtOVKtIqvKMXaUfko8PwF4MmzE5Kvv02WZsfQOGalvq452eBcrXt0ec3w_Uom6AJWwY/s1600/07.14+02.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNn1rdkyAUU_bIRrmHUzaaXz6sUMktwQlV4vApr71RqAYqwFU_m1NCbaU1lqP1OE3Kd20XpBPjGtOVKtIqvKMXaUfko8PwF4MmzE5Kvv02WZsfQOGalvq452eBcrXt0ec3w_Uom6AJWwY/s640/07.14+02.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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And here are some of the others:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhi-ftlx3Zgp3wmBS3IRtIjPnkvdBNG4P39WG2soH23_mvB07k4Nc1Q1dHm0_viXZ7wh2UcC_Pgi-DnuVuUHoG3Z9v3tAKjoSvbCQHLWgRu6EQSv1eeVEyVYWC52_z14ehBYDYGHsh0UmM/s1600/07.14+04.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhi-ftlx3Zgp3wmBS3IRtIjPnkvdBNG4P39WG2soH23_mvB07k4Nc1Q1dHm0_viXZ7wh2UcC_Pgi-DnuVuUHoG3Z9v3tAKjoSvbCQHLWgRu6EQSv1eeVEyVYWC52_z14ehBYDYGHsh0UmM/s640/07.14+04.jpg" width="480" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNa7n9Mhz1Ssp04ARN8At78lXpELzVQ5tz0oaLVZwVj6LMhl4aaJXO9vgZieN1WhiYVu8uCtjuSnwEKfsTlapv7gzRlKsj2_AtQ0sX11KdWS9c9GHBlPZIcMxIJ4RiGvHUkvbLy3D76iM/s1600/07.14+05.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNa7n9Mhz1Ssp04ARN8At78lXpELzVQ5tz0oaLVZwVj6LMhl4aaJXO9vgZieN1WhiYVu8uCtjuSnwEKfsTlapv7gzRlKsj2_AtQ0sX11KdWS9c9GHBlPZIcMxIJ4RiGvHUkvbLy3D76iM/s640/07.14+05.jpg" width="480" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQrjP_sLaJje51PwvdV-9Uu0F9X84PPCk2OqLpaRLGlnYhqCXwrpr4cc4AxShzXu0k-a7AfxrlsU3OK30HgjW5MHcvG8Qk7fDy-fm2kvhrz1RlwD6Gwfoe4nH2lMDkKiVvcQkSZ2tzyfA/s1600/07.14+06.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQrjP_sLaJje51PwvdV-9Uu0F9X84PPCk2OqLpaRLGlnYhqCXwrpr4cc4AxShzXu0k-a7AfxrlsU3OK30HgjW5MHcvG8Qk7fDy-fm2kvhrz1RlwD6Gwfoe4nH2lMDkKiVvcQkSZ2tzyfA/s640/07.14+06.jpg" width="480" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjU3kHzl5uuwT8gD1-P6wmf_glCLGZGyPgvt8kNWcjFJQKlkTUKONfYquDQg0XXwZp7PhZUw9ExoO2Q4hasm5RPYpWjpZbEucBoS4_KhPUQ8lLkJPyrdii27_u4ecejxcIO5yGahf1YZFw/s1600/07.14+07.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjU3kHzl5uuwT8gD1-P6wmf_glCLGZGyPgvt8kNWcjFJQKlkTUKONfYquDQg0XXwZp7PhZUw9ExoO2Q4hasm5RPYpWjpZbEucBoS4_KhPUQ8lLkJPyrdii27_u4ecejxcIO5yGahf1YZFw/s640/07.14+07.jpg" width="480" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuGMNiXNfh7cjf2b8CGjaopsYzyuf68-t2we_C2JBTJswVjh5iIBtJJd-D_oxDpDwxbkDyh1ARtO0yFjZZzj63fs4MM_9D8RvdIQEMIXNsmpRNBgVu28d24DxfbCgm0504XBaC9rztIOk/s1600/07.14+08.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuGMNiXNfh7cjf2b8CGjaopsYzyuf68-t2we_C2JBTJswVjh5iIBtJJd-D_oxDpDwxbkDyh1ARtO0yFjZZzj63fs4MM_9D8RvdIQEMIXNsmpRNBgVu28d24DxfbCgm0504XBaC9rztIOk/s640/07.14+08.jpg" width="480" /></a></div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyVo5Cy9bAyNq4cWSZShEae7naymHh0J-ZAOcPJ4tP2c8LCr-_Vf4SyqthIK4P6o33_V5yY8ZE8l_oSOEFibD35qoktD15pj3S7Lzr1NVjI4rcyk-jaJCf8PnQytAkuKoDY1xfKPZx9D0/s1600/07.14+09.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyVo5Cy9bAyNq4cWSZShEae7naymHh0J-ZAOcPJ4tP2c8LCr-_Vf4SyqthIK4P6o33_V5yY8ZE8l_oSOEFibD35qoktD15pj3S7Lzr1NVjI4rcyk-jaJCf8PnQytAkuKoDY1xfKPZx9D0/s640/07.14+09.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The Spiderman move?</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
And then we went to Joe and Sassy's house, and there was some bike riding and dinner making and I slept on an easy chair in the living room.<br />
<br />
Outpost in the night:<br />
<br />
One night we were having a Directors meeting in the office at around 10 o'clock, and it comes to our attention that there are no adult staff, although there are adult troop leaders, on the hill with the scouts for Outpost. Buck's like "Umm, we need someone up there. Now." So Sass and I are all "Ooh, pick me pick me!" which really wasn't much of a contest since no one else was jumping to volunteer.<br />
<br />
So in the middle of the night we grab our things and head up the mountain, throw down sleeping bags in the clearing at the top, and wake the next morning at 5:00AM to head back down.<br />
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A couple of days ago (sans Sassy, she was already gone :-( I wanted to go on Outpost but couldn't leave until I'd closed the Trading Post, at around 10PM. Ducky, HawkEye and Basher were thrilled to wait and hike up with me in the dark.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUJNXXCQ39rl6H3g1kR6FI7fL0GHhOM2T0TW1R7myTNBSl2eBN8tkfvndYAY9HuGPG7mSifEhMKlkvk3pXCUyd8HPmbz4JbEibtizkAH5lZrkrYrTTaHFB_nHwiNuTnTCWPUUZpguS2Bc/s1600/07.19+01.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUJNXXCQ39rl6H3g1kR6FI7fL0GHhOM2T0TW1R7myTNBSl2eBN8tkfvndYAY9HuGPG7mSifEhMKlkvk3pXCUyd8HPmbz4JbEibtizkAH5lZrkrYrTTaHFB_nHwiNuTnTCWPUUZpguS2Bc/s640/07.19+01.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>There's a forest fire about 30 miles south of us, and from the top of Medicine Mountain it looks like a volcano erupting. Here we'd paused to take pictures.</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiX019FV7dnlRqlb35F9eiPgeKQm5UFNf9IFH6VW-lZZcQNAc-1UeGBwRcvz1Ycwny97ZbBDGFyuQ8M62cI2E8V6PeZCR_iaDHkcqbaNrggxAd2v3Oze2fGOsij5cnxb-cX79CaehNXac0/s1600/07.19+02.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiX019FV7dnlRqlb35F9eiPgeKQm5UFNf9IFH6VW-lZZcQNAc-1UeGBwRcvz1Ycwny97ZbBDGFyuQ8M62cI2E8V6PeZCR_iaDHkcqbaNrggxAd2v3Oze2fGOsij5cnxb-cX79CaehNXac0/s640/07.19+02.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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When we got up there, Lost was already asleep in his hammock so naturally we had to wake him up. First, I tried to wake him up by taking his picture with my really annoyingly bright flash...<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqNfKB-KMgwIaB6E7bAQKGjMULoZ0GZlkE1f54ipe19RPnX2npG416iyfDTrO0zlVL7tRwJyYP9TdltdXJAPlBcqJT36J2i7PTczu5skOPeRPf9QhHpJUz9JYCM5QaSDFfptrd8BaL5Ns/s1600/07.19+03.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqNfKB-KMgwIaB6E7bAQKGjMULoZ0GZlkE1f54ipe19RPnX2npG416iyfDTrO0zlVL7tRwJyYP9TdltdXJAPlBcqJT36J2i7PTczu5skOPeRPf9QhHpJUz9JYCM5QaSDFfptrd8BaL5Ns/s640/07.19+03.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
...and when that didn't work Ducky and Basher jostled the hammock until he finally said sleepily "Oh hey, guys". I said "Wow, Lost, you look dead in this picture" and as soon as he heard MY voice he instantly says "Who wants chocolate?!" What the - ? So we all had a good laugh, and some chocolate.<br />
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I can't even tell you how much I love sleeping atop Medicine Mountain, down in "our spot" by the cliff's edge. Sassy wasn't there, of course, and it was hot and dry so I brought a tarp just in case, but knew I really wouldn't need a shelter. I found a perfectly flat spot, and read by the light of my headlamp for a while, and then lay watching the stars flicker and shoot across the sky. It was the perfect temperature, not hot or cold, just neutral and calm. I'm sure going to miss throwing down a sleeping bag and sleeping under the stars once or twice a week when camp is over. <br />
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And, of course, walking through the meadow I love in the morning:<br />
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Last Tuesday I took Bomb, the mountain bike director who doesn't really mountain bike, and his boys to one of my favorite trails so they could experience riding single track (we mostly have logging roads around camp).<br />
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It was pretty fun, and great to be back riding again. I haven't ridden much at all this summer, as I'd intended to. There are other things I haven't done as well, that I'd hoped to do. But there's enough great things that happened that it's all good. It's all a balancing act.<br />
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Oh, the night before Lost, me, Basher and Jazz randomly decided to go out riding, too. Jazz had never been so I had fun giving him the inside scoop, sharing tips and postures. We didn't get to go far as it started getting dark, and we ended up bush wacking our way down the hill in the near dark as it is. But I sure do love those kids.<br />
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<br />
Well, it's all I got.<br />
More pictures to come.smallTownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01870250786732329787noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4427699283248440488.post-25191107877373378342012-07-19T18:43:00.000-06:002015-09-14T14:18:48.805-06:00Pranks in the night<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I could write about the canoe/camping trip and the 4th of July.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Or about climbing in Spearfish Canyon. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Or about why Sassy and I hiked up to Outpost in the middle of the night.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Or about polar plunge.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Or mountain biking with the Scouts.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And I probably will because those topics all include pictures.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But for now, here's a story with no pictures.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I think you'll see why. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Darkness is falling, almost complete, as six of us creep through
the woods over the hill towards the lake. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Into the gully. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Burrow into the grass, backs pressed against the rocks,
becoming part of the shadows, as voices are heard nearby. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Is it Ivy and Odin?</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Five shadows hunker and wait while one goes ahead to
investigate.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
No, just scouts tramping about with flashlights.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Send them back to their campsites. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Carry on, quietly –<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">
Can’t you stop talking, and singing, and laughing?</i> No, for the record, the
youngest one cannot quiet his whispered antics - across the dam, down the road,
to Water Front. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Far on the horizon lightning flickers, silhouetting Vista
and the surrounding mountain ridges. Thunder rumbles a ways off, but above us
stars flicker and splay freckled reflections across the inky, smooth lake. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A foreshadowing we shrug off.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
After verifying there are no recalcitrant junior staff
making out on the boat house’s covered patio, we congregate and discover, to
our chagrin, that the boat house is locked, with the oars inside. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Luckily we discover a garage-type door on the side of the
building which we’re able to lift far enough to have someone crawl under,
unlock the door and let us all in.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The goal? Tie all the boats up to the floating dock anchored in the
middle of the lake. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
ALL of the boats, you ask?<br />
Yes, all. <br />
Meaning one will have to swim ashore in the end. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We each grab oars and converge on the beach in the darkness
to assess the boat situation.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Between canoes, row boats, sail boats and paddle boats there
are more than we expected.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But the prank won’t work as planned unless every boat is
gone, requiring one of the Aquatics staff to swim out, with a paddle, in order
to start retrieving the wayward boats.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And we’re committed now. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Quietly, quietly, I and another lift the first canoe and
carry it across the sand to the lake. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Have you ever solo
paddled a canoe? No? Kneel there, near the front, piece of cake.</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Barefoot, I wade into the water and climb into the canoe. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Send her out</i>.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
With a smooth heave, two send me sailing away into the
blackness. I dip my oar smoothly, trying to avoid telltale splashing.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
By the light of the distant flashing lightning,
simultaneously illuminating our surroundings and ruining our night vision, I’m
able to see well enough to steer towards the dock floating somewhere out there. On the opposite side of the lake lights from scouts camping on Indian
Hill help keep me on course when lightning is delayed. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Alone in the dark on the lake.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Somewhere off in camp someone plays Taps, a lonely goodbye
sound in the night. <br />
Ten o’clock.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Behind me now another canoe following, then another. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We make it to the dock and wait for the one with the rope.
Rope is distributed, weaved amongst the canoes, tied off to the dock. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The one in the bigger rowboat arrives; lightning shows him
standing holding the long oar, gliding silently to pick us up. Carefully step
from one rocking boat to another, carefully keep balance.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Six in a rowboat, headed back to shore.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Lightning is near constant now. Thunder louder. Only a few
brave stars flicker on the lake, not as smooth, roughened by a gusty wind.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The storm is nearing.<br />
But not here yet.<br />
There’s still time.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Round two. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
Again I’m shoved quietly out into the night, straining my eyes to see the dock as
it appears and disappears with the oncoming storm.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
More quickly, not as careful to paddle quietly.<br />
Wind and thunder mask revealing sounds.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Tie up the boats.<br />
Five collected, six in the rowboat.<br />
Back to shore.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
Darkness would be complete now, stars cloud covered, were it not for the ever
flashing, dancing, striking white lightning. Everything bright as day, then abruptly
blackest black. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Round three.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Have you ever rowed a
rowboat by yourself? Or at all? No? Off you go, piece of cake.</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
To the floating dock, now extended by a long line of canoes
and rowboats, tied together, drifting tersely in the wind. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Sitting in the rowboat, tying off, waiting to be picked up. Five
silhouettes blinking on and off in varying distances and poses. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A sense of urgency alights. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And then </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">HURRY! TIE OFF! WE
HAVE TO GET OFF THE LAKE </i>NOW<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">! </i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And suddenly we know it’s here, all around us. <br />
Suddenly this is taking too long.<br />
Suddenly we’re out of time. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Sitting in my pitching rowboat, clenching the seat, still waiting
to be picked up.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Wind howling. Thunder. Lightning ever present, everywhere, white
and startling, striking somewhere not too off.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Hurry!</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Pandemonium.<br />
Disco ball silhouettes.<br />
Clamoring from boat to boat.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Lightning.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Hurry! We have to get
off the lake! </i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Silhouettes on the jogging dock, frantically securing rope.<br />
Boats rocking in the angry wind.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">We have to get to
shelter!</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i> </i> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Silhouettes, anxious and tense, waiting in boats.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">We’re coming to get
you!</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
There they are!<br />
Scramble into the rowboat.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Six in a rowboat on the lake in a storm.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Row, row, row! <br />
Toward the shore, now you see me now you don’t.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And suddenly the storm can’t hold back any longer and chaos
lets loose; the rain begins without preamble. Instantly drenched, we strain to
see the beach through the deluge, shivering and soaking, the wind knocking us
ever off course, the boat filling with water. Mayhem, shouting to be heard. No
more attempts to shush one another. The tumultuous storm covers all sound that
no one is out and about anymore to hear, anyway.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">That way! Other side!
Pull, pull! Other side, other side! Wrong way!</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Hollering. <br />
Shivering. <br />
Laughing.<br />
Oh, the adventure!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Finally, near shore, one jumps out, waist deep, into the
wakened lake, pulling the boat the last distance.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Scrambling into the water, onto the beach. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
A hurried effort to put the boat upside down.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Running up the beach through the torrent to the boat house’s
covered patio. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We make it just before the hail slams into the sand, the
lake, deafeningly against the remaining canoes.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We don jackets and huddle under the shelter, laughing,
shivering and congratulating one another.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Marveling at the massive and glorious storm that swells and rages around us.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The lake, the mountains, all is stunningly displayed in stark silhouette
against the never-ceasing lightning. We watch, breathless, from our front row
seats.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Eventually, gradually, the storm quiets, loses interest,
wanders on into the night.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We wait until the night is blacker, the rain and lightning
spent, to venture out and use oars to spell out “HA HA HA”, on the sand (a
tactic used by pranksters of a lesser prank previously in the summer) to throw
suspicion elsewhere, then lock the boat house behind us and head back to camp
amidst much puddle splashing and antics.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We didn’t get to finish the prank quite as we’d set out to,
but considered the entire venture highly successful. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We were high on adventure.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Quiet and stealthy again as we arrive atop Staff Hill,
whispers <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Goodnight, good prank! </i>and to
our separate ways and cabins.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Wet and shivering, thinking <i>I’ll never be warm again</i>!, I pull
on long underwear and wool socks and snuggle deep into my blankets, exhausted but pleased.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As I drift to sleep, the rain begins again outside the open
windows.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Somewhere out on the lake, a long string of boats bob and
bump against one another.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The next morning there is a rumor spreading that Ivy and
Odin pranked Water Front.</div>
<br /><div class="MsoNormal">
Just another day in Neverwood.</div>smallTownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01870250786732329787noreply@blogger.com0