Archive for the ‘Chronicle’ Category
Around Cornish
Pausing outside Barry and Carlos’ place for a moment, waiting to load into the huge rented SUV for a jaunt to Cornish, I balanced some rocks. How long until they’ll topple becomes a subject of interest each time we pass.
Before we reach Cornish, the closest hub of commerce for the summer camps in this area, the vehicle that we’ve been referring to as “the wildebeest” (as in BEAST) made a stop at the waste transfer station. Carlos carried the bag of recycling in one direction, and Barry took the bag of trash somewhere else.
Carlos returned directly, and Barry didn’t. After a brief delay, he reappeared with an apology. He ran into someone they knew, and they had a chat. This was a hint of what we soon learned is common wherever Barry and Carlos go in the vicinity of both their place in Boston and here in Maine.
Mere seconds after Barry parked the beast in Cornish, we were standing in the road, being introduced to someone they knew. Most of the antique or craft shops we browsed included a pause for Barry and Carlos to catch up on news or introduce us to someone with whom they have a connection.
It felt a little like we were enjoying the honor of walking around with the local mayor(s).
After walking the shops, the wildebeest made a stop at the grocery store so we could augment our food stores in preparation for hosting neighbors for grilled burgers tonight. The highlight of that stop was Mike’s noble deed of quietly buying a batch of bananas to gift a mom and her son after he overheard the boy’s request get turned down because she couldn’t afford them. Mike said he got a hug from her as she mentioned that tariffs are killing them. Ouch.
Back at camp, we ate a light lunch, saving room for our early dinner reservation at Max’s Restaurant & Pub at the romantic Snowvillage Inn located in Eaton Center, NH. Cyndie and Barry decided on an earlier-than-usual timing to allow for daylight viewing of the majestic Mount Washington and the White Mountains out the window of the dining areas.
Before settling down for a short pre-dinner nap, Barry guided us on a walking tour of the neighboring camps, describing all the owners and relationships to a degree worthy of a scholarly genealogist. I’m afraid I would miserably fail if there were a test on all that we might have learned.
Since dinner was early, there was plenty of time for a frivolous card game on the porch after we got back. Snack almonds were designated as a method to tally our losses. When you lost a hand, you ate a nut. Luckily, the bag was close by for Carlos to replace his “chips” each time he accidentally ate one in the middle of a hand.
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Hiking Foothills
Friday started with a breakfast of some eggs, bacon, a variety of fruits, and three different flavor versions of Cyndie’s fresh-baked scones. That became fuel we used to go for a short hike up Foss Mountain in Eaton, New Hampshire. The area is among the foothills of the White Mountains.
The most significant portion of the expedition is the need for four-wheel drive, high clearance navigation up the steep, rarely-graded one-lane gravel incline to reach a small parking area for the final half-mile walk to the top. There was one other vehicle parked when we arrived, and we found a family of three at the top as we reached the peak. I snapped today’s primary photo, capturing the man patiently waiting for his balloon to look just right for a picture he was after.
The scenery around Foss Mountain is prime territory for viewing the brilliant colors of autumn leaves. The ground along the climb and around the rocky surfaces at the top is covered with blueberry bushes. The vast fields on the way up are privately owned and off limits for picking, but visitors are free to collect berries at the top. We showed up between the seasons of fall colors and ripe berries.
You take what you get, and we were no less rewarded, being there on a warm, blue-sky September day.
Having just returned from bicycling in the Black Hills of South Dakota, I looked at the steep, rough gravel road with appreciation that I wasn’t pedaling my way up and back down the incline.
Barry drove us along two different winding scenic routes to and from the hike, extending our New Hampshire adventure with time to take in a multitude of classic New England views, including quaint communities, old burial grounds, beautiful landscapes, and wonderful old homes, farms, small businesses, and churches.
Stumbling upon Bobby Sue’s Homemade Ice Cream and Waffle Cones shop was a bonus. Even though we hadn’t had lunch yet, we treated ourselves to dessert first. It was as divine as our minds hoped it was going to be.
It served as a delicious accent to emphasize that we were on a vacation from our usual routines.
Destination: Camp
We have fled the big city for the scenic forests and laid-back living of rural Maine, where Barry and Carlos have created a glorious woodsy retreat, a second-home vacation-getaway-lake-place that is referred to in these parts as “camp.”
To get all six of us here in one vehicle, we rented a huge SUV and packed our luggage to the brim. Then we stopped for groceries on the way and tucked those bags in any space around our seats. It was a quick two-plus-hour drive to camp near Cornish, ME, not far from the border with New Hampshire.
It didn’t take long for the four people with a passion for swimming to don their suits and hustle down to the water for a dip. The featured photo for today is how I found them when I made my way down from the cottage. I told them that I took a picture of them “swimming.”
Eventually, three of them made their way fully into the water, and then Barb and Barry got in their laps of various strokes.
We met some neighbors and enjoyed a wonderful visit while their hyper dogs flailed their energy in every direction. The reason we checked in with them was because a third neighbor had offered up an extra bedroom in their place, but the key they gave Barry wasn’t the right one.
The key was meant to be a “just-in-case” backup because they were going to leave the door unlocked, but the cleaner had come and locked things up when she left. Luckily, she lived close and was able to come and open up for us to use.
As soon as the sun got low in the sky, the temperature began to drop, giving us a wonderfully cool September night. Barry grilled pork tenderloin, and we dined and told stories on the porch.
Today, hiking in the region is the plan. Maybe I’ll find something to photograph while we are out and about.
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More Boston
After a morning walk to Flour Bakery & Cafe for goodies, we returned to Barry and Carlos’ place for breakfast outside on their patio amid all the flowering greenery. Wednesday’s weather was perfect for strolling some 19,000 steps totaling around seven miles on the day.
We made our way through Chinatown toward the North End and a bit of the waterfront, with Barry identifying buildings and pointing out details along the way. I love having a tour guide so I don’t need to figure out where I am going. We walked near the building where Cyndie’s office was when she worked for the Boston Public School District for a year.
Outside the Aquarium, we enjoyed a close visit (through glass) with several seals.
Lunch was at the Bell In Hand tavern, America’s oldest continuously operating tavern since 1795. Think: clam chowder and fish & chips. Mmm. My favorite.
We made a quick pass through Faneuil Hall Marketplace, walked solemnly through a Holocaust memorial, and visited two notable burial grounds where Revolutionary War-era patriots are interred, including Paul Revere and three signers of the Declaration of Independence.
The trees and other greenery of the Rose Kennedy Greenway had a couple of people pulling out phones to use an app to identify some of what we were seeing. It has me wanting to try adding a few unique new tree species to our property in Beldenville.
Our route back brought us to The Embrace sculpture on Boston Common, depicting four intertwined arms representing the hug shared when Martin Luther King Jr. was awarded the Nobel Peace Prize in 1964. The afternoon was topped off with a visit to the home of a friend, Kathy Graven, whose family was one of the founders of the Wildwood Lodge Club in Hayward, WI.
After a brief rest, we headed to The Elephant Walk South End restaurant for a dinner of Cambodian-French fusion offerings. Oh, my. The favors were rich, robust, and rewarding. My choice was from the day’s specials: Swordfish. I’m not sure that I was worthy of such exquisite cuisine.
Okay, maybe a few more images from the day…
Viewing Boston
We needed to wake up at 3 a.m. to drive to the airport, which made for a long day, but we arrived in Boston before lunchtime, giving us plenty of daylight to go for a walk to experience Barry and Carlos’ neighborhood. I am still longing to be able to pick one image from our day, but am now choosing to feature one at the top and offer thumbnails of a few others for some additional scenes I captured.
I looked up at the sky with the angular shape of the Hancock Tower and the sunlight features showing in the lens, and I have settled on that as my pick for the day.
We dined at Tatte Bakery & Cafe in the South End, where I enjoyed a fabulous roasted salmon sandwich on a housemade challah roll. I think the “bun” is what sent this delight over the top for me, but the salmon was substantial and prepared to perfection.
Early check-in was available at the Stay Pineapple for the room we reserved for Barb and Mike, so we walked with their luggage to get a look at their room. I was captivated by the whimsical dog sculpture and the tile mosaic in the foyer.
From there, we headed toward the three levels of a 360° “View Boston” experience at the Prudential Center after a quick exploration of the Boston Public Library. Our expert tour guide, Barry, walked us around a big loop to get back to their condo, where we crashed for a much-needed nap. I have no directional sense and was completely at the mercy of others to figure out which way to go.
We hung out on their 5th-floor patio for drinks and snacks before ordering Mexican take-out for dinner. We just got to Boston, and it feels like we’ve seen and done enough for several days already.
Today promises to offer even more of a similar type of Boston adventures. I fully expect I will be unable to choose just one image to represent all that we will see and do.
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It’s Starting
In September, the shortening of days becomes more noticeable. The temperature swings between morning and afternoon force clothing adjustments from jackets to shirt sleeves. Tree leaves begin to reveal that their growing season is coming to an end.
The tops of some of our trees are starting to show some orange. Cyndie has set our thermostat to “Auto” to cool the house if the daytime gets too warm and bring heat when the nights get too chilly. Schools are in session, and fall sports are underway.
Advertisers peddling goods via Christmas themes won’t be far behind.
I experimented with relaxing my perfectionistic tendencies yesterday in order to get enough mowing done to feel like our place is ready for us to be gone for a week. The grass remained damp enough that it was difficult to get a grip with the riding mower’s tires.
It didn’t feel like I had time to carefully navigate sideways slopes, so there was a fair amount of failure to keep the free-spinning front wheels of the zero-turn from uncontrolled turns downhill. It was a haphazard, frequently circular route to getting all the grass blades trimmed.
The wet soil and slippery grass resulted in a far greater occurrence of spinning wheels when I simply wanted to execute a turn. Normally, this causes me a lot of angst and a fair amount of foul language, and inspires me to try many ways to prevent it from happening. Not yesterday, though.
I chose the alternative of not caring in an effort to accomplish the greater goal of having the whole place mowed before we leave. I’m the only one who will even notice the increased number of skid marks.
It’s September. People’s attention will be on the trees, not on the dirt marks in our grass.
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Wet Mowing
Wetness abounds this morning. After a first round of mowing yesterday, I parked the rider, put the batteries on their chargers, and went in for some lunch. A peek at the weather radar revealed I had limited time to make much more progress on mowing. While the tractor batteries charged, I grabbed the push mower and hustled down to the labyrinth.
I was maybe 4/5s of the way through when the droplets started sprinkling down. I finished anyway, hoping that the electric mower wouldn’t be hypersensitive to working in the rain. The shower was of short duration but long enough to make it too wet to do any more mowing.
Cyndie put a rain cover on Mia because the last time it rained, the old mare shivered significantly when she got wet. This time, it wasn’t as cool or windy, but Cyndie chose a little extra caution, just in case.
I didn’t think it was necessary, but soon after, another round of precipitation arrived and soaked things even more, and my thinking changed. It’s a good thing Cyndie’s intuition is so keen.
As we emerged from the woods this morning on our rounds, it was hard to tell whether the moisture droplets on the horizon were steam rising up from the heat of the rising sun or fog settling down toward the ground.
Water droplets were clinging to new spider webs, accenting the mastery of the intricacies of the structures.
Just a couple of steps in the yard had our boots soaking wet. Hopefully, the declining angle of September sunshine won’t delay the drying of grass blades too long. I have plenty of mowing left to do and dwindling days to accomplish it all. We need to leave somewhere around zero-dark-thirty Tuesday morning to meet Mike and Barb for a ride to the airport to catch a flight to Boston. Today and tomorrow are all I’ve got left to finish another week’s worth of groundskeeping tasks.
It seems like travel adventures with the Wilkuses in September are becoming an annual event. Last year at this time, we were all headed to Iceland together. Much earlier this morning, I was dreaming we were already underway and driving to a destination that took the car around a corner too fast while Cyndie and Mike were somehow joint-driving in classic reality-defying dream logic.
I felt myself clinching in preparation for a crash as the car rounded a corner on only two wheels, with the rest of the car hanging in mid air over a dropoff. Thank goodness the gravity in dream-world didn’t pull us down.
It’s not like I have any lingering subconscious aversion to traveling or anything…
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Usual Elevation
Home again at an elevation my lungs are more accustomed to, my mind lingers in the Black Hills of South Dakota and the priceless fellowship of precious friends sharing an affinity for bicycling.
Yesterday, I drove from sun-up Mountain Time to sun-down Central Time in a completely different muscle-stiffening endurance exercise than pedaling nonstop for hours on end. I crossed most of South Dakota and Minnesota to get back to Beldenville in Wisconsin, where Cyndie and Asher were awaiting my return.
It’s good to be home.
The wide open expanses of South Dakota offered a stark reminder of how small our little rectangle of fields and forest really is. The massive hay production underway for mile after mile was remarkable to see now that I know a little more about the process.
The horse ranches are just as impressive. We saw real cowboys wrangling cattle as we whizzed by at over 80 mph on I90.
As I made one of the last few turns around a cornfield toward our driveway, the clouds looked busy in the sky. When I pulled in, I came to Cyndie walking in my direction. She was looking for Asher, who was chasing after a cat that appeared on our property.
He came running to me soon after in a special “welcome home” that only dogs excel in performing to such a degree.
This morning was a treat to reconnect with our horses. I smirked to myself while cleaning up their manure after a week of dodging cow messes on the trail. I’m glad I don’t have to clean up after cattle herds.
I’ll be thinking a lot about the previous week while I am mowing the overgrown grass that grows so thick at our much lower elevation compared to where I huffed and puffed while pedaling that marvelous gravel Mickelson Trail.
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To Deadwood
We are back on our bikes again today, riding north on the Mickelson Trail, this time to Deadwood.
Our much appreciated day of rest included a drive along the Needles Highway.
The rock formations are a wonder to behold. They look cool, too.
Rich and I took a moment to do a little bouldering.
Gary was happy to stay in the car, where the chance of taking a tumble is significantly lower.
After the Needles, Rich drove us up the precarious gravel curves to see the fire lookout tower on Mount Coolidge, 6023 feet elevation.
Climbing the steps to the observation deck left me short of breath.
It definitely feels like I’m not in Beldenville anymore.
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Reality Bit
We got bit by a great big dose of reality yesterday. All that easy gliding down the trail we enjoyed on Sunday was wiped out by our plan of reversing direction and riding back the way we came. That meant climbing 3009 feet one day after draining our bodies with 63 miles of riding the day before.
It was incredibly exhausting which made it harder to take in the glorious scenery.
Spectacular rock formations.
Pine tree forest.
Cactus and yucca plants.
Mule deer right beside the trail.
Wild turkeys.
Beautiful cattle herds.
Freshly cut and baled hay fields.
A hawk sailing overhead and darting around trees.
Horses ranches and riders all over the place.
Odd sightings of abandoned junk cars seemingly in the middle of nowhere.
Crazy Horse carving in the rocks that has barely changed in decades.
Fellow cyclists sharing greetings and gladly visiting when opportunity presents itself.
We are having a great time, but got our butts whooped yesterday.
Today will be a day of rest as planned all along. A much needed rest.
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Relative Something 