between a rock and a hard place

how does…a series…well, maybe it was three, no four…times of nightly trips to the cupboard to eat peanut butter….only by the spoonful…effect a wee walk on the wild side?

throaty breathing and slight dizziness….have I walked too far for the state of my body type?

• should I phone the doctor after I get back to the land of network service?
• is that a pain in my side, or a sadistic side of pain?
• should my fundamental plan of action blame it on “old age?”
• didn’t my grandmother suffer from the same thing at this age?

if you go too far into the woods, you have gone too far.

I know. I went too far. ever have a washing machine in your stomach?  the agitator is active…your innards swirling around. but the worst sensation in middle age is build-up in the muffin gut. I have heard of this malady…and it sounds terrifying. almost as frightening as eating the wrong kind of moss, succumbing to a vegetative breakdown, while armed with a “Foraging In The Wild” Guidebook in the deep, dark woods, too far from the parking lot.

they say there is nothing like vacating your colon in the woods. it is part science, and about 3/4 art. one must be careful not to fall into the….

…butt first. green leaves work better than spotted ones. or ones with that burnt-toast look. and, in light of certain Quranic references, small pebbles are really not a good idea…

but…a clean colon is a happy colon. and a happy colon abruptly ends prolonged sentences…of…

so forget about the body type…you can morph after a simple vacation. a walk in the woods can expand into a session long enough for a youtube series on “survival in the wilderness within two miles of your vehicle.” just carry plenty of hand sanitizer, soap and water, or other essentials necessary for your vacation…

back out on the trail…the weight that so easily pulled me down was gone. the trail ahead opened to new possibilities. the topography that once seemed so strenuous became a joy, and I danced up the trail like a young buck.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A Peaceful Place

After reading a recent post online, I thought of this place…one of the most peaceful places I can remember…well, with the caveat that it was also in bear country, near wild huckleberries, a treat for bears.

But I did not encounter bears, I encountered this. I can imagine a region in Heaven being like this- a place so magnificent, so relaxing, you have to sit down and drink it all in…which is what I did here.

Apologies are for the birds

Climbing…deep breaths, sweat beads, heart beating in my head…curving up a switchback…rawrrrrr!…what the heck is that?…what?…two guys- standing on the side of the mountain in a man-made meadow…with chainsaws? Excuse me, but I’m on this trail and I came out here for peace and quiet! The bird above me is scolding them, although she sounds like she has accentuated it with “how are you?” in Gaeilge. So, I begin responding in Irish (Gaeilge). I swear the bird seems to understand me. She shoots back something similar. We are having a grand conversation, complaining about the dratted noise. I sit down under an Eastern Hemlock. The buzzing saw invades our quiet and she flits to another tree. Suddenly, quiet. A chipmunk squeeks past, a bumblebee buzzes toward the trail, and I munch on a Pampa Bar. My bird friend flits to a higher height, just as the chainsaws commence their grinding music. I have had enough. After hiking for more decades than I care to share, I have had it. I’m sick and tired of people ruining a wonderful place. I yell at the chainsaws, forgetting I haven’t switched back to English. The chainsaws stop, my bird friend responds, and I have a long respite from the sound of evil. So- I stand, grab my pack, and head down trail once again, knowing that it is silly for me to expect a developer to keep from ripping apart the side of a beautiful mountain. But in my pocket I have a camera, and I am taking those peaceful memories home.