First Fire

I drove home yesterday evening after a long day of work, appointments, and errands.  A residual chest cold had drained every last ounce of my fledgling energy and forced me to concentrate intensely on the road.  Otherwise, I would have enjoyed the lingering washes of sunlight that swept the skyline above the open, rolling fields as I passed.  Nearing home, I began weaving myself into forested hills and hollows.  I finally pulled in my gravel driveway with a wheezy sigh of relief.  I grinned.  A smoky billow was curling from our chimney.  I dragged myself and my groceries into the house and was immediately wrapped in the warm scent of hot soup and burning wood.  My husband had dinner and a hug ready when I stepped in the door.  If there was ever a winning combo to enhance my mood (and recovery), he’d nailed it.  The warmth from the fire in our cozy apartment, the steamy chicken soup, and a mug of soothing herbal tea were the perfect fit as I lay swaddled in a fleecy blanket on our couch.  The first fire of the season is always exciting; but this year, it was also therapeutic.  

A Little Taste of Everest

Adirondack High Peaks

Weeks ago I wrote that I had officially joined the 30's Club.  As a birthday gift Weldon suggested the two of us tack on some time before my family’s annual reunion in New York & Vermont over Columbus Day weekend.  We decided to fly one-way, rent a car, and do a mini camping tour of the White (NH), Green (VT), and Adirondack Mountains (NY).  In New Hampshire, we drove the famous Auto Road up Mt. Washington to the peak at 6,148 feet where a long-standing world record for wind speed was recorded at 231 mph in 1934.  In Vermont we met up with friends in Burlington after devouring the nautical tidbits on display at the nearby Lake Champlain Maritime Museum.  As our couple’s trip drew to a close we set up our tent at Adirondack Loj near Lake Placid, NY.  A friend of ours, an unofficial expert of the 46 High Peaks of the Adirondacks, gave us a tip about Adirondack Loj and the hike at Mt. Jo.  This hike, my friend assured us, was short and boasted as good a view as any of the majestic High Peaks region.  We took the bait and on a stunningly beautiful October afternoon last week we began our trek.  “It’s only 3.5 miles,” I shrugged…but then I added the Outdoor Idiot’s famous last words, "How bad could it be?”

Harvest Finale

Our intentions for an extended fall garden have all but unraveled.  Most of our brassica seedlings were mown off by an interloping groundhog.  In protest, the survivors refused to grow taller than 2 inches.  The next wave of seeds empathized with their masticated comrades and simply didn't sprout.  Though our spring peas did fairly well, the fall peas wallowed in the soil and decided they preferred their subterranean posts better than the airy sunshine above.  We never did get the turnips, kale, or chard seeded…oops.  The faster summer flew by, the more distant our fall garden pursuits became.  What we expected to be a multi-species autumnal smorgasbord dwindled to a humble vegetable platter.  But I’m not complaining…