We start the Presidential Traverse in about ten days from now, and I am belatedly and frantically attempting to not die. 

This four day hike in the White Mountains seemed like a great idea six months ago, and I assumed that getting in shape for it would be great motivation to exercise regularly. I figured I’d go for hikes most weekends in July, and go to my crazy loud spin and treadmill classes a couple of times per week all summer. Instead, somehow the summer got away from me and it is already mid-August and I have only be prepping for one week. Oh well.

Dorian and I did go for a hike last weekend, doing the Welch-Dickey loop in just over four hours. It was a glorious day, and it is a beautiful and satisfying hike, and we did pretty well. We enjoyed a lovely Polly’s Pancake Parlor breakfast with my brother Richard and Lisa beforehand, which always helps!

I had to stop to catch my breath way too often on the ascent up Welch, but my legs held up. That hike has 1600 feet of elevation gain, compared to 3500 feet on the first day of the traverse (3500 feet! What am I thinking?!). Dorian was hardly breaking a sweat with all his recent pickleball. Nobody was feeling dizzy or lightheaded like we were on our sweltering ascent of Mt Monadnock earlier this summer, which was a relief. I don’t know if that was due to Polly’s Breakfast or the lower heat and humidity or something else entirely. I bought Gatorade powder for the traverse in case our Monadnock fiasco was due to low electrolytes.

This week I also went to my spin class, a treadmill and strength training class, and Pilates. My legs feel like rubber, but at least I feel like I’ve tried. Dorian is going to teach us all to play pickleball tomorrow, and on Sunday we plan to do a family hike (the kids just got back from camp). This may all be too little too late, but I hope not. We’ll see! I think the kids will be fine. I am definitely the slow and out of shape one in the family.

Sorry I am behind again in my blog posts. I don’t have a good excuse. I did indeed end up binge watching Stranger Things, and watched that on evenings when I meant to be writing. Now the kids are hooked, which I’m not entirely sure is a good idea. 

There seems to be a lot of “not entirely sure it’s a good idea” in my life right now.  I guess we’ll find out soon enough. Adventure awaits!

The dog days of summer are upon us, and here I am Googling the etymology of languid vs language and finding myself disinclined to exert myself in any meaningful way. It is a day for lake houses, beaches or swimming pools, but sitting out on my dappled shady deck with a light breeze and my laptop will have to do for now. Elanor and Kira are home from camp for the weekend, and we return them in a couple of hours. They are enjoying downtime of their own.

Maybe I should feel more motivated to make productive use of my time, but I just read an article about rising burnout in Sweden and how it is important not to make your non-work life feel like work, too, and to have large chunks of time not trying to accomplish anything or to be efficient or useful. And today is hot and humid. And I dislike air conditioning, though I know we’ll need to succumb as the temperature climbs later in the day. (Maybe I’ll dislike it less now that we had the filters changed in our air conditioners. Who knew that was a thing? Adulting: not a strong suit).

So instead of giving you an account of how I am stacking up rather abysmally against my various exercise, home improvement, nature and creativity goals, and how not-ready we are to tackle the Presidential Traverse in a few short weeks, I’ll tell you about some outwardly useless things that we have been enjoying instead. (Though I did spend some time in our overgrown jungle of a garden for the first time in weeks, and got some help with my song from my talented friend Katherine, so am only a mostly complete slacker.)

Our family saw Aladdin yesterday, the new live-action Disney version. At this point it has only limited showtimes in tiny theaters, so see it while you can! We all loved it. Will Smith was terrific, as was the casting overall. The updated music was as catchy as ever. The big, over the top musical scenes translated really well, with kind of a Bollywood feel. Emotive flying carpet. Excellent chase scenes. Two thumbs up. (I’m also a big fan of the original version.)

We have also been playing a lot of Gloomhaven, the enormous and complicated board game that was Dorian’s 50^th birthday present to himself. I had been skeptical at first, since each session takes about four hours to play including setup and cleanup and it has a zillion pieces and rules. But it is really fun, interesting, and addictive. So the big time investment mostly translates into me staying up until midnight more often than I should. (My body still wakes up at 6:30am no matter what time I go to bed.) It is like a board game version of D&D battles, with one battle full of interesting tactical choices per session. The sessions are tied together with long-term plot arcs and more interesting choices about which paths to take and how to enhance your characters over time with new items and abilities.

One thing I really like about Gloomhaven is that it is a multi-session cooperative game that you can play with whoever happens to be available, instead of always needing everyone to be present every time. Dorian and I have played with the kids a few times, with our friend Jeff a few times, and by ourselves a few times. It all works, and is extremely well calibrated so that all the battles feel hopeless at some point yet we manage to squeak through. I play a “Cragheart”, a rocky giant who hurls boulders about. It’s fun.

Dorian introduced me to the show “Stranger Things”.  We’ve only watched a couple of episodes due to lack of time, but I see a binge watch in my future. I miss 80’s kids riding around everywhere on bicycles. Things are so different now.

Strawberries and blueberries. The farm share fruit has been particularly delicious this year, and disappears all too quickly.

Seasons 52 in Burlington, MA. Expensive but delicious, and free champagne and dessert if you have a birthday person in your party (which we did)! Not a place to bring Kira on a growth spurt, but seems like a terrific place to bring my health conscious mother-in-law for a special occasion. They are so healthy they don’t bring out bread, which is too bad, but their Sangria (honey lavender?) more than makes up for it.

My deck, my armchair, my cat. I do love my shady deck surrounded by trees. I have now moved to the armchair that Charlotte gave us (Dorian turned on the air conditioning), and it is more comfortable though devoid of breeze and leaf rustle. Our cat Whitby is loafing nearby and makes everything better. It is easy to underestimate the pleasure of lounging about. Whitby is a perpetual reminder.

Maybe I’ll follow her lead and sign off and loaf now, or perhaps take a nap. I’ll make myself useful later by swimming in a pool and visiting friends. Can I count that as exercise?

Until next week!

I’ll try to dig myself out of my blog-tardy hole by telling you more about my recent back country canoeing adventure with Elanor, with photos!

A couple of weeks ago, my 14-year old daughter Elanor and I spent four days and three nights paddling the Bog River Flow to Lows Lake up near Tupper Lake in the Adirondacks. We had done some overnight canoe camping as a family when the kids were small enough to fit in a canoe along with Dorian and I and all our gear. We did a guided canoe trip on the Allagash River in Maine a couple of years ago, with Elanor paddling up front (while Dorian got a crash course in steering through rapids in the back), with the river current and our indomitable guide Chip to help us. Our recent trip was the first time it was just Elanor and me, on a multiday wilderness canoe trip involving portages and big lakes. It was our next level up adventure, and we both loved it and learned some valuable lessons.

First, some quick lessons to remember for next time:

• It is not enough to bring 30% deet mosquito repellent.  Bring anti-itch cream, too. You’ll be glad you did.
• If you have the choice between taking a direct path through a graveyard of log snags or going the long way round, go the long way, particularly if you have a Kevlar canoe.
• Take the time to scout out your options when navigating a floating bog.
• Don’t way overestimate the amount of food to bring. Portaging and bear-bagging is a pain in the butt.
• Leave plenty of time to find a camp site.
• When in doubt, trust Elanor (except when she wants to sit on a towel on the wet sandy beach).
• Elanor is perfectly capable of hoisting a canoe over her head and onto a minivan (see previous point).
• Bring clothes pegs and quick-trying towels and socks (see earlier point)
• Don’t forget to return the paddles and lifejackets afterwards!

We headed out on our adventure on July 1^st, driving about 5 ½ hours from near Boston to the town of Saranac Lake in update New York. We had a late start due to car mechanical problems (opting for our broken AC minivan instead of our leaky oil pump Mini Cooper) but had a gorgeous drive on country roads with the windows open through New Hampshire, Vermont, and the Adirondacks. Vermont was particularly beautiful, with the hills and farmland around Middlebury and the Lake Champlain valley.

All of the locals we met in Saranac Lake were incredibly helpful and friendly, particularly the lady at our motel (Amanda’s Village Motel – I’m not sure if she was Amanda), the sarcastic early morning breakfast waitress at the Blue Moon Café, and the folks at St Regis Canoe outfitters – where we showed up at 8am to stock up on all of the supplies we had forgotten (ground sheet, whistles, water purification tablets etc). They had a huge selection of gear and incredibly helpful and knowledgeable staff. I wish I had taken them up on their offer of advice about our route!

Properly decked out and fortified, we drove to Tupper Lake to pick up our canoe from the Raquette River Outfitters and drive to the put in a few miles away. We opted for a Kevlar canoe, which is much lighter than usual but also needs to be treated gently. Elanor proved that she is indeed tall and strong enough to hoist a canoe onto a minivan, despite my doubts. We also put on bug spray BEFORE driving to the put-in at the lower dam, since we had been warned it was very buggy. I’m glad we did!

We got a parking spot and successfully launched ahead of a large summer camp group of teenage boys, shortly before 11am. The beginning section of the river twists and turns a lot, and the way isn’t always clear, but we fell in with a friendly retired couple in kayaks who knew the way and offered us lots of advice about campsites and what to expect ahead. (I also had a waterproof map, but had not yet realized that it was a good idea to always keep it out while paddling to keep track of where you are, instead of only bringing it out once lost.) We saw a turtle and a bald eagle within our first half hour of paddling. We got to the portage at the upper dam in about an hour-ish. I felt mighty hoisting the canoe onto my shoulders (even though it really wasn’t very mighty, being 40 pounds and well balanced), and we walked maybe a quarter of a mile or so along a smooth dirt path past the overgrown foundations of a stone building to the top of the dam as Elanor lugged our other gear. We had to go back for a second trip because of my enormous thermarest and my having packed WAY too much food.

From the top of the dam, it was perhaps two hours of paddling to Lows Lake, where there were a bunch of campsites near the entrance to the lake and many more further in. It can take much longer when the wind is against you, since the river heads pretty much due west against the prevailing winds, but we were lucky and the wind was quiet. We stopped for a lovely lunch at campsite 10, not far beyond the dam, and loitered perhaps longer than we should have since we were making such good time and hadn’t seen any other people on the river.

Not far beyond that, we encountered the floating bog. Apparently, it has not always been floating, and in the past one could reliably paddle around it. But then there was some year with high waters during which it became detached from the bottom and now shifts around where it likes, so you just have to get there and wing it. In our case, that meant getting ourselves and all our gear out onto the mud twice to haul the canoe over some tricky bits (particularly since we didn’t want to force our way through with a Kevlar canoe), but we got through it.

We came to the place where the Bog River opens up onto the lake around 3-ish. That is when I made my tactical mistake. When the river opens up, there are a bunch of islands and a bunch of different routes you can take around them. Campsite 18 was at the far end of these inner islands, facing west onto the open lake, and by all accounts was gorgeous. I figured we’d take the southern route via campsite 17 towards 18, which would let us check out some other campsites along the way, and so headed in that direction. We paddled along and got to a point where the channel was wide but there were the tips of lots of logs sticking out of the water. It looked like there was space to get between them and it was the most direct path, so I kept going. We soon discovered that it was trickier than I thought, due to the much larger sections of logs UNDER the water. Elanor wanted to turn back and take the long way around, and I kept saying “but we’re almost through! Look, it gets better ahead!”. I was always wrong. We might have forced our way through with an old beater canoe, but were paranoid about the Kevlar and so I had to get out of the canoe to balance on submerged logs and ease it over the tricky spots.

We came out the other end wet and late. I should have listened to Elanor! We got to campsite 18 to find that it had already been taken. Elanor wanted to keep going onto the open lake, but I wanted to check out west-facing campsite 13 that was back a ways (via a different path). It was also taken. By this point, there were other boats about clearly looking for camp sites and we were too tired to contemplate a long paddle against the open lake waves to the farther sites. We stopped at campsite 14, which was okay but not great, and buggy. Elanor hid in the tent while I cooked dinner, and we agreed to get an early start the next morning to venture across the lake. I told myself that I’d go with whatever site Elanor wanted next time.

We awoke around 5:30 the next morning to impenetrable fog. We packed up camp anyway and had granola bars for breakfast, and by the time we had the boat loaded the fog had thinned into pockets of mist rising from the glass-still lake. It is my favorite time to be on the water, with the morning birds, the reflections, the stillness, the rising mist. We paddled through beauty and past loons, and made good time across the lake.

Campsite 20, the next gorgeous campsite, was taken. We checked out some others which were buggy or uninspiring and kept going to campsite 26, which was northeast facing onto a quiet cove, but also had a sandy spit between the cove and the main lake. Elanor loved it at once. Loons welcomed us in the cove, morning sun filled the campsite, there was a lovely spot for the tent overlooking the water, there were interesting paths to explore on our own private peninsula. I was less convinced, afraid that it would be dark and buggy in the afternoons, without a breeze from the west. I hedged, and had us leave most of our gear at the site while we went on a bit further to check out campsites 27 and 28, south facing with beaches on the main lake. One of those was really nice and checked my boxes for what to look for in campsite, but it didn’t tug at us the way site 26 had, and I reminded myself that I was going to trust Elanor. She was right, again. (We also noticed several leeches on the bottom of our boat when we got back to 26, which I choose to blame on one of the other sites. They weren’t a problem where we were.)

It turned out that site 26 was full of dappled sunlight in the afternoons, there was a breeze through a gap in the mountains, and we could even see the sunset from our sandy spit. (I was very confused by this, looking at my compass, but it turns out there is a non-negligible gap between true north and magnetic north). In fact, site 26 was just as lovely all day as it was in the early mornings (when you could see the sunrise). We set up camp and felt sorry for the people who arrived throughout the day (the day being July 3^rd) in search of campsites. We spent the day loafing and drawing and chatting and soaking it all in, as well as doing camp chores. We were entertained by ravens and masses of butterflies. We baked apples with butter, cinnamon, nuts and raisins over Elanor’s campfire (since she has foresworn marshmallows). They were delicious.

The next day, Elanor stayed in camp while I hiked a nearby mountain, whose trailhead was near our campsite. I had another run-in with logs and mud as I looked for a spot to leave my canoe (failing to notice the OTHER much nicer place), and hauled myself up the mountain and scrambled up rocky ledges. The trail was dodgy in places, and I did wonder if I was taking too big of a risk – what if got injured or lost on my own miles from anywhere with Elanor stuck in camp without a canoe? I had my newly acquired whistle, and there was another family camped across the cove from Elanor. Maybe it was stupid of me, but the view was really nice at the top. There was also a welcome breeze and an armada of dragonflies protecting me (it was a hot humid day). Once back at camp, Elanor and I enjoyed a refreshing leech-free swim in the lake and a nice evening paddle.

July 5^th had been forecast for isolated thunderstorms, and I noticed the wind blowing out of the east (against us) at sunrise, so we packed up early the next morning to get across the open lake before the wind, waves, and storms picked up. In fact, it was a calm paddle across the lake, and when the wind did pick up it was from the west, pushing us back home. We had a trickier time with the bog in this direction. I think I missed a good channel through the middle, and we ended up having to get out of our delicate canoe onto the floating mat of sphagnum moss (or whatever the bog is made of) to ease it through to a better path. I had our massive heavy pack on my back when I fell over on the soft squishy bog. I managed to get up without breaking through the bog into the water below, but it was not graceful! We somehow got our gear and ourselves back into the canoe without capsizing. It was actually really fun, in hindsight. A frog mocked us as we portaged our gear and boat over one last muddy stretch.

The rest of the paddle back was uneventful. The portage over the upper dam was fine. I had been worried about having such a long day of paddling, since we had camped so far into the lake, but the wind picked up and pushed us along, and we got back to the put in late morning before the rain started. We felt sorry for the burly guys we passed who were working much harder to go in the opposite direction. We returned our fancy canoe undamaged. Sadly, we forgot to also return our paddles and life jackets and brought them home to Boston. I had been so proud of myself for being on top of things for once! (We FedExed them back later.) We fortified ourselves with iced coffee from a hipster café in Tupper Lake and took the boring highway way home (south to 90 then across Massachusetts). That was a BAD idea without air conditioning, but we did get to see Custard’s Last Stand ice cream stand in Long Lake, New York (and make Dorian’s dad’s day – that’s the name of the award he gives to the best themed string band in the Philadelphia New Year’s Mummer’s parade).

All in all, a grand adventure. We felt challenged, restored, exerted, and filled up with nature-y goodness. I need these wilderness retreats to reset and reorient my soul. I think Elanor does, too. I’m so glad we could share this together, and hope to do it again. There are all kinds of watery places to explore up that way. The Bog River to Lows Lake was a great introduction.

More next week!

The vacation afterglow didn’t last long. I have been slammed with work blechness and was too down and distracted to write last week. I know I should write regardless, but I also don’t think it is very interesting to read a post about me wailing and gnashing my teeth and I don’t want to dive too much into details. The short version is that one my best coworkers is leaving, and I don’t know how to make things better, and I wish I were better at making things better in both work and life.

So what can I write about that isn’t too raw, but still genuine? How about thoughts on the 50^th birthday of the Internet, saving the world startups, lounging in meadows admiring grasshoppers, and what to aspire to in life?

Last week, MIT hosted Net@50, a smallish gathering of the founders of the Internet and friends, to celebrate the 50^th anniversary of the first message being sent over the Internet (back then the arpanet) back in October 1969. They told great stories about the early days and how they ended up doing what they did, and various mishaps and detours along the way. The event also featured sessions about challenges facing the Internet today (security, social media downsides) and even a session on the Interspecies Internet project, which included a video message from Jane Goodall and included Peter Gabriel talking to us about his work improvising music with Bonobos. It was really cool. My company was one of the sponsors of the event, and I was incredibly honored to be invited as one of the guests. There are definitely days when I like my job! (We also ran our “How the Internet Works” workshop for our Girls Who Code summer cohort last week, another reason to like work).

It was clear that their lifetime of work was a huge source of satisfaction for the Internet Founders, and rightly so. They worked on interesting problems and had an impact beyond their wildest dreams.

My colleague who is leaving is going to work for a startup that intends to save the world, or at least to help farmers sequester an additional Teraton of carbon beyond what they do today, thus combatting global warming. The technology sounds really cool – using sensor data and machine learning methods to help farmers optimize their crop management and to measure the additional carbon sequestration gained by regenerative farming practices (and getting farmers paid for it by folks looking for carbon offsets). I have been talking about wanting to do work that helps combat global warming, and here she is walking the walk. Maybe I should do that, too! But reading up on the company, it is definitely in “work crazy hours” startup mode. I think that can be really exciting for someone early in their career and without a family. I have fond memories of my Looking Glass all nighters, and early days at Akamai when we were all pulling hard together to avert catastrophe.

Does it make me a terrible person that I want to do interesting work to help save our planet, but only if I don’t have to work crazy hours to do it? I only have a few years left with the kids at home (presumably), and already wish I had more time for family and friends. I already struggle with work-life balance. Maybe I’d feel differently if I thought I were particularly essential to the work, instead of it being better covered by someone else.

This gets into what role work plays in a meaningful life. When work gets crazy and frustrating, I fantasize about retiring (yet somehow still being able to provide my family with a good quality of life!). I think I would enjoy it, and would find various satisfying things to do with my time. Other folks I talk to find the very idea abhorrent – that it is only the time you spend busily doing, working, contributing, building, creating, achieving that counts. Part of me feels the same way, that I would be a total slacker unless I found some new constructive socially acceptable thing to do with my newfound time, and that I would be incredibly lame if I accomplished nothing. But part of me doesn’t. Part of me thinks it would be lovely to stop pushing and to spend more time basking in the beauty of the world and those I am blessed to share it with.

What will you do with your one wild and precious life?

Mary Oliver is cheating, because I imagine she worked very hard at crafting and publishing her poems and did not actually spend all of her time lolling about, but I bet she spent a lot of it lolling, and I do love this poem.

Who made the world?

Who made the swan, and the black bear?

Who made the grasshopper?

This grasshopper, I mean-

the one who has flung herself out of the grass,

the one who is eating sugar out of my hand,

who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down-

who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes.

Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face.

Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away.

I don’t know exactly what a prayer is.

I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down

into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,

how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,

which is what I have been doing all day.

Tell me, what else should I have done?

Doesn’t everything die at last, and too soon?

Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?

Mary Oliver, “The Summer Day”

I think perhaps it is about finding the sweet spot, the right balance between blessedly idle and productive. And maybe there is no balance, but at least alternating between the two with some regularity depending upon circumstances. I only just recently got back from vacation, but already could do with a bit more lounging with grasshoppers. Too bad we are in the middle of a 100 degree heat wave. 

Elanor and I did see this neat bug determinedly clinging to our car window when heading out for our canoe trip, so I’ll leave you with a photo of that. We also enjoyed the company of White Admiral butterflies, and the protection of an armada of dragonflies.

More soon, maybe.

My heart is full but time is short, so this week I will just give you a poem and some pictures.

Understand, I'll slip quietly
away from the noisy crowd
when I see the pale
stars rising, blooming, over the oaks.

I'll pursue solitary pathways
through the pale twilit meadows,
with only this one dream:

You come too.

This is the poem “Pathways”, by Rainer Maria Rilke. Dorian’s sister Betsy chose it for her wedding, and it brings tears to my eyes because it rings so true.

It is fitting as we celebrate Dorian’s 50^th birthday this week, with over twenty years of partnership. He is a social creature, but loves my pilgrim hermit ways, too.

And it is me and Elanor, as we slipped quietly into the Adirondack wilderness for our canoe camping trip this week. It was much more strenuous, adventurous and buggy than meandering through twilit meadows (though I bet those have lots of mosquitoes, too!), and I will try to write more about it when I have time, but we loved our solitary nature time together.

More next week!

I keep looking for some reason to dislike California, but it’s hard. I’m currently sitting on Dorian’s sister Betsy’s deck with a view across San Francisco Bay to Mount Diablo. The sky is blue, the temperature is perfect, there is a slight breeze and no humidity, and a bird is singing through the trees.

The best I can come up with is that people here are spoilt and wilt easily in the face of actual weather. Or maybe they are too tech and startup focused. Or too out of touch, with their early Apple shares and gorgeous dressage horses. But all those complaints ring hollow. It really is ridiculously lovely here for folks who can afford it. I’d have a hard time calling this area home (I’ll keep my humidity, mosquitoes, and icy dark depressing winters, thank you very much!), but I am very, very happy to visit.

We spent a couple of days by the coast and a day exploring San Francisco since I last wrote. We took Charlotte and our niece Maya to Carmel-by-the-Sea, where we stayed at the garden-strewn Colonial Terrace Inn a block from the ocean. I had discovered it on a previous business trip and was thrilled to share it with my family. The weather was uncharacteristically cloudy and cool in Carmel and the gardens were thriving.

We spent a morning walking the trails and poking in tidepools at Point Lobos, a state preserve on the coast a few miles south of Carmel. Again, the flowers were incredible, as was the rugged shoreline, the sea otters, the shorebirds, and crabs (hermit and otherwise). It was hard to pare down to a few photos but here are some of my favorites.

We also spent a day at the incomparable Monterrey Bay aquarium. Their massive kelp forest and deep ocean tanks are very impressive (especially the swarming schools of sardines at feeding time), though I think my new favorite sea creature is the cuttlefish. The rock-hopping fish were really cool, too. And the sea otters were incredibly cute. We also enjoyed a delicious lunch at The Fish Hopper with an incredible view overlooking the sunny bay, with its seagulls and sea otters. (We had really yummy dinners at Yafa and Porta Bella in Carmel, too).

Back in the San Francisco area, Dorian and the girls spent a day exploring the San Francisco Exploratorium while I went into the Akamai San Francisco office for a work meeting. Betsy’s colleague had recommended the Exploratorium, and it did not disappoint. The place is filled with hands-on science-related activities and demonstrations, including parabolic whispering dishes and magnetized pendulums. They spent four and a half hours there any didn’t even get through half of it. If it weren’t such a trek to get there, they would have returned again today.

We did get in a bunch of good extended family time, too, which was long overdue. It is great to be with smart, quirky, passionate people, and even better when I am related to them (by marriage)! I learned a bunch about rocket science, which was a bonus.

This has turned out to be much more of a travelogue post than a pensive post. But maybe you’ll find it useful if you ever visit the area. I think there is a lot to chew on about what constitutes a successful life, and what to aspire to work-wise and beyond, and why I distrust excessive sunshine. But this isn’t a place for heavy thoughts. I’ll keep basking on this patio in this slice of heaven before heading home tomorrow.

More next week!

It’s hard to know where to begin this week. I’m sitting at a picnic table being watched by a horse as the early morning light filters through the leaves and needles of foreign trees, and my daughters sleep nearby in an enormous tent held together with duct tape (the tent, not my daughters, and really just one tent pole). I’ve just returned from a stroll through a sunlit meadow to a bench with a beautiful view of the next ridge beyond, having opted out of the longer walk to the allegedly more gorgeous view so I could drink my coffee and savor the view and come back here to write before the day gets crazy.

I’m at Jack Brook Horse Camp, somewhere near La Honda, California, and my sister-in-law just married a cowboy. It is hardly surprising that Dorian’s sister Betsy is wonderful and unconventional, and one of my favorite people. Nor is it surprising that she chose someone equally decent and non-boring to marry. Betsy looked gorgeous in her white sundress and cowboy hat with veil, and the wedding was a wonderful combination of poetry, canapes, “Rawhide”, and embarrassing stories about Betsy and the Bermuda Triangle (with Betsy’s dad, the judge and officiant, apparently egged on by Dorian).

The groom, Mike, rode into the ceremony on his horse, Lit, both decked out with braids and flowers in their hair. It was goofy, magnificent, and very much Mike and Betsy. I cried but still managed not to mess up the music. Charlotte danced. Dorian’s nephew Blake sang. Dorian mingled and kept everyone laughing. Kira was laser focused on cake and s’mores. Elanor wielded a hand axe and managed the fire. We stayed up late around the campfire listening to stories of Swedish midsummer festivals (not entirely kid appropriate!) and quitting corporate life to build one’s dream job with horses (which I imagine becomes more feasible with a Silicon Valley bigwig husband, but inspiring nonetheless).

Thor is now Kira’s second favorite horse in the world after Mikki (the Icelandic horse she fell in love with last summer). Elanor and Kira went riding Friday afternoon with Magda, a Swedish woman with the aforementioned dream job specialty trail riding business. Thor is a small, energetic Arabian mare who shines in competitive endurance riding (think 50 mile trail ride races) but is also kind to beginners. It was love at first sight, and we had to peel Kira out of the saddle at the end. As the stronger rider, Elanor had the tougher job of riding the “always tries to grab grass”, “walks slowly”, “will do what you tell him to once you stop asking” horse Mister, whose somewhat contrary attitude resonated with my teenage daughter! Magda kindly lent Kira another one of her horses, Cayley, to ride Saturday morning with Mike and Betsy.

I didn’t ride, but did enjoy some quality time communing with trees in Ewok forests. One of the trails from the camp leads quickly into a forest of giant redwood trees. Photos do not do them justice.

I also spent a bunch of time helping get things set up for the wedding. Betsy had been worried about the guests and catering trucks being able to make it in the narrow, treacherous, washed-out-in-places entrance road to the camp (and it wasn’t easy for some folks) but everything turned out beautifully.

The kids are up now. Time to pack up camp and get some breakfast. More next week!

Another tardy blog post (sorry, Richard!). I was going to write something short on Friday about gardening and include all sorts of lovely pictures from my garden, which is full of gorgeous blooming things this year despite my historically brown thumbs. But instead I shamelessly spent much of Friday and a good chunk of the rest of the weekend composing music (as well as gaming with friends).

I have been struggling for a few months now coming up with a piano accompaniment to the Mary’s Song I was gushing about back in February. I’ve procrastinated. I’ve sat down to compose but just had drivel come out. Every now and again I’ve had bursts of inspiration, usually following a nice hike or nature walk. I had given myself a deadline which was when the Reading Community Singers got back from the New Orleans Trip. That was last Monday.

Last weekend, I decided to skip over a part that was vexing me, and have been making slow but rather happy progress ever since. Today, I finally got to the end of the song (ignoring a few gaps and icky bits I want to rewrite in the middle)!

I don’t know that anyone will ever perform it, but I feel like I am on a path to doing justice to the song in my head. And I do think that the Reading Community Singers would sound fabulous singing it! It’s kind of an odd piece, though. A bit dramatic and heavy for typical Christmas fare (think the gloomy bits of “We Three Kings” in the middle), but a Christmas song nonetheless.

In case you are interested, I’ve updated the music section of my blog with my latest updates to the song. Don’t judge. There are definitely bits I know I need to rework. But I think you can get a good sense of the shape of the finished piece. I put the mp3 here, too.

Now, some more pretty flower pictures!

Here is where I try to draw astute connections between composing music and gardening, to make it seem like I have deep thoughts and actually planned this post. How about this:

Both endeavors are a mix of diligence and magic. If I didn’t put in the hours of pulling out the invasive whatever-it-was and maple saplings choking my garden, or trekking to Mahoney’s garden center in Winchester to be inspired by their giant dahlias and jasmine, or pruning my mock orange bush, or adding plant food, or transplanting day lilies to make room for Charlotte’s raised bed vegetable garden, then things would be sad. But all I can really do is lay the groundwork and make the space for the magic to happen. The flowers bloom of their own accord, and this spring has been extra laden with happy flower magic. It feels like a miracle whenever they return and thrive.

Another lesson from gardening is learning to appreciate what is, rather than getting overwhelmed by what isn’t. This is a big one for me, undisciplined perfectionist that I am. There are so many things that I never get to. Looking at the whole yard can be overwhelming, and feel like a losing battle vs weeds. But though there are unsightly overgrown messy bits all over the place, there is also beauty. (Even the weeds have been beautiful this year.) I can work towards my vision of what I’d like to see, but should also find joy in what is already there.

Composing music is like that. Without diligence, it remains ideas in my head, or a melody without an accompaniment. I need to show up and create the conditions for inspiration to find me, even if many times I show up and the well is dry. I must not get discouraged by the vast gap between the music in my head and the music on the page, or my slow progress. There are dribbles and bursts of inspiration, and it is an iterative process, slowly closing the gap.

I suppose the same can be said of life. I write this blog in part to help cultivate my inner garden. I need to vigilantly tackle the weeds of perfectionism, comparison, stress, envy, fear, melancholy and my vexing inner critic in order to create space for my spirit to bloom. Exercise, walks in nature, practicing gratitude, composing music and writing, time with friends and with my family, alone time and good doses of adventure are all compost, rain and sunshine for my soul. I can prepare the soil, but the flowers and fruit of the spirit are gifts from somewhere deep within and beyond. Some call it grace.

There is a quote I really like (which I may have already quoted in an earlier post), which was attributed to a Chinese Proverb:

Large joys come from Heaven

Small joys come from effort.

Chinese Proverb?

I think I need a good dose of both effort and grace, including the grace to not be too hard on myself when my efforts fall short (such as another tardy blog post…). There is so much to be grateful for. And I do love my garden.

Until next week!

A short post this time, since it is already Monday. I woke up early today (stupid insomnia) so have some time before work. The birds are singing and the morning light is beautiful. I’m feeling a bit diffuse. I had a lovely weekend, but am also feeling like I am doing too many things on too many fronts and am behind on all of them. And how can it be June already? I did some gardening this weekend (which itself has many fronts), and spent a bit of time working on my piano accompaniment, and I rang handbells and sang and handed out parting gifts at the send-off service for Old South’s music director and assistant pastor. But the large chunk of this glorious early-summer weekend was devoted to friends and family and Rockport (and martinis!), and rightly so.

Rockport is one of my favorite places, and full of happy associations. For those of you who are non-locals, Rockport is a picturesque lobster fishing port / artists’ enclave / tourist destination on the rocky outcropping of Cape Ann, about forty minutes from my house.  My mom always loved going to Rockport when she came to visit, because it reminded her of Whitby, England (our cat’s namesake). I went there many times when the kids were very young and I only worked half time, and have fond memories of time there with Charlotte and Jerry and other family. Kira and I like to go there together to swim at the beach, clamber out along the bouldery breakfront, and eat lobster and ice cream.  

Driving to Rockport reminds me strongly of trips to Stillwater when I was a kid in Minnesota. On lovely weekend afternoons, Mom would say “Ooh, do you fancy a run out to Stillwater?”, and we’d all squeeze into Dad’s Pontiac Firebird with the T-top open and take the scenic route through rolling farmland to the beautiful town on the banks of the Saint Croix river (on the border between Minnesota and Wisconsin). We’d stroll along the river, poke our noses in quaint shops, and get the most delicious enormous milkshakes at Brine’s restaurant. A drive out to Rockport is like that for me, though now in my Mini Cooper with the sun roof open, and I’m the one saying “Ooh, do you fancy a run out to Rockport?”. (On Saturday it was in Rebecca’s Mazda Miata convertible with the roof down – a real treat!)

Halibut Point State Park is nearby, the site of a former granite quarry and a great place to clamber over rocks and watch the waves crash into them.  I love that place, too, when we have time.

I was really lucky to spend Saturday afternoon exploring Halibut Point and Rockport and catching up with my friend Rebecca, who is just returned from back to back globe-trotting adventures. And then to head back to Rockport on Sunday evening with my family for our traditional lobster, ice cream and breakwater clambering, complete with gorgeous late sunset. It is nice to be close to summer solstice!

I was even luckier to have a nice girls’ night with friends Saturday evening at my place, a direct result of the very kind response to my self-pitying post from a few weeks ago. We ate dinner on our deck, joined by Charlotte and Kira, surrounded by pretty flowering weeds, jasmine and a very happy kousa dogwood, and then walked over to Venetian Moon for tasty martinis. It was really, really lovely. It was even worth the effort of cooking (I am a rather indifferent cook)! It turns out a frittata with onions, bacon, spinach, potatoes and Welsh cheddar is rather scrumptious.

I feel a bit boasty writing about such lovely happy things, but I figure that part of being myself here is sharing the ups as well as the downs. I have a lot on my plate for work this week. The weekend friends, family and sunshine were the boost I needed. Thank you!

Today I am thinking about community, music, and the passage of time. And lady’s slippers.  I’ll start with the lady’s slippers.

I went for a walk in the town forest on Friday, egged on by my bullet journal “nature walks” habit tracker and it being the last day of May. I followed the call of frogs onto an unaccustomed path that happened to be strewn with north woods wildflowers, including more lady’s slipper orchids than I have ever seen before. It was unexpected and lovely, and made me think of Minnesota and the Adirondacks and the White Mountains all at once. The flowers are so ephemeral, and it was serendipity that brought me to them at that time.  (If you go to the town forest and enter via the compost center, take the first trail on the left after you cross the open swampy section.) I hardly saw any elsewhere in the forest. I think it must be the right amount of moisture and sunlight and mature red pine trees. They are my Wordsworth daffodils!  And the frog and red wing blackbird songs were wonderful, too.

It is a time for transitions, community, and for appreciating what we have and who we share it with. The town of Reading kicked off its 375^th birthday celebrations on Friday, and I sang “I Have a Dream” on the town common with a mixed choir from local churches while Dorian beamed at me from the crowd and Kira ran around with a gaggle of school friends in search of free ice cream. On Saturday, the Reading Community Singers performed along with the Reading Symphony Orchestra in a free commemorative concert – there is nothing like singing “God Bless America” with a full symphony orchestra behind you! Today, I rehearsed hand bells for the last time with Susan Holloway, the retiring music director from Old South church in Reading. Next Sunday is her last day, as it is for the children’s minister, Carol.  Thank you to Dorian for driving the kids to all their various places while I did community things. It makes me think of a Flanders and Swann song we love about the male seahorse, looking after his brood while he wife gads about busily doing good (they are the same duo that composed our favorite “Armadillo” song and the “mud, mud, glorious mud” Hippopotamus song that I taught him on our first date):

The weekend was topped off by listening to my friend Katherine’s recital in honor of her mom’s 70^th birthday, with guest appearances by other members of her talented family.

It was a lot of musical gadding about, but this weekend has reminded how blessed we are to live in a town with such community spirit (and committed volunteers!), and how easy and foolish it is to take it for granted. When Carol told the kids today that she will be leaving, she talked about how we must love and help others wherever we are, while we are there.

I think I spend a lot of time thinking about where I want to be next – plotting vacations or thinking about doing something exciting. I yearn for adventure. One of my coworkers is taking a couple of years off to travel the country with his family in an RV, homeschooling along the way. I find that inspiring and Dorian finds it terrifying. But this weekend was about roots, and the people and music that binds us together for a time. I love my town. I love the people who make it what it is. I love my friends. And like the with lady’s slippers, our time together is both fortunate and ephemeral.