Holiday Freak Out

Holiday season:  a time to love people and to hate people.  

Cognitive dissonance. 

Here is the problem:  I'm behind with my shopping.  I am.  I admit it.  Therefore, I am hating people.  They get in my way and are a nuisance when all I want to do is get in and buy the book.  sigh.  breathe.  Get the fuck out of my way.  This is a HOLIDAY OF GIVING, NOT A TIME FOR FREAKING OUT.  Right?  Bunch of trouble makers getting in my way.

And so this:  with a few days of shopping under my belt... I'm working at changing my perspective from stressed, to actively easing into What-Ever.  I'm cool.  That's the spirit.  Right?

'Tis the season to be joyful.  'Tis the season to be happy.  'Tis the season to Go With The Flow. But, oh my God....  

Pretty damn hard.

Reminder:  Good.

Wish me luck.  

The Burning of the Bird

I can’t believe I haven’t posted since Sandy.   That is much too long a silent stint , but time flies come November and it is hard to catch my breath.    Even as we speak, I have marshmallows firming up and cookies in the oven – it is a rainy day and life is good.  This holiday season started off with a bang with Thanksgiving 2012 a blockbuster blowout of gluttony and sloth in gross proportions.  We fried turkeys, we brewed beer, we laughed and drank and lived large.  We discussed everything from Al Jazeera taking over computers to arguing about bubble surface tensions to Kermit flying into lamp posts.  We covered a lot of ground.  S and I detoxed for a week after the house quieted.   

And now, the day after the Pville Firebird Festival, the Holiday Fete season has begun!  I posted a blurb last year about the firebird, but hands down, this year was even more entertaining.  Good friends came over about an hour before the burning of the bird and we had a few apps, a drink or two, and headed out with the rest of the town to partake in this most weird of town festivals.  The streets were filled with folks not only walking, but also trying in vain to find parking spots on the crowded streets.   A constant stream of people flowed from their cozy houses to join us as we walked downtown.   I’ve never seen so many people in Phoenixville.  The energy was high.  The soft evening air was full of chatter as we herded our way to cathartically watch a two story bird burn to the ground with 16,000 of our neighbors.      

 

That’s right.   SIXTEEN THOUSAND people were expected and I’d wager that was about right.  We were a sea of humans moving to the beat of the drum circle and chanting Burn the Bird.  It was a blast and boy did it burn.

 

Welcome to the Holidays, everyone.  

Sandy just said 'Hi' and moved on

The Schuylkill River at the Valley Forge River Path south of Pville 

I feel obligated to admit this:  I’m a closet natural disaster junkie and I was excited.  Sandy was Coming!  And part of the fun is in the prep, and of course if something awful had happened directly to me or someone I love, I’m sure I wouldn't feel this way, but, I've got to say…. I feel a little gypped.  Let me tell you:  Sandy was HYPED up here in the Philly region.   We were bunkered in and prepared for 'the worst' - we had food, wine, beer, water, candles up the ying yang, fun non-power-needing projects, and of course, bacon.  And then... windy rain, but the power barely went off, only mild front porch furniture rearrangement, and very little flooding.  Things are pretty ‘normal’ around here today.  Folks are out and about cleaning up yards (raking) and talking about how bad previous floods were (apparently 18 inches of rain fell in 1977) and how we dodged a bullet (poor NJ folks).  Lots of folks and coffee shops (gasp) are still without power, but we have power.  We have coffee.  We have very little debris to pick up.   

@ Produce Junction in Pville

I know, I know.  I should be happy for us and really sensitive to the needs of others, but still.  This is one of my safe spots and I’m going to admit it.  I expected more, Sandy.  You know... some direct impact on me.   Don’t get me wrong – I’m glad, say, a tree didn't fall on my house (happened a bit here in Pville), or my basement didn't flood (it really has never flooded), and I could follow the Chris Christie news briefing this morning (wow does he have an ego), but at the same time…  a little time only relying on candle-power wouldn't have been so bad.  Instead, last evening, I took a bath, we joked our way through parts of 3 Bond movies, listened to some music, played some music, had some lovely un-needed candle ambiance, and enjoyed cold beers from a cold fridge and fully iced margaritas. 

River Path again in Valley Forge

Ok, Ok.…. come to think of it, that isn’t so bad, either.  I’ll take it and cease my self-indulgent, electric using, hardly effected blatherings.  As I sit here on my cushy couch drinking hot Assam tea, my heart goes out to the folks on the shore – some of whom have lost everything.  

All is well here, and that is no hype.

Take Off, Eh?

Another successful October field trip to the great white north.  Snowflakes splat against the windshield as we head south from Fort McMurray back ‘home’ to Meanook via the Mariana Fen, and we are all warming our toes after trekking through the very cold and soupy fen that buffers our site just south of the Fort McMurray airport.  Snow fell last night, too, and let me tell you, picking and finding vegetation and collecting water is extra fun with a cover of the white-stuff on everything.  Surprisingly, it went pretty smoothly: black spruce branches make excellent brooms, and thankfully, we restocked on hand-warmers last night.  We’re pros.

But, even for seasoned veterans of the bog world, this trip was oh-so challenging.  Cramming in a gazillion things in so little time with so little wiggle room is a dangerous thing to do, but we seem to seek out the challenge time and again.  To boot, the weather is unpredictable and the forecasters haven’t gotten anything right for the duration of this entire trip.  Thankfully, we squeezed in Utikuma early, though, even then, we barely made it in or out.  We only went sideways a couple of times on the treacherously muddy oil roads and by whatever grace we may have, didn’t end up in a ditch.  Getting stuck has happened before and I’m guessing it will probably happen again, but not this trip.  It makes me uncomfortable when the steering wheel is just a suggestion for tires that are perpendicular to the forward (or sideways) progress.  Agita.   

And speaking of feeling sick….  Fort McMurray was most ugly this time around.  I guess I say that every time, but ugh…. It is so depressing.  Two of our sites are heavily impacted by the pollution and bizarrely, our normally forest-green mosses are turning teal and then dying at the site closest to the processing plants.  Something very bad is happening at that smelly site, and this is nothing any of us has ever seen.  Fort McMurray, once in a most beautiful part of the world, now oozes mud and toxic grey destruction.  They are fucking the Earth up royally and are proud of it. 

And so it is good to be heading back to Meanook.  The forest along the road turns white from trees dressed in crystalline sweaters and dropping temperatures and as we finished up at Mariana, so, too, have we finished up the field season.  We are all ready to head home for good for a bit -- just in time for winter to hit Alberta.  It was a long run this year and I am tired and burnt out – I think we all are, but there is still so much to do in the lab.   As I bask in the white world around me now, I daydream of blue Caribbean waters and warm sunshine on my face and days and days of only having to remember to put on sunscreen.   I am feeling decidedly unhealthy. 

But for now, back to Meanook we go.  And then home again home again soon there-after.  The snow is good, but home is a much better trade-off.  I look forward to it being my island respite for a bit.

Lingonberries, Bogs, and Bears

I just got back from a quick and wildly jam-packed trip to Alberta.  Two days into it and our sense of time was acutely distorted, and by the end we were all spinning.  Exhausting, but enjoyable, these fall trips to the boreal wetlands are usually my favorites.  The trees are turning gold, frost whitens the grasses in the pre-dawn light, and I am reminded that the heat of eastern PA will soon be a memory.  I can deal with some cool after this summer, and wow it was nice to wear a scarf again.

Into the field and along the trails, we foraged with the bears for cranberries, sweet and earthy honkin'-big blueberries, and the best lingonberries I’ve ever had.  Evidence for bears sharing our space was both interpreted and direct.  They were busy leaving piles of evidence everywhere.  I don’t blame them.  Those berries are irresistible.  Unbeknownst to us, a very large black bear joined us at Utikuma as we sprayed our plots with water (a paradox, I know) tromped out in backpack sprayers, and as he wandered into view with his head in the verdure, we took our cue and left the bounties of the bog to our fuzzy and somewhat scary friend.  Our hopes of making a wild-berry crisp that day were thwarted.

 

Utikuma, as you may recall, was burned just over a year ago.  I hadn’t been there since earlier this summer, and since then, the changes in the vegetation are incredible.  The mosses are coming back, the vascular plants are everywhere, and tiny baby spruce trees, all spiky-sprouts, hide among the recovering moss heads.   The charcoal-ed peat no longer stinks, but instead, has a not unpleasant  hint of an old house with a recently used fireplace.  Snares of naked black spruce branches threaten you with bodily harm and impalement (which will only get worse as the dead trees begin to really fall), but on the whole, it is a joy to witness the transformation making Utikuma a highlight of the trip.

 

Because Utikuma is an almost 3 hour drive north and west of our home-base Meanook, we sometimes stay at the Boreal Center where we feel most welcome.  This stay included a side-trip to Marten Mountain, which has been on my to-do list for quite some time.  We scaled the cobbled gravelly road in our F150 and had a vista of Slave Lake and vicinity that you don’t usually get in Alberta unless you’re in a helicopter.  My sense of well-being as we ate good food and drank wine around the campfire that night was palpable; and to boot, the stars were incredible.   

It was a decidedly productive and over-all fun trip.  The day of rain and a little time off today is helping with the re-entry.  Fall is starting to ease in today with an onslaught of grey and rain and wind and it makes me want to start cooking soups again.  I think tonight I will braise.  I am glad to be home.

Acadia: Part Deux

Day 2:

Crows yawped before the sun peaked through the pines on which they roosted above our tired heads.  Not to be outdone, the ubiquitous white throated sparrow joined in soon thereafter.  The campsite was bustling before 8 and we were on our way to focus our efforts to the North and East. 

 

Cadillac Mountain was a top priority.  Given the availability of a road to the peak, we took it and saved up our tired muscles for another hike later in the day.  The moving abyss looming out my window made me queasy on the switchback road up the mountain, and the view were great.

And then… the hoards.  We were not prepared for the swarms of Homo sapiens plaguing the mountain top.  It was a beautiful day on a weekend, and so I’m not sure why we thought it would not be crowded, and I think the reality is that we didn’t really think about it, but to be confronted with it after such a beautifully solo experience the day before was a bit of a psyche shift.  Again, though, the views!  Oh the views!  We were glad to not have hiked up. 

It occurred to us as we dropped elevation down into Bar Harbor that these people on vacation were also taking a holiday from following basic traffic laws.  Countless close-calls and distracted dim-wittedness put us even more on edge.  We were really not here to see people.  Happy to be parked, we had an early lunch on the edge of the main thoroughfares and rebounded.  A quick walk through the cuter-than-expected souvenir-filled town and before you could say lahhbstahhh roll, we were out of there.  The tight muscles needed to be stretched.

Nitwits plagued us still on the loop road and the hoard stymied our attempts at swimming at the ocean beach, but we muscled our way into seeing Thunder Hole in hopes of a little drama.  No drama.  Quiet hole.  So, on to Gorham Mountain where the parking lot was crowed, but thankfully primarily for the ocean cliff walk located in a completely different direction.  Breathing a sigh of relief as a big group moved off with a ranger toward the ocean, we took to the wood.

A 1.8 mile round trip, Gorham Mnt. Trail was listed as moderate, so, again, we looked forward to a fairly easy hike.  Sharing the exposed rocky trail with only a handful of groups was a welcome afternoon escape.  Mostly exposed bedrock, the trail was expertly constructed with boulder steps exactly where we needed them.  Cairns marked our path over large-crystalled lichen covered granite.  Blueberries and mosses clung to thin soils bridging outcrops.  Cranberries nestled in the crevasses.  The forager in me enjoyed the tasty fruits of the trail, but S was hesitant.  Apparently, I was Eve tempting him with the tasty globes.  I didn’t care.  They were sun-kissed and delicious.  He was missing out.

Home again home again to grilled chicken thighs and potato/onion/pepper pockets, gin and tonics and waiting for the stars.  A quick ¼ mile drive to the rocky shore and we were in star-heaven.  The fractured rocks couldn’t have been more comfortable with that view of billions and billions of stars above. The Milky Way swooped across the sky providing for most of the light in the moon-less sky.  Satellites and planets nestled into the nooks and crannies and binoculars exposed  mini-constellations hiding in the velvety dark.  Shooting stars from all angles drew tangents across the sky.  With the sound of the surf, and a small breeze keeping the bugs away, it was incredible.

 

Off to Boston the next day via York, ME, and home again home again for real.  Two thumbs up. 

A note:  Now in Fort McMurray, Alberta, Canada, and man... what an opposite sort of experience.  Hopefully, I'll have time to throw something together about this trip soon.  For now, the memories of Maine make for a peaceful escape.

   

Acadia: No Reservations

A week-long conference, even with awesome weather, great friends, and ocean views, is inspiration for a bit of quiet.  BIOGEOMON was over and Scotty and I took off for parts unknown.  Our destination:  Acadia National Park; we were flying by the seat of our pants going No-Reservation-style and looking forward to every minute.

Driving north and east, Rte. 1 took us through countless isolated  towns nestled upon the coastal igneous and metamorphic bedrock:  we breakfasted at Belfast.  Grabbed some firewood at a local Shaw’s and hoped for the best.  Stopping at the Thompson Island Welcome Center  we booked a walk-in on the south side of the park:  Seawall Campsite, Here We Come!  We had a site.  We were in.

We pitched the tent in the mossy wood, dropped our goods, made a couple of PB&J’s and high-tailed it to Mount Acadia via the long road ‘round the west edge of the island catching Bass Harbor Head Lighthouse not 2 miles from our home-base.  We were ready to stretch the legs.

Considered ‘Strenuous’, we were not daunted by Acadia Mountain… it just seemed like the right mountain to tackle on the first afternoon.  It was short, for goodness sakes… how hard can a couple of kms be?  And really, the east-west mountain ridge, rising to the 681 ft. summit, was steep and rugged, but it was not too bad.  I admit, though, we both did breathe comments like “glad we aren’t doing this in the rain” and “ooh that pass would be rough slick” (see post on Owls’ Head in ADKs).   

It was clear sunny warm weather and we were nearly alone on the mountain.  A false peak teased us with views of Echo Lake through the stunted Scrub Oaks and low-bush blueberry bushes.  A few more cairns and boulders opened up to a wildly rewarding rocky crag overlooking the south and west and a bit to the east.  Rounded monoliths everywhere are covered with lichens of greens and orange.  Four people were at the summit upon our arrival, but within minutes we had the glorious view to ourselves.  Blessed quiet and peaceful solitude.  Views of Somes Sound, the only fjord in eastern U.S.,  and Southwest Harbor, had us captivated.  We could see for miles over the green and rock and into blue open ocean.  Squinting, we could pretend to see our campsite.  A peregrine falcon welcomed us to her roost, yelling her hovering hello somewhere over her nest.  All was well in our world, and we tried to leave twice before we could actually get the gumption to do so.  It was coming on dinner time.  That helped… and we had local organic mouth-watering pork chops to cook over open flame.

It was time for fire and stars.

Day two:  To Be Continued…..