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    • Lilacs in Bloom

      A garden is a complete sensory experience, and any gardener will tell you that the smells of the garden are as memorable as the sights.  Monarda smells like tea leaves (because they are), tomatoes and marigolds announce the return of summer with a sniff of their leaves and stems.  Basil, mint, rosemary and other herbs have their own delightful fragrance. And of course the flowers offer their own too.  We’re witnessing the long parade of flowers each in turn announcing their time to shine.  For the last couple of weeks that time has belonged to the lilacs.  Their dance isn’t nearly long enough before they recede into the background of the garden like most flowering shrubs.  The magic in lilacs is the fragrance. And they sway in the breeze releasing it to all who come nearby. I make a point of visiting every chance I get, but notice others who love lilacs as much as I do never make the effort to pay them a visit. So I quietly bring them inside to perfume the kitchen. And celebrate spring in New Hampshire.

       

    • Sauntering

      “Sauntering, which word is beautifully derived “from idle people who roved about the country, in the Middle Ages, and asked charity, under pretense of going a la Sainte Terre, to the Holy Land, till the children exclaimed, “There goes a Sainte-Terrer,” a Saunterer, a Holy Lander.  They who never go to the Holy Land in their walks, as they pretend, are indeed mere idlers and vagabonds; but they who do go there are saunterers in the good sense, such as I mean.  Some, however, would derive the word from sans terre without land or a home, which, therefore, in the good sense, will mean, having no particular home, but equally at home everywhere.  For this is the secret of successful sauntering.  He who sits still in a house all the time may be the greatest vagrant of all; but the saunterer, in the good sense, is no more the vagrant than the meandering river, which is all the while sedulously seeking the shortest course to the sea.  But I prefer the first, which, indeed, is the most probably derivation.  For every walk is a sort of crusade, preached by some Peter the Hermit in us, to go forth and reconquer this Holy Land from the hands of the Infidels.” – Henry David Thoreau, Walking

      Well that paragraph was a mess.  I love Thoreau, but my goodness does he go all over the place with his writing.  So while I’ve quoted him here, I’ve used boldface to emphasize a few points that fascinated me enough to include the quote at all.  First and foremost is the origin of the word itself.  Sauntering, from Sainte-Terrer, is a lovely example of how English words are derived.  Pure magic in this word; saunterer, both in origin and in the magic it conveys.  Thoreau’s second observation, that the successful saunterer is at home everywhere hits home for this saunterer at heart.  My own adventures in travel with purpose have confirmed this to be true.

      Three years ago I actually went to the Holy Land, not on a pilgrimage, but as a history buff.  Walking through the Old City was meaningful for me, I can only imagine what its like for the millions of followers of Judaism, Christianity, and Islam.  In some ways I was a vagabond walking through the Old City.  My purpose was history, and I found it to be a successful trip. I got as much out of seeing a cart loaded with bread or an old flight of stairs with two ramps built into them to accommodate carts like the one saw loaded with bread.

      Back to Thoreau for a moment, and something he wrote later in the same book: “I think that I cannot preserve my health and spirits, unless I spend four hours a day at least – and it is commonly more than that – sauntering through the woods and over the hills and fields, absolutely free from all other worldly engagements.” Which brings me to Gunstock…

      Today I went sauntering in a different way, with hikes up to Mount Gunstock and Mount Belknap.  You couldn’t pick two more different walks, between a hike in the Lakes Region of New Hampshire and a walk through the streets, churches and markets of the Old City in Jerusalem.  But to me, they’re both meaningful in their own way. One payoff is the views of the mountains and Lake Winnipesaukee, but so was the forest floor scattered with Trillium, the blueberry bushes in blossom, and criss-crossing a mountain stream several times. If sauntering means traveling on a path towards enlightenment, then both places can get you there.

    • Catalpa

      Sitting at Boston Medical Center for an appointment earlier today I looked up to see a pair of Catalpa trees in full bloom. There’s nothing like a Catalpa tree, whether in bloom or later in the year when giant string bean-like fruits dangle off the branches. It’s a tree that I once promised myself I’d plant, but alas the yard isn’t right for a tree of this size.

      When I was in 8th grade my family moved to Chelmsford, Massachusetts to a beautiful old Victorian house with four acres of land. The house had four apple trees and a giant Catalpa tree right in the center of the yard. In front of the Catalpa was a large lawn that we’d play games on. We watched our dog get run over by a neighbor one day while playing kickball. Behind the Catalpa we rigged up a tire swing on a maple tree and would see how high we could go. One of the neighborhood girls whom I had a crush on passed away this year from cancer. We haven’t lived in that house in 34 years and I haven’t seen her since at least then.  Funny the things that spark your memories.

      Since then those who came after us tore down the old barn and the tack room that were attached to the house. I used to envision converting that barn into a living space. Such are the dreams of a teenager. I had a real connection to that house until I went off to college and our parents divorced. Those who came after us also ripped out the old lilacs that grew along the border with the neighbors. They changed the color of the house back to white.  I’m sure they did a lot more than I can see from a drive-by or a virtual Google street view flyby.  Whatever, it’s their house now – I just lived there once upon a time.  But that time was memorable for a lot of reasons; good and bad.  I miss the house but I don’t spend a lot of time pining for the days in Chelmsford.  I moved in as a 13 year old, moved out as a 19 year old.  So almost my entire teenage years were spent in that house.  A lot has happened in 34 years.  I’m happy to know that that Catalpa tree is still there, blooming year after year. It’s outlasted a lot of things in its time.

    • Cafe Carpe Diem

      Like millions of bloggers, I’m sitting in a local coffee shop writing away with a slight espresso buzz.  I’m old enough to remember when coffee shops were very different animals, but young enough to appreciate the change.  To me signs of progress are increasingly great coffee shops, micro breweries and distilleries, locally-sourced food and the wide availability of avocados and artisan cheese.  Its the little things in life, and life boils down to these daily experiences strung out over however many days we’re given.

      “The secret of life is enjoying the passage of time.” – James Taylor, Secret O’ Life

      Starbucks really accelerated the explosive growth of great coffee shops.  Even the crappy coffee places had to up their game a bit.  Samuel Adams on the east coast and Anchor Steam on the west coast upped the beer game in our darkest hours of beer mediocrity.  Others looked around and said we could do the same with whiskey and vodka and cheese and chocolate….  really almost anything.  Nowadays I can’t drive through any remote crossroads without seeing a sign for a distillery, organic meats and cheeses, vineyard, brewery or local coffee shop with freshly roasted Italian espresso.

      As a child of processed food 1970’s America I love how far we’ve come.  No longer the laughingstock of the world when it comes to food and spirits, America (at least the part I live in) has embraced all things artisan.  And that greatly enhances this daily experience.  Twenty years ago I remember driving to the Starbucks in the center of Andover, Massachusetts to get my dose of the good stuff.  There weren’t a lot of Starbucks on the east coast back then, but Andover had one, betraying the hipster culture of this Philips Andover prep town.  Two doors down from that Starbucks was a chain bagel place.  Today the bagel place is a distant memory – a casualty of low carb diets or changing tastes.  What was amazing in 1990 is average today.  And chain bagels are… average.

      That Starbucks is still going strong, but walking in I stood in the wrong spot and some Andover-attitude babushka jumped in front of me and whipped out her phone app without a thought for the injustice of it all.  The barista was unsympathetic; after all I stood in the wrong spot.  So I took a step back and looked around, realizing that it wasn’t really the vibe I was looking for anyway.  I walked out and walked down the street to a local coffee place called Nero, which has better food, acceptably robust coffee and an independent, cool vibe that met my needs.  And that’s where I wrote this blog, thinking about Wonder Bread, Schlitz Beer, Ring Dings, Howard Johnson’s Chicken Croquettes and how absolutely far we’ve come as a society, and how far I’ve come as a consumer.

    • Apple Blossoms in the Woods

      Sitting in traffic a couple of weeks ago on Route 110 in Chelmsford, Massachusetts I glanced over at an old apple tree blossoming in the woods. The woods have grown up around it, shading the tree, but it was still throwing out blossoms to be pollinated for fruit. The average apple tree lives about as long as a lucky human – about 100 years.  If your typical farmer in 1920 is 30 years old when they plant the tree it’s likely to outlive them, and maybe their children too.  Like people, an apple tree reaches towards immortality by reproducing, and this tree was working hard to ensure that.

      New England is not an easy place to be a farmer, or to maintain orchards. Short, fickle growing seasons, harsh winters and encroaching development makes farming a challenging livelihood. Farms run out of steam as children choose a different career path, farmers near retirement and the lure of the real estate payday becomes increasingly attractive.  How many farms and apple orchards have been swallowed up by urban sprawl?  More than I’d care to think about.

      The tree I saw was swallowed up by woodland instead.  Farms that aren’t worked return to the woods eventually.  Native trees compete for light and strive to outgrow each other.  An old apple tree doesn’t stand much of a chance over time when the trees come back.  The woods of New England have many such apple trees, which like stone walls and old cellar holes live well past the farmers who introduced them to this place. But unlike stones an apple tree is a living, breathing witness to the history of this plot of land. Eventually the woods will shade the tree so much that it dies and returns to the earth. But not yet. Perhaps the apples will reach the ground, and the seeds will root another tree to replace its parent. The odds are stacked against it though. And yet, this spring the white blossoms signal hope for future generations.

    • The Dip That Matters

      I re-read The Dip, by Seth Godin.  I’m definitely in a Dip at my present job, and I have several opportunities to change being dangled in front of me.  So I figured I’d re-read this quick book to add some clarity to my thinking.  Here are my highlighted notes from my second reading of this book.  The question is, does this Dip matter?  Will slogging through it offer enough reward in the end, or am I wasting time in a Cul-de-Sac/dead end?  The question goes beyond a job of course.  The Dip can be applied to any decision.

      “Winners quit all the time.  They just quit the right stuff at the right time.”

      “Quit the wrong stuff.”

      “Just about everything you learned in school about life is wrong, but the wrongest thing might very well be this: Being well rounded is the secret to success.”

      “In a free market, we reward the exceptional.”

      “Strategic quitting is the secret of successful organizations.  Reactive quitting and serial quitting are the bane of those that strive )and fail) to get what they want.  And most people do just that.  They quit when it’s painful and stick when they can’t be bothered to quit.”

      “The Dip is the long slog between starting and mastery.”

      Scarcity, as we’ve seen, is the secret to value.  If there’s wasn’t a Dip, there’d be no scarcity.”

      “Successful people don’t just ride out the Dip.  They don’t just buckle down and survive it.  No, they lean into the Dip.  They push harder, changing the rules as they go.  Just because you know you’re in the Dip doesn’t mean that you have to live happily with it.  Dips don’t last quite as long when you whittle at them.”

      “The Dip creates scarcity; scarcity creates value.”

      “The people who set out to make it through the Dip – the people who invest the time and the energy and the effort to power through the Dip – those are the ones who become the best in the world.”

      “In a competitive world, adversity is your ally.  The harder it gets, the better the chance you have of insulating yourself from the competition.  If that adversity also causes you to quit, though, it’s all for nothing.”

      “And yet, the real success goes to those who obsess.”

      “Before you enter a new market, consider what would happen if you managed to get through the Dip and win the market you’re already in.”

      “Not only do you need to find a Dip that you can conquer but you also need to quit all the Cul-de-Sacs that you’re currently idling your way through.  You must quit the projects and investments and endeavors that don’t offer you the same opportunity.  It’s difficult, but it’s vitally important.”

      “Most of the time, if you fail to become the best in the world, it’s either because you planned wrong or because you gave up before you reached your goal.”

      “The next time you catch yourself being average when you feel like quitting, realize that you have only two good choices: Quit or be exceptional.  Average is for losers.” 

      “Selling is about a transference of emotion, not a presentation of facts.”

      “If you’re not able to get through the Dip in an exceptional way, you must quit.  And quit right now.”

      “The opposite of quitting is rededication.  The opposite of quitting is an invigorated new strategy designed to break the problem apart.”

      “Short-term pain has more impact on most people than long-term benefits do, which is why it’s so important for you to amplify the long-term benefits of not quitting.  You need to remind youself of life at the other end of the Dip because it’s easier to overcome the pain of yet another unsuccessful cold call if the reality of a successful sales career is more concrete.”

      “Persistent people are able to visualize the idea of light at the end of the tunnel when others can’t see it.  At the same time, the smartest people are realistic about not imagining light where there isn’t any.”

      You and your organization have the power to change everything.  To create remarkable products and services.  To over deliver.  To be the best in the world.  How dare you squander that resource by spreading it too thin.”

      “If it’s not going to put a dent in the world, quit.  Right now.  Quit and use that void to find the energy to assault the Dip that matters.”

       

    • The Pine Tree Riot

      Maine is known as the “Pine Tree State” for good reason; it’s one of the state’s most significant natural resources. New Hampshire has plenty of this particular resource as well, but “Granite State” works just as well. That combination of pine sap and granite makes for a gritty edge. New Hampshire settlers were no pushovers, as seen in people like John Stark and Robert Rogers (born in Methuen, but raised in NH). You can add Ebenezer Mudgett to that list.

      White pine trees made excellent ship masts, and the British Navy needed a lot of them. New Hampshire was a British colony, and in 1722 the New Hampshire General Court passed the Pine Tree Law, reserving the best of these white pines – those with a diameter greater than 12 inches, as the property of the King of England. The trees were marked with a distinctive broad arrow slash. For 50 years New Hampshire lived with this law simmering resentment. These same trees could be sold to merchant ships for a nice profit, or made into floor boards or other profitable products for the lumbermen and sawmills in the state.

      When British surveyors tried to enforce a fine on a sawmill in South Weare, the owner of that sawmill, Ebenezer Mudgett and 40-50 locals rose up in defiance on April 14, 1772. Defiance to them meant hauling the Sheriff and his Deputy out of bed in the middle of the night and beating them with sticks, cutting the ears off of their horses (WTF?) and sending them fleeing off into the night. Not exactly Saratoga but hey we had to start somewhere, right?

      Eventually eight men were charged in the assault, but received light fines. One of the judges in the Pine Tree Riot case was my old friend Theodore Atkinson (I think he’s reminding me that I ought to pay a bit more attention to his accomplishments soon). The case got a lot of attention in the colonies as many others felt the frustration of the Pine Tree Rioters.

      Some say the Pine Tree Riot and the relatively light fines inspired those who participated in the Boston Tea Party in December 1773. What is definitely true is the White Pine became a symbol for New Hampshire in the Revolutionary War, and flew at Bunker Hill when John Stark’s New Hampshire Regiment held off the British flanking maneuvers.

      Today you can have a pint of beer at Able Ebenezer’s Brewing Company in Merrimack, New Hampshire and scan the walls to read some of this history. Maybe have a pint of Broad Arrow as you look at the replica Pine Tree Flag on the wall. Either way, celebrate that New Hampshire independent streak and the role our forefathers played in the creation of these United States.

    • Time Warps and Muscle Memories

      May has thirty-one days in it.  That would mean there are eleven days left in it.  I know – math genius.  But psychologically, next weekend is Memorial Day Weekend.  The unofficial start of summer.  Time zips right along, ready or not.

      This morning getting out of bed was a little tougher.  A weekend of yard work took its toll on me and I’m taking stock of my soreness.  But I got up and worked out nonetheless.  Not much really, just getting the blood flowing.  Coming back upstairs my routine was well-defined.  Drink a glass of water, make a coffee, read some Stoic and a few pages of whatever book I’m reading at the time, and let Bodhi out.  Except there’s no more Bodhi.  But the muscle memory remains.

      It’s not grief; not really.  Its habit developed over thirteen years with him.  When he stopped walking well I went through the same thing at 9:30-10 PM when I would think “time for our walk”.  Time took its toll on Bodhi, as it takes its toll on all of us.  The Stoics would tell you we all must die and life is only now.  And so it is.  Life requires a tack once in awhile.  This is a good time to tack.

      So there are eleven days left in May.  Time has proven once again that it won’t wait for me.  Best to get moving. Determine the set of the sail and get going already. Life is a series of pivot points, isn’t it? The heading is generally the same, allowing for some unfavorable winds along the way. Which brings me to this quote I read in the Farnom Street newsletter:

      “We are, finally, all wanderers in search of knowledge. Most of us hold the dream of becoming something better than we are, something larger, richer, in some way more important to the world and ourselves. Too often, the way taken is the wrong way, with too much emphasis on what we want to have, rather than what we wish to become.” — Louis L’Amour

      That about sums it up.

    • Rhumb Lines and the Great Circle

      Whenever I take a flight of any consequence, I inevitably pull out the airline’s magazine to flip through.  I usually end up scanning the flight maps that appear in the last few pages of the magazine to see the arcs of the travel routes from various hubs.  I’m not a navigator, and I’m definitely not a mathemetician, but I have a keen interest in travel and the most efficient way to get from point A to point B.  Rhumb lines illustrates how that happens on a big blue ball, where we can’t very well cut through the middle.  Instead, we calculate the great-circle distance, which is the shortest distance between two points on the surface of a sphere, as measured along the surface of the sphere.  That dotted line that connects the two?  That’s our friend the rhumb line.

      On land rhumb lines don’t help much.  You’ve got to follow the lay of the land, accounting for natural obstacles to progress like mountains, large bodies of water or the George Washington Bridge.  Up in the air, or on the ocean where these types of obstacles are mostly eliminated (reefs and large continents excepted), plotting a course from say, London, latitude 51° :30 m:0 s N, longitude 0° :10 m:0 s W to Philadelphia, latitude 39° :56 m:58 s N, longitude 75° :9 m:21 s W is visually portrayed as a sweeping arc, as you’re flying from the smaller circumference northern latitude to the larger circumference southern latitude.

      Screen Shot 2019-05-19 at 8.04.49 AM

      There’s a nice online resource for visualizing this, as seen in the image above.  It comes from gpsvisualizer.com and allows you to enter either the longitude and latitude for your two points or simply plug in the airport codes for each as I did for London and Philadelphia.  This site didn’t help those Portuquese sailors trying to show other sailors how to sail to the Gulf of St Lawrence for cod fishing, so navigation maps were drawn and copied with the rhumb lines to show sailors which heading would get them there and back.

      I’ve made a few dotted lines across the world over the years, and hope to make many more.  I think basic navigation should be a requirement for all kids in school, as it teaches not just math skills but also illustrates how small we are blipping across the fragile surface of the earth.  Rhumb lines convey hope for the journey ahead, appreciation for how far we’ve come, and focus on the path we’re currently traveling on this great circle.  I’m surely not the only one to pluck that analogy out of this fundamental of navigation, but I’ll celebrate having gotten here eventually.

    • New England Hops

      New England was once the hop growing capital of North America.  Like the population, it migrated to New York and eventually to the west coast.  But it all started here, introduced by the Massachusetts Bay Company in 1629, making it one of the original crops brought to North America.  Potatoes wouldn’t be introduced for almost another century.  So beer played an important role in the life of the earliest settlers.  The Puritans were pretty good at growing hops and eventually began exporting the harvest to other colonies.

      If there is a problem with growing hops in New England, it’s the humidity.  Hops are susceptible to downey mildew, which can devastate an entire crop.  Downy mildew and other factors like Prohibition eventually led to the entire hop growing industry shifting to the west.  In my younger beer drinking years I thought of hops as a west coast crop, and my experience growing a single hop bine proved futile enough to make me believe it wasn’t meant for New Hampshire’s climate.  And yet it was indeed a viable and profitable crop for almost 300 years.

      Today’s explosive growth in micro-brewing has fueled a resurgence in local hop growing.  Driving around Vermont and New York you can easily spot the hops growing in farms and even in urban breweries.  Growers will built tall support structures of wooden poles and string strong cables across the tops.  From these vertical cables run from the ground to the horizontal cables, forming 20 foot long channels for the hop bines to grow.  The hops are usually harvested in August and September and give unique bitter characteristics to the beer.  So we’ve come full circle, and hops are once again a viable local crop.