Alexandersmap

    Category: Travel

    • Small and Green and Hard

      “At first the fruit is small and
      green and hard.
      Everything has dreams,
      hope, ambition
      – Mary Oliver, Someday

      I was thinking about a post I made on social media three years ago next month. Newfoundland. I’d gotten up early, as I usually do, and drove to the eastern edge of the continental North America for sunrise. A month after that photo I was on the western edge of continental Europe taking in the the crashing ocean and looking back towards where I was from.

      I looked like quite a world traveler on social media, but a week after that trip to Portugal I was unemployed. I didn’t post that on social media. I just scrambled to reach out to my contacts and find meaningful work as quickly as possible. We tend to amplify the positive: trips, events, big meals, relationships… the highlight reel stuff.

      That month of unemployment transformed my writing from a once in a while thing to an every day thing. I switched from Blogger to WordPress, found my voice through repetition and trips to local places, read a lot, and mostly just wrote. The fruit of my labor is still small and green and hard, but I see it ripening. At least I believe it to be so.

      We’re all works in progress, they say. Mastery is elusive. Ten thousand hours elusive. Lifetime elusive. But the art is in the doing, day in and day out. When the fruit is small and green and hard and you’re hungry it seems like it will never ripen. But being a bit hungry is where the art comes from. There’s nothing burning inside when you’re well-fed and satiated. The mind says maybe this is enough.

      In the spring my apple trees were a wonder of showy blooms. I was thrilled and dreamed of a rich harvest. But the dry summer transformed that bounty of blooms into a few deformed, tiny apples. By contrast the grapes were bountiful this year and fed the birds and yellow jackets when I couldn’t keep up. Funny the way two plants of the same age react to the same conditions, isn’t it?

      Everything has dreams, hope, ambition. We never know what will ripen and bear fruit. How the seasons will shape us. But fruit withers without focused energy. So we must keep at it.

    • Agamenticus Sunrise

      “It is a serious thing
      just to be alive
      on this fresh morning
      in this broken world.”
      – Mary Oliver, Invitation

      I woke up twenty minutes before the 4:30 wake-up call and contemplated skipping the planned sunrise hike. But I wouldn’t skip an early morning business flight, so why skip on this? With no good answer I got up and dressed in the dark.

      Driving an hour, it stuck me how many people were already up. Cars lined up at a traffic light heading to some job or other, while I drove the opposite way. I had work to do today as well. But first this. Arriving at the access road, I read the sign informing me the gate wouldn’t be open until 7 AM. I was the only car in the lot next to the gate to start this sunrise trek. Others would follow soon enough.

      I geared up and started hiking the half mile up the road. Hard to even call it a hike… a brisk walk up the hill? Semantics don’t matter, the destination did. It was already brightening enough that I could slip my headlamp into my coat pocket. This walk would be just enough to warm my core for the cold breeze at the summit.

      Mount Agamenticus is an old mountain, worn down by time. It’s more of a hill now at 692 feet, but does have a prominence of 522 feet. But 220 million years ago it was part of a 20,000 foot tall volcano. They say it was once part of Africa. Now you look out and see the Atlantic Ocean and a long way to the continents that were once joined. A lot can happen in 220 million years; continents shift, mountains erode, people come and go. That’s what? Eight billion sunrises? For the sun and for this mountain it was one more in a long string of greeting each other.

      This morning it was my turn in a long succession of people standing atop this old volcano gazing out at the sun rising to begin another day. Billions of sunrises and this morning I got to share the reunion between the mountain, the ocean and the sun. And it was indeed a serious thing just to be alive to see it.

    • Scenes from a Wildlife Camera

      The young buck appears on the screen for a total of five sequenced pictures. He’s making his way through the woods. I count the points and it appears that’s he’s legal for hunters. I think about him when I hear the guns fire in the distance in the next few days. November is no time to be straying into open woods with a rack. I hope this guy makes it through to see another season, for I’d like to see what he looks like in a year.

      Nearly in the same spot a coyote nested a week before. I wondered if the buck smells the coyote when he walks by. But this time of year scent changes quickly as leaves stack up and the rain washes everything down. Strangely, there’s only the one coyote on the camera. I thought they were social animals, yet here he was alone in the woods. He took a quick nap under this tree on at least two occasions.

      Of course, not everything happens in the night. The wild turkey roam through the scene in large numbers during the day. This is so commonplace now that it hardly warrants a mention, but even now there’s something interesting about watching these large birds. There’s clearly a pecking order in this rafter, coordinating movement through the woods and spooking would-be predators like that coyote.

      I put up the wildlife camera after years of wondering what walked unseen through the woods behind us. I’ve seen plenty over the years from the yard or from an upstairs window, but hearing that bear crunch through the woods last month finally inspired me to get the camera up and running. To find what defies the eyes peering into the darkness. And it hasn’t disappointed. It’s a bit like Christmas morning walking out to see what it picked up every week or two. Isn’t it always interesting to see what the neighbors are up to?

      We had a fire again on Friday night. I could hear something crunching in the woods. Not as loud as the bear, not as stealthy as the deer. I wondered what it might be? This morning I may take a walk out to the camera to see who our visitor was. I’ve come to enjoy solving a good mystery.

    • A Weekend at The Trapp Family Lodge

      The cow outweighed me by more than 1200 pounds and had long horns protruding menacingly to her right and left, but I edged closer anyway. Bob, the Activities Director at The Trapp Family Lodge, insisted that it was safe to walk out amongst the Highland Cows. He gave us instructions on what to do if they approached us looking for apples (fold your hands into your body and turn slowly away to show you don’t have food). And he told us when one of the cows was annoyed with us. Otherwise, we were turned out to explore the field. Turning around, I realized I was one of the few who took him up on the offer. But risk has its rewards, and being close to the cattle was thrilling.

      Highland Cow

      I’ve been to Stowe, Vermont many times over the years. Mostly I’d drive up for Heady Topper beer, look around a bit and dream of lingering awhile. I’d even stopped to visit the Trapp Family Lodge, walking into the lobby to see what all the fuss was about. Like most Americans I’ve seen The Sound of Music a few dozen times. This wasn’t the Austrian Alps, but you can definitely see why they sank their roots here. The hills are alive in Stowe too.

      The Trapp Family Lodge is a lovely place, with fires roaring and pilsner flowing freely from taps and a quiet elegance without pretense. Pictures of the family decorate the walls throughout the lodge along with art derived from the story of the family’s escape from Nazi Austria. The mountains surround the property in all directions, and the von Trapp family owns much of the land and has donated many more acres to a land trust, ensuring this view would remain largely as it’s always been.

      We’d explored some of that land on our first day at the Lodge, walking the trails to find the Chapel at the top of the hill, and circling back to check out the Kaffeehouse for a snack. There are hiking and snowshoe trails criss-crossing the woods at the resort, and we had plenty of options for getting to know the lay of the land. Mountain bikers had their own single track trails that offered challenging terrain to explore. And wide cross-country skiing trails waited patiently for the snow to arrive. This was an outdoor enthusiast’s paradise. The outdoor hot tub and spa is a great reward for having done the work.

      After meeting the Highland Cows we walked back up the hill to the Lodge, with massive ravens flying about us speaking a sophisticated language of their own. I wondered at the banter, and wished we had more time to get to know them better. But we had other places to explore, and a long hill to walk back up. It seemed the cows were on the furthest pasture from the Lodge, and we had to earn our visit. It worked out to be about a mile each way, and a good way to work off breakfast with a different vantage point.

      We made a quick trip to downtown Stowe to explore the shops and made a stop at The Alchemist to pick up our Heady Topper beer order curbside before returning to the Bierhouse for lunch and a pint. We made a point of saving room in the cooler for some von Trapp beer as well. The Alchemist helped make Stowe the heart of New England IPA country, but the von Trapp’s make a great case for pilsners with their brews. This wasn’t some mass-produced American lager, this was beer with substance.

      Brewing at von Trapp is serious business

      As luck would have it, the woman who seated us was Kristina von Trapp, the granddaughter of Maria and a Director of the resort. She was a gracious host, with a striking presence about her borne of her family celebrity but honed on an active life outdoors and running a successful business. She wasn’t quietly sitting in the corner office looking at spreadsheets, she was hands-on and engaged with the public. And that made the von Trapp experience all the more impressive.

      We resolved to come back here again in the other seasons. Stowe is beautiful year-round, even on a cold November morning when the trees are bare and the snow is just hinting that it might return again. Staying here in all four seasons seems a worthy goal. And it will help keep the refrigerator well-stocked too.

    • Mountains and Waterfalls

      A weekend in Vermont stirs the imagination, and Stowe is famously rich in beauty, romance and adventure. As with so many other places, the magic crackles and sparks here on the edges of the day. Days are filled with adventure, nights a starry dome. The edges in between are when the light dancers march across the mountains and leap and twirl in the sky. In the morning the mountains are jagged black walls that holds the rising dawn back from our eager eyes. At dusk the mountains turn ember-red as they reach for the last rays of light. My iPhone screen mocks my attempts to capture it, but try I must.

      We stayed at the Trapp Family Lodge to get the full Stowe experience. The lodge is lovely and full of the amenities you’d expect at such a place. For me the abundance of hiking trails just outside the door were a nice incentive to stay here. The spa, Bierhall and Kaffeehaus all spoil the senses. But if you’re in Stowe get your ass outside.

      Hiking options are everywhere here, but we wanted waterfalls on this trip. Stowe has a couple of waterfalls nearby that are well worth the quick hike to see. Moss Glen Falls are a tumbling cascade framed by hemlocks. It’s an easy ten minute hike from the car to the best viewing point, and I smiled at how over-prepared we were for a much longer trek. The falls are postcard perfect, and worth a visit on quiet days when the tourists are elsewhere.

      Bingham Falls are near Smugglers Notch with a beautiful waterfall falling into a pristine pool worth the descent. What goes down must go up, and the walk up isn’t as bad as you think it will be after descending a couple of steep, muddy stretches. A few people have died falling into the gorge here, and it’s easy to see how. Nothing separates you from a plunge into the gorge but your own awareness. Not a place for little kids to run unattended.

      Mountains and waterfalls pair well together, and I greedily seek out each. I often wonder why there aren’t more visitors when I come across beautiful places, but usually it’s because I go when the crush of visitors ebbs. Like the mountains at sunrise, waterfalls whisper to you when there’s nobody else around. But only if you’re there to listen.

      Moss Glen Falls
      Bingham Falls

    • Election Day, United States

      Polls open at 7 this morning, but I’m awake at 5 AM ready to go. I run through a list of necessary chores like folding laundry and taking the trash bin to the curb for pick-up. Glancing up I see Venus shining through the leftover clouds to remind the waning gibbous moon that it isn’t the only show in town. Rain overnight and my ankle reminds me to get back to working out soon, if only to lose a few pounds acquired since the last hike.

      The shirt selection was easy this morning. The Mount Gay Rum shirt to honor a voter who can’t be here with us today to do the one thing he wanted to do most: help vote the current President out of office. He was a Navy guy and saw through bullshit as quickly as anybody I know. I saw through it too and my vote is his vote today.

      Election Day in the United States is an ebb and flow event. Some years there’s a slight buzz about the upcoming election and banter between the parties. Other years get a lot of attention, with an urgency to vote to keep the country on track. And then there’s 2020, when the worst candidate this country ever elected is up for re-election. 2020 isn’t a roar, it’s a hurricane raging over an earthquake. This year the election is setting records well before election day, with absentee ballots cast, and pre-voting in states that allow it blowing away previous voting records for entire elections.

      Which brings us to today. I’m skipping the coffee this morning until after I vote, anticipating a long line to pick up my ballot. Heck, I’m expecting a long line just to get a parking spot. So no full bladder this morning, thank you. Today we vote for our representatives for Senate and the House of Representatives, for state and local officials, and we vote for President. But we vote as if nothing else matters this morning. Because in many ways, nothing else does.

      The Founding Fathers gave me (as an educated white male) the right to vote in the Constitution. It took the 15th Amendment to give people of color the right to vote. And it took the 19th Amendment to finally give women the right to vote. And so here we are, finally all united, with our collective right to vote. When enough people choose to participate we get the country we want. When too many skip the election thinking it doesn’t matter we get the country we deserve. The last four years have been a lesson for those who weren’t previously paying attention. Today matters. Vote.

    • Where The Knowing Is

      “The explorer returned to his people, who were eager to know about the Amazon. But how could he ever put into words the feelings that flooded his heart when he saw exotic flowers and heard the night-sounds of the forest; when he sensed the danger of wild beasts or paddled his canoe over treacherous rapids?
      He said, “Go and find out for yourselves.” To guide them he drew a map of the river. They pounced upon the map. They framed it in their town hall. They made copies of it for themselves. And all who had a copy considered themselves experts on the river, for did they not know its every turn and bend, how broad it was and how deep, where the rapids were and where the falls?”
      – Anthony De Mello, The Explorer

      Reading this story three times, my mind flashed back on moments over the last year when I transcended the maps: hiking trails where every rock was a wince, Scottish roads that proved narrower and a spouse who grew more horrified by the non-existent shoulder than the oncoming truck, carefully arranged graduation reservations scrapped by COVID and a banner at the ready should a party someday be a reality. Each an example of what I thought I knew turned on its head. Each a learning experience.

      2020 was the big number on the horizon we all wondered about. Places we’d be, events we’d experience, moments we’d celebrate. Now we’re all living through the actual 2020, in ways that we didn’t anticipate. It’s just like any other map or plan in that way. Each event, each trip, each person and each day won’t be what you expected in some way or another. The maps and guides and itineraries and YouTube videos of those who went before help frame things, but you’ve got to go out and experience life to really know anything at all.

      We all think we know how things are going to turn out. But living through the moment, exploring and testing our limits of understanding and endurance, going and finding out for yourselves, that’s where the knowing is. That’s where we fully realize the feelings that flood our hearts.

    • Visiting Waterfalls in the Rain

      Cleveland has a reputation for being all concrete and manufacturing plants on the edge of the lake. The “mistake by the lake” as some would say. But Cleveland is also ringed with an extensive park system, the “emerald necklace” that offers access to beautiful places nearby. All you’ve got to do is seek it out. I’ve made it a practice to be a seeker of beautiful places wherever I go, and this trip to Cleveland wasn’t going to be an exception.

      I stayed in a hotel in Independence, largely because it was between places I was going to for business meetings. What I learned quickly was it was also in close proximity to the Cuyahoga Valley National Park. There’s a waterfall in this park, Brandywine Falls, that is supposed to be stunning. I didn’t have the time to visit Brandywine on this trip, but will save it for the next one. Instead I looked at smaller falls within 15 minutes or the hotel and found two very close to each other in the Bedford Reservation: Great Falls at Tinker Creek and Bridal Veil Falls. I silently plotted a visit, and when Thursday morning remained open I had my opportunity to see them both.

      Waze told me I was 16 minutes from Great Falls, and I made my way there first. It was pouring out, reminding me of visiting the Isle of Skye exactly a year ago with the constant soaking raw rain. And here I was again, chasing beautiful places in soaking rain. I stopped at a store and bought a $6 umbrella that felt like it would fold in half in the first gust of wind. It turned out to be just enough for me to ignore the rain and focus on the task at hand: finding the falls.

      Waze sent me to the viaduct instead, and after walking on the paths down to the edge of a long drop to the river I realized this wasn’t the place. Getting my bearings using the park maps I figured out where Waze had steered me wrong and saw that I was actually closer to Bridal Veil Falls and went there next. The benefit of the steady rain was I was joyfully socially isolated. No COVID in the park today, thank you. The mask remained in my pocket. The drawback was nobody to offer recommendations, but heck, I’m an explorer at heart. Go explore.

      Bridal Veil Falls was more obvious, with a parking lot and good signage. There’s a boardwalk that helps you navigate the walk down to the falls easily. This makes this site good for all ages. With the stairs it would be challenging for wheelchairs to get all the way to the falls using this path, but there seemed to be an alternative on the other side of the river that might have worked. Bridal Veil Falls was roaring from all the rain, and reminded me of similar falls I’ve visited in Ithaca, New York.

      Bridal Veil Falls, roaring on this wet day
      Deerlick Creek above the falls. Wooden bridge and pathway up to the road.

      Checking my watch I knew I had time to visit the elusive Great Falls, and reviewed the map again. The problem wasn’t Waze, it was the operator who put Viaduct Park in as the destination instead of Great Falls. As is almost always the case, it was user error and I was the user. A quick drive got me where I needed to be and I took my cheap umbrella for another walk.

      If Bridal Veil Falls is deep in the park, Great Falls is on the edge of town. Cleveland Metroparks offers this description of the site: “Great Falls of Tinkers Creek shows the natural beauty and historic relevance to the development of Bedford“. Hint: “historic” and “development”. The falls are beautiful but the site isn’t pristine. There are ruins of an old grist mill on the edge of the falls and graffiti from some misguided soul that ruined a beautiful photo op. Just downstream is a large stone viaduct that used to support trains. These falls had a vibe closer to the Pawtucket Falls in Lowell, Massachusetts. Still beautiful, but more… “industrial revolution“. The rain ensured I had it all to myself, and I was careful with my footing on the wet leaves and mud. Didn’t want to be that tourist who slid into the river with his cheap umbrella and iPhone.

      And with that it was time to drive to the airport, only 30 minutes away, but seemingly much further. That’s the benefit of parks like this; you can be deep into natural beauty in minutes. And as I drove past a sea of concrete and steel and asphalt on my way to the rental car drop-off, I was grateful for the reprieve. You never know what the world offers just around the corner until you go look for it.

      Great Falls of Tinker’s Creek
      Stone Viaduct with the modern railroad bridge just downstream from Great Falls

    • Questions

      “Said the monk, “All these mountains and
      rivers and the earth and stars—where do
      they come from?”
      Said the master, “Where does your
      question come from?”
      – Anthony De Mello, The Question

      One part of the writing process I value is that it fuels better questions. What’s the story behind that monument? How did this mountain I’m hiking get its name? Where do we go from here? What is the author really trying to say here? And of course, spiritual questions about creation and science and the place in the middle where they meet. And this morning, awake much sooner than I ought to be, I dove into another Anthony De Mello book, The Song Of The Bird, in search of better answers… or at least better questions.

      Today I seek a bit of adventure, even as I press on with my business trip in the middle of a pandemic. I found myself silently angrily at a couple of unmasked men getting off an elevator I was waiting for this morning. They’re supposed to be wearing masks as mandated by the Governor, with reminders on signs all over the hotel, but they opted out. My anger wasn’t with them – that was frustration at their disregard for others – but instead at myself for putting myself in a position to be concerned with their unmasked presence in the first place.

      And so I decided I need to get myself outdoors. It’s raining out there. It’s raw. There’s a short window of time I have between where I am and where I have to be later. And yet I’m getting outdoors anyway. I have a few questions that need answering. There’s truth out there in the cold, wet outdoors.

    • Observations While Flying in a Pandemic

      It’s been eight months since I’ve flown anywhere or even been in an airport. A lot has happened in eight months, and the pandemic is relentlessly marching along with no regard for whether we want to flip the switch back to normal again. I’m not sure it ever will be normal again, but whether we get there or not I had obligations that put me on a flight to Cleveland. What was commonplace less than a year ago was now unique, outlier stuff. And I felt compelled to note the changes.

      TSA outnumbers passengers 20:1
      That flight eight months ago coincidently departed from the same gate I was departing from on my flight to Cleveland. But instead of walking into a cue of people trying to bypass the regular TSA line and finding a line of our own, I walked straight to a lonely TSA agent who scanned my passport and asked me to take the mask down to verify my face matched the photo. By my count there were at least twenty TSA agents for every person going through screening.

      Every row, not every seat
      I boarded a plane that was being seated from back to front and found my way to my seat. This plane was small – two seats on either side of the row. Everyone had a window seat except for the couples flying together. From a social distancing perspective I was at least six feet from the person on the opposite window seat. But they were also seating every row, so the person in front of me and the person behind me were only three feet away. But masks were required, right?

      Mask etiquette
      The rule was pretty straightforward: wear your damned mask while you were on the plane. You couldn’t walk into the airport without the mask, let alone get on the plane. Simple right? Yet I was braced for the one flake who would take off their mask and scream about their rights. But thankfully this plane was full of functioning adults without delusions of grandeur. Everyone wore their mask the entire time. Until they didn’t.

      Food and Beverages
      The smell of food on the plane shortly after sitting made me question someone’s mask etiquette. I’m no expert on such things, but eating a chicken sandwich seems challenging while keeping a mask on the entire time. But it demonstrated the challenges of enforcement. Then the crew announced they would be coming through with snacks and beverages. No booze and no hot coffee or tea options, but water and soft drinks. Airline-sanctioned bending of the mask rule. And again I thought to myself, how exactly are we going to be responsible mask-wearing passengers while eating and drinking? I accepted the snack and water and stuffed them into my bag for after the flight. Mask stayed put.

      First in line to take off?!!
      As with the TSA line, there was literally no line of planes awaiting take-off. We taxied to the end of the runway and simply took off. Granted it was an afternoon flight, but for me that was a first at Logan International Airport. As we soared over the islands I spied a lonely sailboat cruising Boston Harbor, and wondered where they were going. They might have been looking up at the plane wondering who in the world is flying in a pandemic. Me, folks. The answer was me.

      Exiting the plane
      The routine in Cleveland was similar to boarding in Boston. Stay seated until the people in front of you stand up and exit. A few rebels stood up to grab bags from the overhead bins, but most of us just played along. Perspective is a beautiful thing. None of us wanted to dance with COVID-19. Walking out into the terminal, it felt different from Logan Airport. More people for sure. Cleveland was much more crowded than terminal C in Boston. Here too masks were required and social distancing applied. And more stores and restaurants open in Cleveland than in Boston. I suppose every place is different, and just as each country handles things differently, so too does every state. But overall people were showing respect for the pandemic here as well.

      Real PPE Hurts
      This flight was about two hours. Wearing a KN-95 mask instead of my cloth mask gave me even more respect for healthcare workers geared up for the pandemic for hours at a time. The elastic bands began to irritate the backs of my ears over time and I found myself pulling the elastics back off my skin for relief. If I were to do a cross-country trip I’d have to rig up a hat with buttons or pull the bands back with string to avoid this. But I wasn’t going to complain, I was wearing a mask to stay healthy and to keep other people healthy should I be infected but asymptomatic. It seemed a fair tradeoff.

      Like Riding a Bicycle
      Despite all the strangeness, travel came right back to me. Walking through airports, renting cars, and checking into hotels are all part of the deal when you travel for work. It took no time at all to feel I was back in the flow of things. Masks, heavy doses of hand sanitizer and soap and water, avoiding touching the face and maintaining social distance made it all clear that the routine was different even as it was the same. Some of these habits will remain with us long after we figure out this virus, and honestly some of these measures are welcome changes to the petri dish traditional travel placed you in. I wondered about the future of travel even as I welcomed a brief return to it.