A friday evening with Miss Molly

Molly met me at the Foggy Bottom Metro on Friday afternoon and after hugs we walked down to Georgetown and found a nice little Italian Restaurant for dinner. I love listening to her order with her perfect Italian pronunciations acquired during her junior year of high school when she experienced Milan while Archie and I missed her. The Italian language sounds like spoken art to me.

As we talked over our pasta, it quickly became apparent that I wasn't in Dixfield any more--well actually that should have been apparent when I glanced at the menu and didn't notice anything that had been deep fried. People in colorful and flowing cultural dress and speaking lyrical languages passsed by our table and on the street outside the window. While I absorbed the city and the calories in our delicious meal, Molly told me all about her adventures and her classes and her plans. I cherished every word.

After we ate, we walked back up to Foggy Bottom pausing to browse in a paper products store. We both love paper products--stationery, cards, boxes, journal books. We didn't buy anything but it was fun to look and dream. There were invitations that were so pretty that I wanted to have a party just for an excuse to use them. After the stationery store, we went to her dorm room so that she could get a jacket. Her roomate had to leave school due to the economic blight that is affecting so many and Molly ended up with a single room for the semester.

Once she had her jacket, we walked down to the National Mall pausing at the Nurse's Memorial before climbing the steps to Lincoln. We sat on the steps in the setting sun and she pointed out where she had stood during the Inauguration Concert (roughly where Jenny was in Forrest Gump). She told me that she and her friends had arrived at 8 a.m. for th 2 p.m. concert but had seen Cheryl Crowe, Garth Brooks, U-2 and others perform before the soon-to-be President. She said it was cold waiting for such a long time but that it was worth it to be part of such an event. As we walked from the Lincoln Memorial toward my favorite--the FDR Memorial on the Tidal Basin, we passed the Korean War Memorial (my other favorite). The Korean War memorial is truly haunting.

We crossed Jefferson Avenue and headed around the Tidal Basin toward the Roosevelt Memorial. If I lived in DC, I would go to this memorial every day. It is full of symbolism suffused with nature.

We decided that was enough for one evening stroll and started to head back to campus detouring slightly to walk through the World War II Memorial pausing to look back at the Lincoln Memorial and then turning to look at the Washington Monument. She pointed out to me where she had stood during the Inauguration--too tiny to even see the jumbotrons--she nevertheless experienced something that she will never forget.

After enjoying so much on the National Mall, I left her at her dorm and headed to the metro and to my hotel and to bed. We have plans to meet this morning with her friend Julie and my rental car and head south of town to the other kind of Mall.

A get away weekend

Today I'm heading to Washington, DC to spend the weekend with Molly. Last year during my spring-time visit, she climbed cherry trees as we headed to the Lincoln Memorial.

I haven't seen her since she flew back down to school in early January. She chose an impromptu trip to Florida with friends over coming back to Maine in March for Spring Break--who can understand young people?

As soon as the semester is over, she's jumping on a plane to Europe to see her sister. So, I'm not even sure if Western Maine is on her agenda for the summer.

Molly is my quiet child--when all four of the kids were little--and they were all little at once--less than six years from oldest to youngest. I would often slam on the brakes of the minivan and say with anxiety "Is Molly in here?" The other three would reply yes, except for one time when she wasn't and we quickly had to turn around.
I can't wait to see her this afternoon. Knowing Molly the weekend will provide lots of fun photo opportunities for me to share with you.

Lots of thoughts

It has been so long since I logged into Blogger that it had almost forgotten me. Thanks to all of you who wrote concerned with my absence. It has been hard to kick the flu this year and most of my limited energy has gone toward work and family.

We still have much snow on the ground here but these lengthening days are full of sunshine. The maple sap is running and the sugar houses are boiling away. The common redpolls are still visiting my feeder but I've been encouraging them to start heading north. I saw a dove picking dead grass yesterday, so she may be nesting in our barn again. There is a broken window pane on the third floor and a box nailed high up on the wall and in other years I have heard the soft cooing of little doves in there.

Brother and family visited from Chile last week and we snowshoed down to the beaver dam, no sign of activity on the snow around the dam but we could see some denuded sticks floating in the water and took that as a hopeful sign that our little friends saw the winter through.

A few weekends ago, we were to have friends spend the weekend. We had been anticipating the visit for months and planning it for weeks. All four of us were truly looking forward to it until the Coughs hit. The worst part of having the flu is the final stage which involves lots and lots and lots of coughing and so Charlie and I decided that in the interest of not infecting our friends and conserving our strength we should re-schedule for the following weekend. Unfortunately, it was not to be. On the Saturday of our originally-scheduled weekend, when we should have been snowshoeing through the woods and enjoying each other's company, our friends suffered an accident that has left scars on their hearts, minds, memories and body. We have spoken several times on the phone since then and I think about them every day.

Tonight, it is off to bee class--we're learning about honey harvesting--I've waited 8 sessions to learn this most important piece! The bees will be here in a few weeks.

Thanks for listening, sorry to be so long--I'll be back to posting regularly soon.
Love,
Beth

NCAA Noric Ski Championship

We have been firmly under the weather with a nasty cold all week, but this morning Charlie rallied enough to ask me to go watch the Men's Freestyle race in the NCAA Skiing Championships being held just down the road at Black Mountain of Maine.

The best nordic skiers from colleges stretching from the University of Alaska at Anchorage to Bates College in Lewiston Maine flew up and over the hilly course for 20 kilometers. It was a perfect winter day. The sky was clear and that pure blue that we get in the winter when a high pressure system is sitting right on top of us--the temperature on the mountain was just at freezing--comfortable for spectators. We were able to position ourselves at a few different points in order to see the skiers several times as they looped over the course.

Black Mountain of Maine was developed thanks to the efforts of former Olympian Chummy Broomhall who, along with other members of the 1952 U.S. Nordic team, was present and cheering on the racers.

Another olympian and favorite daughter of Maine was skiing around and watching the racers. Joan Benoit Samuelson is probably my favorite famous Mainer. Sadly, several years ago a woman that I was watching a high school race with was quite rude to the great marathoner. That was the end of me ever standing near that particular woman again and it caused me to, very uncharacteristically, speak sharply in reprimand. I've always been embarrassed when I've seen Joan wondering if she remembered and associated me with that moment. Truthfully, she probably didn't even notice, but it still rankles with me.

As we were leaving, Charlie ran into his coach from when he was on the Bates Nordic Team in the early 1970's. Charlie has such great memories of those days, I love to hear his stories about the ski races and I love the fact that nordic skiers can still enjoy their sport 40 years later.

A good day.

Cat Walk

During this rather strange year in his life, my youngest son has acquired a little tiger tom cat. Last week we took the kitty to the vet to have the tom taken out of him but he has retained the swagger and the attitude.

A month or so ago, Archie and the cat were staying at a house about 6 miles away. The furnace had stopped working at the house and no one else was there. During the night, with a snowstorm raging, the house got really cold and Archie decided to come home. He tucked the kitty into his backpack and walked back here, came in through the door that I always leave unlocked for him or anyone else that needs it, cooked everything he could find in the cupboards while Charlie and I slept soundly unaware, and went to bed.

The next morning, I woke up, came downstairs and turned on the coffee pot picking up a piece of pasta as I walked across the kitchen floor. Hmmmm, I usually clean up better than that before bed and we hadn't had pasta for supper and is that the waffle iron out--and syrup sticky on the counter? Well, it didn't take Hercule Poirot to figure out that someone had come in and made a feast of pasta and waffles as a snowstorm had swirled outside and it didn't take too many of my deductive powers to figure out who it might have been. I went up the back staircase to Archie's room, opened the door and there he was asleep in his bed with this funny little cat. They have been here ever since.

One of the many characteristics of this little cat that endear him to Archie is that he takes walks just like a puppy dog would. Every day, they take a walk around town or through the woods with the kitty following or walking beside Archie. Today, they let me come with them on a walk to the hardware store.

No telling what people think when they see a teenage boy walking around with a little tiger cat beside him, but I guess we have gotten way past caring what people think. I hope it makes them smile.

Marital harmony

If there is one area of expertise endowed on my family of origin, it is as connoisseurs of breakfast cereal. I was raised to believe that a bowl of cereal before bed was an element on the first level of Maslow's hierarchy of needs, as essential as air, food and shelter.

Somewhere along the line I stopped partaking of my bedtime bowl of carbohydrates but my idea of a perfect nighttime meal is still Honey Nut Cheerios with a banana and soy milk and any time I'm on my own for supper, that's my choice.

As much as I love the sweet crunchiness of Honey Nut Cheerios, I really, really hate the commercial where a wife stands around eating them and lowering her cholesterol while her husband works himself half to death doing household chores. I can't claim to be an expert on marriage but I'm pretty sure that while her cholesterol is going down, his blood pressure is going up and that can't be a good thing.

Redpolls

A few days ago, I asked Archie and Brent to put a new feeder up on a pulley between the porch and the big maple tree by the driveway. The other bird feeders are over by my office and I can't see them from the house and I wanted to be able to drink my morning coffee, look out the window and see birds. So after seeing a similar arrangement at Charlie's brother's house, the boys and I went to the hardware store and procured the necessary supplies.

That first night, I dreamed about hordes of colorful birds flocking to my yard--I woke up and laughed about my silly dream--and this morning it came true!

This morning as we drank our coffee and checked e-mail, we were treated to 50 or more common redpolls and goldfinches. It was magical and I will never forget this day.

Accessorizing

I think I look ready to penetrate the deepest darkest jungles.

Last night the material to put together two hives arrived. Over the next month or so, we'll get the pieces put together (if I can remember how--they did not come with directions) and then we'll be ready when the bees arrive via overnight delivery from Georgia. Oh, those poor bees are in for a nasty surprise. Whatever they were used to in Georgia in Maine, they will find that April is a winter month.

Until the dandelions bloom, the bees will get a sugar water solution--we learned several different ways of providing it--more on this as I begin experimenting. The point is to have the solution available for them to access with their tongues without the risk of drowning.

This all seems so complicated but I keep telling myself to take a deep breath, the bees know what to do even if I don't. Maybe, that's the way with a lot of things.

Great Caribou Bog Wicked Winter Ski Race

Today Charlie competed in the 24th Great Caribou Bog Wicked Winter Ski Tour and Race. The race goes from Bangor to Old Town over a 17 kilometer trail that winds through forests and bogs.

It was a mass start with all racers starting in one big bundle. By the 3 kilometer mark, he said the field had spread itself out. When the camera and I caught him at the 8 kilometer mark, he was coming through the woods alone.

The few kilometers that I skied were very enjoyable and made me anxious to ski the race next year with him--well to start with him anyway.

Does anyone think this is a good idea??

I'm all for creativity and the entrepreneurial spirit and, Lord only knows, in this economy any one gutsy enough to start a business should be applauded--but a topless coffee shop in Maine?

There are so many problems with this idea.

The most obvious is the temperature--there are very few days in Maine when even men are willing to go topless. It's cold here--even in the summer we wear fleece and sweaters. What must they keep their thermostat on in order for these ladies to be at their best?

There are a myriad of other reasons for why this is a shockingly bad idea but I don't want to be accused of negativity. So here's to you Grand View Topless Coffee Shop. Oh my goodness, even the name makes me laugh.

After the Storm

Today, everything was canceled. Maine dug out from more snow than we have seen in one storm in the ten years that I have lived here.

Archie and Brent spent the afternoon shoveling out the fire hydrants in nearby Canton. It's a nice little job and easy money after a 6 inch snow storm--today though they earned every penny. I drove them from hydrant to hydrant parking alongside, blinkers flashing, nose in a book hoping that the logging trucks rumbling past had room to get by.
After the fire hydrants, we headed over to my parents' house to help them shovel out their generator. As we traveled through a town called Hartford which must have a miniscule snow removal budget anyway, we came upon their lone plow hopelessly stuck in the snow. Just past the stranded plow, the road went to one poorly plowed lane and then to a mound of snow--no one was getting through on that road. Fortunately, after expertly executing a 16-point turn, we were able to navigate our way back through Hartford and to other roads leading to my mom and dad and steaming bowls of red beans and rice!

Blizzard

On Saturday the weather forecasters started warning of a big storm on Sunday. They were predicting that it would start at 1 p.m. and when it didn't, we threw up our hands and assumed that the alarmist weather prognosticators were wrong again.

About the time that Kate Winslet was looking beautiful on the red carpet, the first flakes were starting to fall.

At 1 a.m., I woke with a start realizing that everything was much too dark and much too silent. I got up and came downstairs and found Archie and Brent stoking up the fire and trying to find a non-electric alarm to wake Brent up at 4:15 to get to his job at the log yard behind our house. I gave him a flashlight and an alarm and then settled in on the couch to feed the fire and see the night through. For those of you familiar with the cast of characters in my life Brent is a friend of Archie's and the latest young person to share our home for a spell.

By the time that the power came back, I could see the snow piled up on my kitchen window bird feeder and realized this was a monster storm--20 inches for us. As I write, I see Brent walking up the driveway, I guess it was too much snow for the log yard to operate.

Did someone mention daffodils, returning red-winged blackbirds and salamanders? It hardly seems possible.

Banff Film Festival World Tour

Last night Charlie and I went to Portland to see some of the films from the 2008 Banff Film Festival. The Banff Film Festival is held every October at the Banff Cultural Center and screens films on mountain culture from all over the world. Someday when I have disposable income and time to spare, I would love to attend--but until then--a February evening in the South Portland High School auditorium is the next best thing.

Revisiting a favorite post with an Exciting Update

I first wrote this in January, 2008. It is one of my favorite posts and the one that is most often found on google because of the burgeoning fame of Tom and Atticus. They will be hiking this week with a film crew from Animal Planet who will feature Atticus in their show Dogs 101.

In September, 2006, Charlie and I spent a weekend hiking over the Wildcats and across the southern Carter range. As we climbed Carter Dome on the morning of our second day, we met a man who was hiking with his dog.

It isn't so unusual to see people hiking with dogs, but it is fairly unusual to see someone hiking up the rugged high peaks of New Hampshire's White Mountains with a schnauzer. We unconsciously alternated rest breaks with the man and his dog, stopping to exchange pleasantries each time one of us passed the other.

At a ledge over-looking Carter Notch and the hut, the man took a picture of us. Way down at the bottom of the picture, you can see the green roof of the hut. It obviously had been a steep climb for all of us--but for that little schnauzer?

Carter Dome, at a height of 4832 feet is the 9th highest of the White Mountains. When we made the summit, we had it to ourselves with no sign of the man and dog who had passed us again a little before. Despite its height, the summit of Carter Dome does not provide much of a view. Charlie, who had hiked the trail before, assured me that less than a mile to the north, Mt. Hight would provide a beautiful view across Pinkham Notch and the eastern side of the Presidential Range.

We kept at it--heading north on the Carter-Moriah trail to Mt. Hight. When we got there, it was more beautiful than I could have ever imagined. There was an undercast in the Notch and the Northern Presidentials poked up through it like islands in an ocean of clouds. The leaves were just starting to turn and the contrast of the clouds below the majestic peaks and then the blue sky was just incredible.

It's impossible to share such rare beauty with a stranger without feeling that you have slipped into friendship, so we shared the summit with the man and his dog and talked a bit about who we were and what we did and why we were climbing a mountain on a Sunday in September when the Red Sox were playing the Yankees.

The man's name was Tom and his dog was named Atticus. They lived in Massachusetts where he operated a controversial political newspaper. Tom and Atticus climbed 4000 footers every weekend year-round and were planning on hiking all 48 4000 footers two times the coming winter as a fund-raiser for the Jimmy Fund.

He told us about an internet hangout for hikers called Views from the Top and said he would sponsor us as members. C and I became avid readers of the posts on Views from the Top and our favorite poster of trip reports was, of course, Tom and Atticus. His writing was amazing. If the standard advice to writers is to write about your passion, he was clearly passionate about the mountains.

When I was a little girl growing up, my neighbor was an artist named Arnelda Richter. On a summer morning, she would find me knocking at the sliding glass door of her studio. She would let me in to watch her paint--I loved her artistry--especially her paintings of the ocean because she painted the ocean the way I saw it. As a child, I couldn't understand why others couldn't capture the ocean quite right--of course now I know that we all experience things differently. But just like my artist neighbor painted the ocean the way it was to me, Tom writes about the mountains the way I know them.

The man and dog are at it again, this winter attempting to climb all 48 4000 footers two times to raise money for MSPCA-Angell Animal Medical Center. Tom sold his newspaper last fall and moved up to New Hampshire to write and to hike with his companion, Atticus. I have never read his political writings, but his mountain writings are extraordinary. If you have ever wondered what it is like to climb mountains or to love a dog or to heal from heartbreak, Tom can tell you.

Down with a bug

On Sunday, the reason for Saturday's poor hiking performance became clear as I started sneezing and coughing and blowing my nose and feeling generally rotten and over the last few nights, as I have tossed and turned feverishly, memories of childhood sick days came back to me.

Back in the day, once my mother had declared me too sick to go to school, she would put my favorite sheets on my bed (I was particularly fond of some with stripes that looked just like fruit stripe gum). Dad would move the TV into my bedroom and I was to "rest".

While everyone else was at school, by a miracle delivered through a little rabbit ear antenna on our not-very-up-to-date black and white TV, I could enter the world of GAME SHOWS. I absolutely loved them all. Wasn't Kitty Carlisle just about the most glamorous woman that ever lived?

What's My Line, To Tell the Truth, Concentration, Password--they were all so much fun to watch and I just knew that the contestants and the celebrities were living lives that I couldn't ever imagine in my little fruit-striped cocoon littered with kleenexes and Nancy Drew books.

Well, we all grow up--there aren't many game shows that appeal to me these days but I've known a couple of people who were contestants on the old game shows. When I lived in San Antonio, years ago a woman from my church was on Price is Right--she was tall and blonde and enthusiastic--perfect contestant material. A friend of mine who practices law with me was on Password during its last season. He has told me the whole story from sending in his application to hugging Betty White--it wasn't quite as good as hugging Betty White myself but I suppose vicarious game show contestanting is about all I'll get.

The Vinyl Cafe

Recently I discovered a radio show called the Vinyl Cafe. It plays on our local NPR station on Sunday afternoons and this morning while searching the web and wanting to re-listen to yesterday's story, Wally, I found that the broadcasts are available as a free podcast on Itunes.

If you haven't already found this gem from Canada, check it out!

The Bemis Track

Yesterday I decided to hike out to Angel Falls which is located in a remote area about a mile off an old railroad bed called the Bemis Track. The Bemis track is barely passable as a road in the summer and in the winter only serves snowmobilers traveling the wild country between Lake Mooselookmeguntic and the Tumbledown region. It's a good place to be alone.

I parked my car just off Route 17 and changed into my hiking boots, adjusting my backpack with the snowshoes strapped to the outside. I knew that I would need the snowshoes for the mile hike from the Bemis track to the falls, but thought the track would be packed down enough by snowmobilers that I might be able to cover the four miles to the trailhead faster in my bare boots.

Everything was so quiet--no birds, no wind, no sound of rushing water from the brook that paralleled the trail. The rushing water was buried deep beneath many feet of ice and as I looked off the trail at the book, I could only imagine its course by the buried mounds of boulders.

So, off I went, leaving the car at 11 a.m. It's hard to judge distance along the track and with the late start, I decided that if I was not to the trailhead by 1 p.m., I would turn around. Charlie was at a ski race and would not be home to notice that I was missing until close to dark--late to mount a rescue effort--and the bargain I have struck with the ones who love me is that they won't complain about me hiking alone if I exercise extreme caution.

It was hard walking, slightly uphill at a railroad grade and the snow was not as hard packed as I had imagined it would be. My feet sank in about 2 inches with each step and by 12 when I stopped to find the trailmix in my pack and to drink some water, I was really getting tired. I munched the trail mix and kept walking wondering if maybe I should put on my snowshoes. Just before 1 p.m., I saw a big boulder up the road a ways and decided to walk to the boulder and then decide what to do. I made it to the boulder and decided to put my snowshoes on and turn around.

As I was putting on my snowshoes, I heard the roar of snowmobiles that soon materialized coming from the direction of Mooselookmeguntic. The leader pulled up beside me and looked for all the world like he had just driven off the pages of an L. L. Bean catalogue with his green wool Maine guide jacket and handsome chiseled features. The people on the many sleds behind him had the look of eager weekend visitors who had paid him for a snowmobile adventure. He asked me if I was safe and I said yes. I asked him how far to the trailhead since he had just come from that direction and he said about 1/2 mile but suggested that I turn around as it was getting late and cold. I agreed. He patted the back of his sled and told me to hop on. I was tempted--tired and facing 2 hours back to my car--but I shook my head, assured him that I was fine and sent them on their way.

Before heading back I took out my camera and took one picture before the battery died. Kind of a weird day--no goals realized but I am a firm believer that in life it is the process not the product that matters. I had a wonderful day breathing fresh air, exercising my body, remembering all the other hikes to Angel Falls and casting my cares off into the snowy world.

Pretty Birds and what to do with a Sunny Saturday

Three goldfinch joined the chickadees at my feeders yesterday. They are so pretty--it's amazing how much color the birds add to the bleak winter landscape. They are kind of like flying flowers.

I am in a quandry about what to do with this day. The thermometer is predicted to hit the freezing mark, something we haven't seen in months and something that I am pretty excited about. So, what to do with it.

I have narrowed my day to two choices.

Either a hike to beautiful frozen Angel Falls or a hike out to check on the beavers. On one hand, the hike to Angel Falls is long but the trail will be broken out by snowmobilers for most of the way and the frozen falls are always stunning to see, on the other hand I haven't checked on the beavers since before Christmas. That trail won't be broken out at all and while much shorter than the one to Angel Falls will probably require a lot of work.

Hmmmm, I'm thinking Angel Falls--the beavers can wait one more week and next weekend my parents, who live on the beaver's property (and pay the taxes for the beavers) will be back from their trip to Texas and can supply me with tea and cookies after the arduous trail breaking.
Decision made.

OK, Angels Falls it is. Check back later for pictures and a trip report.

Bees-N-Me

Last night in bee class, a man brought in kits and taught us how to put together our hives. We brought our hammers (see my pretty flowery one) and snapped pieces together and hammered them tight and nailed them securely and then put a piece of wax in them. These little frames are what the bees use as a foundation for their work and where they build their combs and leave their honey.

A bee hive is several boxes (called Supers) filled with these frames. The bottom two or three supers contain the bees' honey and on top of those, we will put "honey boxes" for the excess--our honey!

I have to order my supplies by this weekend and have decided to go with medium supers because loaded with comb and honey they will weigh 60 pounds as opposed to the deeper, more traditional supers that will weigh 100 pounds. I think 60 pounds is all I want to be tossing around into a wheelbarrow, so we'll go with the smaller ones. Using the medium supers, I will have three rather than two for the bees' use and hopefully a whole lot for my use--honey--yummmmmy. (Note to self: re-read Winnie the Pooh and Too Much Honey)

We also learned that in Maine we should paint the hives a non-traditional dark color Most hives are painted white and that is to assist the bees in keeping their hive cool. But the hive temperature stays around 95 degrees and in Maine we don't have very many days where the temperature is over 90 so by painting the hive a darker color we can assist the bees in their heating.

I am ordering Italian bees. They are recommended as docile and hardy and the experienced beekeepers in our class all recommend them.

The bees will be in on April 11 and we have eight classes between now and then for me to learn everything I can.

Stay tuned!

The rest of the story

I didn't mean to be terribly mysterious in my post yesterday about my poor handwarmer placement decision but Donna pretty much said it all in her comment.

KGMom has left a new comment on your post "Carter Notch, January 30, 2009":

We have used the hand warmers in the past at football games.
Um, I don't think I would put it in my bra! They do get. . .warm. And the skin on one's hands is a bit thicker and tougher than the thin delicate skin. . .
Enough said

Just a big red mark--no permanent damage.