tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-43972975199367910082024-03-13T15:45:24.957-04:00Beth's storiesStories from the hills of Western MaineBethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02604780070187163751noreply@blogger.comBlogger401125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4397297519936791008.post-58062735370141800112018-03-04T08:05:00.003-05:002018-03-04T12:09:51.218-05:00Dreaming of Summer<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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In 2013 Charlie and I went to the National Song and Dance Festival in Riga, Latvia.<br />
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The festival, which is held every five years, has a rich history starting in the early 19th Century and continuing through many decades of occupation and political upheaval including the Soviet Occupation of 1944 to 1991. The movie <a href="https://singingrevolution.com/">The Singing Revolution</a> memorializes the effect of a similar festival in strengthening and consolidating national fervor and accelerating the end of the Soviet Occupation in neighboring Estonia.<br />
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Our 2013 experience at the festival did not just enrich our lives but has affected our conversation and relationship since then. I doubt that a week has gone by since then when we have not discussed the event and anticipated the return trip in 2018. I often fall asleep listening to <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mxANYSrKvwU">Dod, Dievini</a>. My CD player often has <a href="http://www.auli.lv/en">Auli</a> in it which can be quite startling to people who innocently climb into my passenger seat and hear bagpipes at full volume coming from the speakers. As Charlie writes or does research his sound track is often Laplesis. A rock opera so moving, that even though we could not understand a word, we had tears rolling down our cheeks.<br />
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Yesterday tickets went on sale for the 2018 festival. The sale began at 11 a.m. Eastern European Time and, judging by Twitter and Facebook, we were not the only Americans up in the wee hours of the morning trying to buy tickets.<br />
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It took close to 8 hours in an on-line queue but we managed to get tickets to two events. We were hoping for more, but there was definitely more competition for tickets in 2018 than there was in 2013. That year, Charlie just woke up early, easily logged in, and purchased tickets for all the events. No matter how many ticketed events we can attend, the music and the dance are in the air and in the street and we will have a wonderful time in this little country that looks like a fairy tale, but is and, always has been, in such peril.<br />
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<br />Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02604780070187163751noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4397297519936791008.post-41590265289654289932016-04-18T07:48:00.000-04:002016-04-18T07:48:48.946-04:00Shagg Crag - the first hike of Spring<br />
One of my projects for 2016 is a weather blanket. I started crocheting on New Years Day and stitch a row every day based on the temperature. Every 10 degree increment has a different shade. Anything over 60 degrees, takes me out of the blues of winter and into shades of green. On Sunday, my stitches took on the second shade of green. Under sunny skies Charlie and I decided it was time to try out our hiking legs on a relatively easy nearby mountain. <br />
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This mountain is a real favorite of ours, not only is there a beautiful view from the top but 1 mile to the summit and 560 foot elevation gain makes it easy to tackle when there isn't much time or when the hiking muscles have disappeared after a winter binge-watching British mysteries on Netflix. <br />
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<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-kc_kytdW4CQ/VxTIAG-NbyI/AAAAAAAAUSE/w131Cy3J_s8BktnDhZxCq33W3VYyMTsoACLcB/s1600/DSC_0856.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="211" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-kc_kytdW4CQ/VxTIAG-NbyI/AAAAAAAAUSE/w131Cy3J_s8BktnDhZxCq33W3VYyMTsoACLcB/s320/DSC_0856.JPG" width="320" /></a>The official name of the mountain is Bald Mountain but there are dozens of mountains named Bald in Maine. This one is Bald Mountain in Woodstock but the local name, Shagg Crag, comes from the vertical cliffs that rise above the north side of Shagg Pond. <br />
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When my kids were teenagers and were climbing every rock they could find, they spent lots of time <br />
with ropes and carabiners on the cliffs. Our trail, though, follows along the gentle slope on the side of the mountain and passes Little Concord Pond which we found with ice still around the shore and with a lone loon in the center.<br />
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<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-6IFJGyOo3bc/VxTIg9Ly-WI/AAAAAAAAUSQ/J5CJu_U2P6ss8EBTz_OFl6xF80iAiCiGwCLcB/s1600/DSC_0851.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-6IFJGyOo3bc/VxTIg9Ly-WI/AAAAAAAAUSQ/J5CJu_U2P6ss8EBTz_OFl6xF80iAiCiGwCLcB/s320/DSC_0851.JPG" width="320" /></a>Falcons nest in the cliffs and I have been buzzed by an angry one at least once while hiking in the Spring. In the Summer, the hike leads to a bonanza of wild blueberries and the first time that we discovered this, we emptied our water bottles and filled them with blueberries. <br />
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In the last few years, a windfarm was built on the next ridge but on this still day, not much electricity was being generated. <br />
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We lingered on the top--Charlie took pictures and I sketched. Mara mostly scared us to death by<br />
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On the way down we stopped at the pond and<br />
Mara swam while the loon dove for fish and put on a show. It's hard not to feel gratitude for every breath and every moment at times like this.<br />
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<br />Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02604780070187163751noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4397297519936791008.post-38019493660489561112016-04-16T12:43:00.004-04:002017-01-16T11:10:24.433-05:00Since we last met<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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The last post was in June of 2013 but really I have not tended to this space since 2009--life got busy and Facebook made quick updates on my friends' lives quicker and easier. As wonderful as Facebook is for staying in touch, though, it does not provide the challenge and the opportunity to develop ideas and turn them into words.<br />
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So, here I go with words again.<br />
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There have been lots of changes in my world since last I blogged. The one that will be most evident here is that I now live on 120 acres in Sumner, Maine. My mom and dad were at the age where we needed to think about them living with me or me living with them and since I lived on .4 acre in a small town and they lived on 120 acres in a smaller town, it was a no-brainer. My husband and I had an apartment built in their home so that we have our own space but are still right there with them.<br />
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My mother is a flower gardener and the yard is full of beautiful cultivated flowers from May to September. I am a lover of the wild and natural, so the woods are my playground. We have about 5 miles of trails throughout the property which is bordered by a river and full of erratic boulders, many different species of trees, moss, lichen, wildflowers, ferns and wildlife. Most weekends I park my car on Friday night and never leave our little piece of heaven.<br />
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Thanks for sharing words, thoughts and lives with me and for listening to mine.<br />
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<br />Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02604780070187163751noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4397297519936791008.post-58463770729091734982013-06-09T17:37:00.001-04:002013-06-09T17:37:53.964-04:00A Day in June<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I see skies of blue...clouds of white<br />
Bright blessed days....dark sacred nights<br />
And I think to myself....what a wonderful world.<br />
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June in northern New England. <br />
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<br />Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02604780070187163751noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4397297519936791008.post-76205110108178204332012-03-25T15:43:00.000-04:002012-03-25T15:43:06.098-04:00Maine Maple Sunday 2012<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Today is Maine Maple Sunday which means that many of the sugar houses in Maine are open to visitors. We crossed the Androscoggin River to the <a href="http://www.thurstonfamilyfarm.com/">Thurston Family Farm</a> in Peru. One of Charlie's colleagues married into the amazing family whose farm supplies our <a href="http://www.localharvest.org/csa/">CSA</a> vegetables, eggs, and maple syrup. It makes me smile all over to be a consumer of food from my neighborhood--and it makes me smile all over to eat anything with maple butter...............<br />
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In the '60's when I was kid, we lived in Western Massachusetts. As maple syrup season got into full swing, my family would load up our blue dodge station wagon and drive into southern Vermont where the plump, sweet faced wives of maple farmers would ladle hot syrup over cold snow to serve to us--I loved the way the syrup thickened when it hit the cold snow--so yummy. <br />
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Yesterday I had a conversation with a young woman knowledgeable with the marketing of American-made snack foods internationally and she said that different flavors are used to reflect the preferences of consumers in different countries. That led me to wonder what are uniquely American tastes? I wonder if maple is one we keep to ourselves? <br />
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Well, whether or not it is popular elsewhere, it is popular here in Northern New England and the air was heavy with it as the steam rose into the rafters of the sugar house and flew out to scent the chill afternoon.<br />
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<br />Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02604780070187163751noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4397297519936791008.post-1990546938269756322012-03-17T18:49:00.001-04:002012-03-18T05:44:10.147-04:00Days Like This Come My Way<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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With 60 degree temperatures predicted for the upcoming week proving that Puxatawney Phil was correct in February and there were only six weeks left of winter, Charlie and I decided to head to Rangeley for one last ski for him and a snowshoe romp for me. <br />
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We went into the trailhead yurt, bought our trail passes and looked at the map. The guy behind the desk suggested that I go on a loop that went along the side of Saddleback Lake but cautioned me to stay off the lake ice. Charlie headed off to the groomed nordic ski trails while I headed off on my snowshoe trail.<br />
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For a while, it all was perfect--the sun was warm and deep breaths of cool, fresh air settled my heart and mind. I took a picture of my pretty purple snowshoes and thought about how much fun I have had with them over the last seven years. So many mountains climbed and trails broken as they kept me on top of the snow while still stylishly turned out.<br />
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Perhaps overcome by memories and not paying attention to the trail, I found myself on the lake or at least very close to it--it's very hard to tell where lake ends and shore begins when it is all covered in snow. <br />
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For a while, I kept along what I thought was the shore until I decided that I had indeed missed the trail. I pulled the map out of my pocket and figured out if I headed away from the shore I should come upon it. So I headed through the puckerbrush. If I may be honest, a little bit of "I'm a superhiker" arrogance did come over me. I thought "How hard can it be--the trail must be just through those bushes, trees and blowdowns."<br />
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It was much <b><i>harder</i></b> than I expected. I climbed over trees, crouched low under branches, sank in deep snow--there was hardly room to maneuver and I didn't seem to be making any headway when suddenly I sank up to my knees, the snow collapsed around my legs and I couldn't pull my feet out. <br />
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All the reading I have done about winter hiking disasters did help me stay calm and assess the situation, although I allowed myself one plaintive cry for Charlie. I sat down on the snow and noticed that my feet were starting to feel really wet. I used my hands to dig the right snowshoe out because it seemed to be the one that I could move a little bit. The left one was stuck fast. Once I got my right foot free, I took it out of the snowshoe and used that snowshoe to help dig. The snow around my left foot seemed to be freezing solid and I had to hit it hard to get down to where I could see my foot. Once I could see my foot I still couldn't lift it. I decided that the snowshoe must be stuck under an underwater root or tree and my best hope was to get my boot out of the snowshoe. Just as I freed my soaking wet boot, the snow that I was sitting in started to slide and I got up in a hurry and headed back the way I had come with only one of my pretty purple snowshoes tucked up under my arm.<br />
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When I got back to the lake or shore or whatever I had originally been on, I felt safe--I could walk back to the yurt in wet boots. It would be uncomfortable but the day was warm and I am the mother of strong children and the daughter of strong parents so must be kind of strong myself. Just as I was breathing a sigh of relief, I crashed through snow and ice and this time it wasn't a creek but the lake. I think panic might have set in then because I don't remember much except knowing that I had to move fast and light. Somehow--I lost the other purple snowshoe. Once warm and safe and trying to remember what had happened I think that the purple snowshoe might have caught on the ice and kept me from going deeper into the lake--so maybe it saved me.<br />
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I made it back to the yurt and climbed up on a picnic table in the sun to get warm and wait for Charlie to return from his ski with the keys to the car and my dry clothes. Just as I got my wet boots and socks off and was preparing to lie back on the picnic table, this woman appeared beside me. She looked just like Megan McCain--all blonde hair, beautiful curves and designer clothes. She said, "Hi, that looks like fun--I'd like to climb up right beside you?" You know after all I'd been through this could have been an effect of hypothermia but I think it really did happen. I laughed and apologized for looking like I had just fallen into a lake. She asked me where I was from and I said "just over the mountain, where are you from?" She said "Cape Cod but I'm thinking of moving up here and I want to buy some land and build a yurt so I came to see what a yurt was like on the inside." I said, "Would this be a vacation yurt or a full time yurt?" and yes I was definitely wondering why conversations like this so often come my way. She said, "I'm just going to wait and see what God has in mind for me." Then she said good bye and I laid back on the picnic table and hoped that God was in favor of it because we don't have enough crazy, rich blonde women living in yurts in Maine. Amen.<br />
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<br />Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02604780070187163751noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4397297519936791008.post-9783821611014650522011-01-02T18:23:00.001-05:002011-01-02T20:23:11.174-05:00Unexpected Delights<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_YlXF5G1AVEo/TSD4G2UqbII/AAAAAAAAMrw/yVYdckcqQYA/s1600/DSCN1270.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_YlXF5G1AVEo/TSD4G2UqbII/AAAAAAAAMrw/yVYdckcqQYA/s320/DSCN1270.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>As Labor Day weekend approached, Charlie and I were two mountains short of our goal of hiking the 67 New England 4000 footers. <br />
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Katahdin in Baxter State Park is a monstrous massif whose summit stretches for miles and encompasses two distinct peaks that qualify as 4000 footers. We had conquered the well-known Baxter Peak on other hikes but still had the less-traveled Hamlin Peak ahead of us. <br />
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We planned to drive to Millinockett and stay in a hotel the night before heading into Baxter State Park but the Big Bed Bug Scare of Summer 2010 caused me to fear staying in a hotel. So on to Plan B. We called the park and were able to get two bunks in the bunkhouse at the trailhead--I was certain that my sleeping bag was bed bug free and couldn't imagine any self-respecting bed bug living in the inhospitable environment of a plywood bunk in Baxter State Park. So, off we went. The change of plans meant bringing gear to cook breakfast so we brought along our little stove and some supplies. <br />
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_YlXF5G1AVEo/TSD7ytsJ8CI/AAAAAAAAMr0/JsPucZrH4Mc/s1600/DSCN1280.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_YlXF5G1AVEo/TSD7ytsJ8CI/AAAAAAAAMr0/JsPucZrH4Mc/s320/DSCN1280.jpg" width="320" /></a>There was another couple in the bunk house with us and we stayed up playing Scrabble with them by gas lantern--some time during the game and the getting-to-know-you, Charlie and the other man discovered that they had both been to an Eagles and Dan Fogelberg concert in 1974 in New York City. Do you ever wonder if we are all in some big Venn diagram and everyone intersects at some point?<br />
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The next morning, we were off to the trail. Katahdin is my nemesis--I love it and I hate it--mostly I love it when I'm finished climbing it or planning to climb it--when I'm on the trail, I think that it's really really hard and the Native Americans were probably right about it being a sacred mountain that shouldn't be climbed. I decide that I'm too old for such nonesense and decide never to climb it again--but where would the story be in that.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_YlXF5G1AVEo/TSEAlFMdWNI/AAAAAAAAMsA/Dhe8JwupKf8/s1600/DSCN1298.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_YlXF5G1AVEo/TSEAlFMdWNI/AAAAAAAAMsA/Dhe8JwupKf8/s320/DSCN1298.jpg" width="320" /></a>Our planned route was long and the wind above the trees was crazy. But the views were incredible. When I wasn't shaking my first at the mountain for being so difficult, I was full of the belief that at that moment I was the most fortunate person on earth.<br />
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We made it to the top with a great deal of effort. It was impossible to remain completely vertical in the strong wind and without a tie for my hair my vision was severely compromised. I was afraid of descending the rocky trail with hair flying into my eyes and we made a decision to struggle through the wind for a mile along the summit ridge in order to descend by the sheltered Saddle Trail to Chimney Pond. Chimney Pond is only 3.3 miles from the Roaring Brook campground and our car. It was a gradual grade and all downhill for us at that point but exhaustion was setting in. <br />
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_YlXF5G1AVEo/TSEFabjFfNI/AAAAAAAAMsE/D5KPkP_1_M0/s1600/DSCN1388.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_YlXF5G1AVEo/TSEFabjFfNI/AAAAAAAAMsE/D5KPkP_1_M0/s320/DSCN1388.jpg" width="320" /></a>About 1/2 mile from the end of the trail, Charlie remembered something wonderful! "We have instant coffee and milk and sugar left over from breakfast! I will go ahead and make it for you!" A more sincere and timely expression of love has never been spoken.<br />
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So, I limped to the car and changed into jeans and a flannel shirt--cotton is deadly while hiking but so comforting afterward. I slid down to the ground against a tree because it was the only way. Charlie handed me a cup of the most delicious coffee and we toasted our astounding day. And you know, I really do love Katahdin.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_YlXF5G1AVEo/TSEHs8Evc6I/AAAAAAAAMsI/ejA09qVeaSA/s1600/DSCN1391.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_YlXF5G1AVEo/TSEHs8Evc6I/AAAAAAAAMsI/ejA09qVeaSA/s320/DSCN1391.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02604780070187163751noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4397297519936791008.post-22775346572112874452010-10-16T19:26:00.001-04:002010-10-16T19:29:55.133-04:00Climbing Cannon with the Frat Boys<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_YlXF5G1AVEo/TLowUh0nR8I/AAAAAAAAMi8/QAufLWtpGpU/s1600/Cannon+Mt.+%234.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_YlXF5G1AVEo/TLowUh0nR8I/AAAAAAAAMi8/QAufLWtpGpU/s320/Cannon+Mt.+%234.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>In January of 2007, Ethan and a bunch of his fraternity brothers rented a condominium in Franconia Notch so that they could ski at Cannon Mountain. This was their senior year and they were ready for a skiing vacation before heading back for their last semester. Unfortunately, the weather gods did not cooperate and the snow conditions were abysmal for skiing so Ethan suggested calling his mom who could bring some winter hiking gear over and then we could all climb Cannon. Yes, I think that I might be the only mother ever invited on a fraternity outing.<br />
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_YlXF5G1AVEo/TLow2K3nLeI/AAAAAAAAMjA/bPj_mx3GKW4/s1600/Cannon+Mt.+%233.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="210" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_YlXF5G1AVEo/TLow2K3nLeI/AAAAAAAAMjA/bPj_mx3GKW4/s320/Cannon+Mt.+%233.jpg" width="320" /></a>I brought along thermoses of hot tea and hot jello, crampons and snow shoes and microspikes and everything else that I could come up with and headed over to meet them at the trail head. <br />
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The weather most of the way up was misty and the ground conditions were snow and ice. I climbed fearlessly knowing that there were a dozen strong young men to carry me down if I broke my leg.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_YlXF5G1AVEo/TLoydcl8WFI/AAAAAAAAMjE/Z2FfcmOIPW4/s1600/Cannon+Mt.+%232.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_YlXF5G1AVEo/TLoydcl8WFI/AAAAAAAAMjE/Z2FfcmOIPW4/s320/Cannon+Mt.+%232.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>I have thick hair and lots of it and hats just aren't that comfortable for me. So, in the winter I usually hike with as little on my head as possible. That day, my hair was getting pretty damp from the mist but I didn't think too much about it on the way up while my body was warm from exertion. I should add that I was much more of a novice winter hiker than I am now and in no way endorse my winter hiking methods of 2007--do not try this at home, kids.<br />
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_YlXF5G1AVEo/TLozbqIWy4I/AAAAAAAAMjI/AtcbplW5uaA/s1600/Cannon+Mt.+%231.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_YlXF5G1AVEo/TLozbqIWy4I/AAAAAAAAMjI/AtcbplW5uaA/s320/Cannon+Mt.+%231.jpg" width="320" /></a>So, we climbed through the mist and slipped and slid our way up the mountain. Some of the boys hiked in jeans, some in sneakers, some in ski boots--we were a motley crew but having the best time. As we reached the summit suddenly it wasn't warm any more and there was a frigid wind and things started to freeze fast--including my hair. <br />
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The way I remember it, someone snapped a picture in a hurry and we all ran as fast as we could into the trees and drank tea and hot jello and put on whatever clothes were still dry in our backpacks and laughed and slid our way down the mountain and into the part of my brain labeled favorite memories.<br />
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Thanks Ross, from whose facebook photo album I stole these pictures. I'll treasure this forever.Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02604780070187163751noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4397297519936791008.post-43450973239442940792010-10-11T07:15:00.000-04:002010-10-11T07:15:28.363-04:00I've been meaning to tell you this for over a year.......<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_YlXF5G1AVEo/TLLrfk137bI/AAAAAAAAMhE/aTWlWLDFot0/s1600/5412_674819983234_5305682_39331058_2337253_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_YlXF5G1AVEo/TLLrfk137bI/AAAAAAAAMhE/aTWlWLDFot0/s320/5412_674819983234_5305682_39331058_2337253_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>There is actually a hostel at the airport in Stockholm that is built into a 747 Jumbo Jet. I kid you not. <br />
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In 2009, after spending time together in northern Sweden, Sara was flying back to Macedonia and Charlie and I were heading back to Maine so we were looking for someplace to stay the night before our flights. Stockholm hotels were out of our price range which is why we had been spending our time up north reindeer country. But, Sara, being young and wise in the way of youth hostels, found us the <a href="http://www.jumbostay.se/DynPage.aspx?id=58283&mn1=4924">Jumbo Hostel</a> at the Arlanda Airport.<br />
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_YlXF5G1AVEo/TLLuZQemLdI/AAAAAAAAMhI/7lZn0teHcXI/s1600/5412_674819978244_5305682_39331057_4735509_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_YlXF5G1AVEo/TLLuZQemLdI/AAAAAAAAMhI/7lZn0teHcXI/s320/5412_674819978244_5305682_39331057_4735509_n.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />
After returning our rental car, we walked across the street to what looked like a gigantic plane parked in a field. It was, actually, a gigantic plane parked in a field. A series of metal airport-like steps led up to the entrance where we were immediately told to take off our shoes. I'm not sure why, but I am a rule-follower so the shoes came off. <br />
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The rooms were off a narrow corridor and were small but we fit. There was a double size bunk on the bottom in our room and a little crow's nest upper bunk that little Sara could squeeze into. Our suitcases went under the bottom bunk and there was room for one of us to stand up at a time--just not room enough for that one person to actually turn around. <br />
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_YlXF5G1AVEo/TLLvcgbNvTI/AAAAAAAAMhM/5eMUi9zUpWc/s1600/5412_674819973254_5305682_39331056_6384261_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_YlXF5G1AVEo/TLLvcgbNvTI/AAAAAAAAMhM/5eMUi9zUpWc/s320/5412_674819973254_5305682_39331056_6384261_n.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />
It was great fun and cheap and very convenient to the airport. A bus stopped right across the street to take us to the terminal. <br />
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The Jumbo Hostel is even listed as #1 on a website devoted to the <a href="http://travel.ninemsn.com.au/world/755021/worlds-weirdest-hotels">World's Weirdest Hotels</a>. <br />
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The Jumbo Jet was different and weird, but according to this website there is a hotel in Idaho inside a giant wooden dog. I think that might be my next trip. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_YlXF5G1AVEo/TLLxWNxK4sI/AAAAAAAAMho/lWsgSdA8RaQ/s1600/dog-bark-park-inn.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_YlXF5G1AVEo/TLLxWNxK4sI/AAAAAAAAMho/lWsgSdA8RaQ/s320/dog-bark-park-inn.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02604780070187163751noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4397297519936791008.post-69906105959454805572010-10-10T08:07:00.001-04:002010-10-10T08:11:43.987-04:00So, where did we leave off.................<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_YlXF5G1AVEo/TLGl_JXL11I/AAAAAAAAMgk/TcGsfLYeSNY/s1600/DSC_0032.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_YlXF5G1AVEo/TLGl_JXL11I/AAAAAAAAMgk/TcGsfLYeSNY/s320/DSC_0032.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Oh, I have missed this little blog. It's time to dust it off, spruce things up a bit and continue sharing what is in my heart.</span><br />
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</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Facebook is good for a quickie but doesn't allow the insight into the soul that is a blog post--so let's try this again, shall we?</span><br />
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</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Since we last visited, some things have happened but the essentials are the same....I live in obscurity in a forgotten corner of Maine surrounded by great natural beauty and possessed with an imagination, five cats, a loving husband, eccentric parents and globe-trotting children. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_YlXF5G1AVEo/SaKo0lC_LqI/AAAAAAAAIPg/QcOzael-wv8/s1600/DSC_0004-1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_YlXF5G1AVEo/SaKo0lC_LqI/AAAAAAAAIPg/QcOzael-wv8/s320/DSC_0004-1.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Over the summer, I closed my little law practice in the carriage house and took a job with the State of Maine, Judicial Branch working with two grant programs devoted to assisting families in the child protection system. While my efforts are devoted to the same topic as before, there are no more front-line skirmishes. After eleven years of being in the trenches, it was time to let my battle scars heal and use the hard-won wisdom to try and improve things.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">What else happened in the last seven months--oh yes, we went to Chile in April to see how Vila Alhue had survived the earthquake and found that the charming little town had lost all of its 200 year old adobe structures but the spirit of the people was intact. The trapped Chilean miners are giving us all some insight into what that culture is made of--they have some strong internal stuff going on, for sure. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_YlXF5G1AVEo/TLGq4UAiR4I/AAAAAAAAMg0/1-vKmr3keb4/s1600/Ethan.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_YlXF5G1AVEo/TLGq4UAiR4I/AAAAAAAAMg0/1-vKmr3keb4/s320/Ethan.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">In May, son Ethan busted his legs six ways from Sunday. Rugby----what more can I say. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Sara will finish up with the Peace Corps in five weeks--it doesn't seem like it could be more than two years but it is. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I've missed you all, my dear blogging friends, thank you for your patience and the facebook chats during my hiatus.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Loveyou</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Beth</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
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</span></div>Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02604780070187163751noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4397297519936791008.post-67326006528766346952010-03-13T17:37:00.006-05:002010-03-13T18:31:01.888-05:00Checking in with the bees<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_YlXF5G1AVEo/S5wUGT4qRlI/AAAAAAAALZk/Qzd5RoTZmaI/s1600-h/DSC_0054.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_YlXF5G1AVEo/S5wUGT4qRlI/AAAAAAAALZk/Qzd5RoTZmaI/s320/DSC_0054.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5448251747861153362" border="0" /></a><br />Well, one hive made it through the winter--one did not and here's the story of how it all happened.<br /><br />Last April I<a href="http://bethmaddaus.blogspot.com/2009/04/beeginning.html"> started two hives</a> with bees delivered to Maine from a bee farm in Georgia--being a transplanted southern girl myself, I had a great deal of sympathy for the 20,000 little honeybees and I committed to giving them the best life possible in this cold climate.<br /><br />I named the two hives for the first two 4000 footers that I climbed. <span style="font-weight: bold;">Washington</span> and <span style="font-weight: bold;">Madison</span>. From the very beginning Washington seemed to be the stronger hive. They built their comb faster and seemed to be filling up their space with hive and honey. Madison was working hard but just never quite seemed to keep up with Washington. Then---tragedy struck in the form of <span style="font-weight: bold;">the summer of 2009</span> with basically two months of rain, no sunshine or warmth. Veteran beekeepers said it was the worst summer ever for them and my two hives apparently had had enough and swarmed while I was away in Latvia and Sweden during August.<br /><br />My dad and I consulted with the State Beekeeper--yes, indeed a sweet state job if ever I heard of one. He re-assured us and said that he had been fielding calls all summer about hives swarming. He told us to be patient and leave the hive alone for a couple of weeks.<br /><br />Before a hive of bees decide to swarm--they plan--they are such smart little creatures. They begin their plan by building some queen cells. Queen cells are larger than the regular cells that the bees normally create for eggs and the nurse bees feed the larvae in the queen cell something called royal jelly. The royal jelly triggers her to grow larger and to develop sexually so that she can reproduce. Both my hives had created queen cells and when they swarmed they left behind nurse bees to take care of the developing queen.<br /><br />So, during the time that the State beekeeper told us to leave the hive alone it was doing naturally exactly what it was supposed to--it was developing a new hive full of bees--no remnants of the Georgia bees any more except maybe a little bit of DNA telling them to seek out sweet tea and cornbread.<br /><br />By early September, both hives were again producing and storing honey for the fall--despite our abysmal summer, the fall of 2009 was full of sunny warm days and the bees were busy. Washington completely filled its 3 "supers". Supers are the boxes that contain the frames on which the bees build their comb. The experts told us that we should have all 3 supers full before we could harvest any for ourselves--well under the circumstances we were just hoping that the bees filled the supers for themselves and we resigned to wait until next year for our honey.<br /><br />Washington filled its 3 supers by mid-October when we were ready to cover the hives for the winter. Madison had filled 2 supers and the third was completely empty but we left the empty box on and hoped somehow that maybe they would be able to fill it. That was our mistake. We covered the hives with tar paper and watched the snow fall.<br /><br />One day in between Christmas and New Year, we had a terrible storm full of fierce wind and the next morning when I looked across the field at the hives--I realized our error--the empty box on the top of Madison had blown off exposing the hive to the cold.<br /><br />I threw on my snowshoes and ran to the hive--I could still see that some bees were alive--I brushed the snow off and covered it as quickly as I could but I knew that it was probably too late. So, I cried a little bit yet hoped for the best.<br /><br />Last Sunday, the temperatures were in the 40's and the sun was shining so I went out to check. I was hoping to see little yellow spots on the snow around the hives--the bees will not urinate or defecate in the hive so they hold it until a sunny day then fly out to relieve themselves. I was encouraged when I got close and saw little yellow spots on the snow around Washington--and then as I got even closer some bees flew out to greet me. Washington Lived! I was so happy.<br /><br />I opened Madison knowing what I would find and I did find a hive full of d<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_YlXF5G1AVEo/S5wejNI9k2I/AAAAAAAALZ0/75LmdMf5Vfw/s1600-h/DSC_0001.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_YlXF5G1AVEo/S5wejNI9k2I/AAAAAAAALZ0/75LmdMf5Vfw/s320/DSC_0001.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5448263239382963042" border="0" /></a>ead bees. But one hive had made it and while I am very sad about Madison, we fight on through adversity and so I came home and ordered another box of those Georgia bees--they'll be here in mid-April and they have a nice little hive to move into with beautiful comb and even a good bit of honey--all courtesy of Madison. The new hive will be called <span style="font-weight: bold;">Lafayette</span> in honor of that beautiful mountain in Franconia Notch--the third one I climbed on my personal journey to find new heights.Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02604780070187163751noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4397297519936791008.post-21775311607550738952010-03-08T17:34:00.013-05:002010-03-08T19:46:51.902-05:00Mt. Chocorua--March 2010<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_YlXF5G1AVEo/S5WCbMjTUYI/AAAAAAAALY4/5RKXmaNyyJI/s1600-h/DSC_0029.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 304px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_YlXF5G1AVEo/S5WCbMjTUYI/AAAAAAAALY4/5RKXmaNyyJI/s320/DSC_0029.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5446402728111853954" border="0" /></a>From many of the summits that I reached while completing the list of New Hampshire 4000 footers, I would notice an interesting mountain to the south and say "What's that peak?" and Charlie would reply, "Chocorua". Hmmm, I would think--that mountain seems to look different from every angle but from every angle it looks intriguing. Eventually, I stopped asking what the funny looking peak was and just assumed that the one that caught my eye was Chocorua. Among the White Mountain hiking community, Chocorua is a name that comes up repeatedly as a favorite summit--people hike it over and over and over and now I know why.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_YlXF5G1AVEo/S5V-dN8RagI/AAAAAAAALYQ/bI-wxib4bPc/s1600-h/DSC_0023.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_YlXF5G1AVEo/S5V-dN8RagI/AAAAAAAALYQ/bI-wxib4bPc/s320/DSC_0023.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5446398364798249474" border="0" /></a><br /><br />This past Saturday, along with Sally and Elise, I headed up the Champney Brook Trail to the summit. The snow was perfect and the air temperature was cool enough to keep the snow solid and our body temperatures comfortable but high enough that we could retain feeling in our fingers and toes. The trail follows along and climbs above the Champney Brook with a side trail leading to the Champney Falls. We saw ice climbers heading to the falls and decided to take that detour on our descent.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_YlXF5G1AVEo/S5V_7dcDaHI/AAAAAAAALYY/m9iHTiV73dY/s1600-h/DSC_0026.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_YlXF5G1AVEo/S5V_7dcDaHI/AAAAAAAALYY/m9iHTiV73dY/s320/DSC_0026.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5446399983865784434" border="0" /></a><br />We estimated that the snow was at least 5 feet deep based on the fact that the trail signs were right at our feet level. Sally climbed up on one of the signs for a photo shoot.<br /><br />The trail took a turn to the west away from the brook and started a series of switchbacks which led us into an area just below the summit. The wind was pretty strong in the open but the views were spectacular. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_YlXF5G1AVEo/S5WArxuG8CI/AAAAAAAALYg/agX7eiw9Ti4/s1600-h/DSC_0020.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_YlXF5G1AVEo/S5WArxuG8CI/AAAAAAAALYg/agX7eiw9Ti4/s320/DSC_0020.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5446400813943943202" border="0" /></a><br /><br />We headed back into the trees to find a place to eat our lunch before heading down. Our descent went really fast and in some of the steepest parts I used the slide on your bottom and pretend you did it on purpose method. Tried and true.<br /><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_YlXF5G1AVEo/S5WCKs0nSVI/AAAAAAAALYw/gKa7Ze-QZbs/s1600-h/DSC_0036.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 233px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_YlXF5G1AVEo/S5WCKs0nSVI/AAAAAAAALYw/gKa7Ze-QZbs/s320/DSC_0036.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5446402444716624210" border="0" /></a></div><br />We made it back to the s ide trail to the waterfall and tramped through some fresh snow in order to meet up with the ice climbers. It looked like an ice climbing class with lots of people climbing on the frozen waterfall. Good clean fun. Another great day in the mountains feeling like the luckiest person in the world<br /><div><br /></div>Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02604780070187163751noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4397297519936791008.post-48742898420113166272010-03-07T07:26:00.009-05:002010-03-07T08:07:15.838-05:00Hello from Maine<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_YlXF5G1AVEo/S5Oely8hZnI/AAAAAAAALVc/PkqANc4-7v0/s1600-h/DSC_0003.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_YlXF5G1AVEo/S5Oely8hZnI/AAAAAAAALVc/PkqANc4-7v0/s320/DSC_0003.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5445870746589030002" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Oh, it's been a long time since I have written here. What a lot of life there has been since then.<div><br /></div><div>At Christmastime my brother and his family flew up from Chile. His family now includes an ADORABLE chubby cheeked baby. The little baby stole all of our hearts and you can imagine our fears when we woke last Saturday morning to the news that their world had just been shaken beyond imagination.</div><div><br /></div><div>I saw the news on-line at 5 a.m. and after reading the newswires and watching CNN for 20 minutes decided that I should wake up my parents. The village of Alhue is located about 100 miles as the crow flies from the epicenter of that monster 8.8 earthquake. I <a href="http://bethmaddaus.blogspot.com/search/label/Chile">wrote quite a bit about Alhue in 2008 </a>when we traveled there for my brother's wedding. Charlie and I headed over to my parents' house to set up Chile Information Centr<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_YlXF5G1AVEo/S5OjdZ5ZAFI/AAAAAAAALV0/xg1kcTxZeVA/s1600-h/Alhue+family+earthquake.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_YlXF5G1AVEo/S5OjdZ5ZAFI/AAAAAAAALV0/xg1kcTxZeVA/s320/Alhue+family+earthquake.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5445876099984195666" border="0" /></a>al. Between the internet and CNN we were able to gather quite a bit of information but not until our skype icon bounced were we able to learn anything about our family.</div><div><br /></div><div>Brother had been working in Mexico and was flying back to Chile as the earthquake struck. He was re-routed and landed at the very northern part of the country--some 1500 kilometers from home. He was able to chat with us through skype from the airport and re-assure us. He had little information about his family except that his wife had cut her feet on glass getting out of the house but that everyone was safe. Over the next twenty four hours, he made his way home and we have heard from him sporadically since then. The family is safe but the village is very damaged. All of the adobe buildings crumbled and even the new construction has suffered. They are currently living and sleeping in the courtyard to avoid the risk of the aftershocks and eating their laying hens.<br /><br />Life can be unexpected and so very frightening sometimes.<br /></div>Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02604780070187163751noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4397297519936791008.post-4729391965702328372009-12-20T19:06:00.007-05:002009-12-21T08:07:04.276-05:00'twas the Sunday Before Christmas<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_YlXF5G1AVEo/Sy69BV303hI/AAAAAAAAK6U/vEcvE0z_kCM/s1600-h/DSC_0002.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_YlXF5G1AVEo/Sy69BV303hI/AAAAAAAAK6U/vEcvE0z_kCM/s320/DSC_0002.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5417475232522100242" /></a>While the east coast was paralyzed by the Blizzard of '09, we in Western Maine watched it pass on by without a flurry. To take my mind off worrying about Molly and how she would get home from DC in time for Christmas, I went over to my parents house where every day and every event is a party. Today, the house was full of people who work with my mother at the Buckfield-Sumner Swap Shop. That's a picture of my Dad, isn't he cute?<div><br /></div><div>But, the weekend wasn't just spent partying with the In Crowd, I also took advantage</div><div>of some quiet time and followed a link from <a href="http://journeythroughgrace.blogspot.com/2009/11/share-love.html">Jayne's</a></div><img src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_YlXF5G1AVEo/Sy6_Tgr0F5I/AAAAAAAAK6c/Rv8JvVAmwMk/s320/DSC_0013.JPG" style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 213px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5417477743685408658" /><div><a href="http://journeythroughgrace.blogspot.com/2009/11/share-love.html">blog</a> to make the perfect gift for this H1N1</div><div>Holiday Season. The directions are <a href="http://kimquiltz.wordpress.com/travel-sized-tissue-cozy-tutorial/">here</a>.</div><div><br /></div><div>It's a different sort of Christmas for me this year. Sara will only be here in spirit and through skype, Ethan is going to Kentucky to visit his wife's family, Archie is going to stay in Pennsylvania and work over the holiday, Molly is stranded in 16 inches of snow in our nation's capital and I am flying out Christmas afternoon for a weekend in Dallas for my sweet niece's wedding.</div><img src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_YlXF5G1AVEo/Sy7BtooyC1I/AAAAAAAAK6k/RgS0os5gp3o/s320/DSC_0010.JPG" style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 213px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5417480391520029522" /><div><br /></div><div><a href="http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2009/12/14/AR2009121402563.html">Here's </a>a special story by a favorite author that made me smile this morning.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><div><br /></div><div><br /><div><br /></div><div><div><br /></div></div></div></div>Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02604780070187163751noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4397297519936791008.post-87489943701320050302009-11-20T21:26:00.001-05:002009-11-20T21:27:34.665-05:00Update on Dogs 101Sorry, folks, I guess we were confused. Atticus will be on Dogs 101 on Saturday night, November 21.Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02604780070187163751noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4397297519936791008.post-71270202919960395442009-11-19T14:53:00.011-05:002011-10-22T20:25:04.116-04:00Random thoughts of the day<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_YlXF5G1AVEo/SwWjPzMAJRI/AAAAAAAAKxs/oHZig0TPmmU/s1600/DSC_0036.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5405906419562063122" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_YlXF5G1AVEo/SwWjPzMAJRI/AAAAAAAAKxs/oHZig0TPmmU/s320/DSC_0036.JPG" style="cursor: pointer; float: left; height: 213px; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; width: 320px;" /></a><br />
This morning I went by the courthouse to file a motion and found the hallway full of people waiting for their criminal arraignments. Here's the weird thing. Most of them were kind of old. Lots of long gray ponytails on old men--isn't crime a young man's game? True fact: If you are old enough to have gray hair down to your buttocks, you are old enough to behave yourself.<br />
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Later, a stop for tea with my parents. I smiled at the beehives all wrapped up in tar paper to insulate them against the winter cold and imagined the bees cuddled up around the queen telling stories as they nibble on honey c<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_YlXF5G1AVEo/SwWnB-tTO5I/AAAAAAAAKx0/DzrrUi5IG0k/s1600/DSC_0039.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5405910580182858642" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_YlXF5G1AVEo/SwWnB-tTO5I/AAAAAAAAKx0/DzrrUi5IG0k/s320/DSC_0039.JPG" style="cursor: pointer; float: right; height: 213px; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; width: 320px;" /></a>omb.<br />
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Next stop, the county jail to see a young mother heartbroken and addicted and missing her children. My favorite guard, knowing I would be safe, let us meet in the library rather than the sterile rather icky meeting room with its one-way glass and intercom. I looked at the book collection while waiting for the young woman to be brought in--the books looked worn out and the selection leaned heavily toward thrillers and romances. John Grisham and Danielle Steele and lots of authors that I've never heard of. There was a Bible and a textbook on biology. I think my book donations from now on will be to the jail.<br />
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As I was leaving and walking down the stairway to the outside, I wondered why is the stairway railing painted orange like the suits that the prisoners wear? I understand the reasoning for the outfits to be orange--they are easy to spot in case of an escape--but the railings on the stairs aren't going to escape--they ar<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_YlXF5G1AVEo/SwWpzhSrhiI/AAAAAAAAKx8/m-EVsIcRj-M/s1600/DSC_0038.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5405913630303290914" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_YlXF5G1AVEo/SwWpzhSrhiI/AAAAAAAAKx8/m-EVsIcRj-M/s320/DSC_0038.JPG" style="cursor: pointer; float: left; height: 213px; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; width: 320px;" /></a>e just plain ugly--surely orange paint isn't cheaper than a nice rose color. Who makes these decisions?<br />
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Then a trip to another town to watch a 2 year old visit with his mom for the first time in 8 months. He reached for a toy lion and put it on top of a doll house and I wanted to tell him a fun fact that I learned last night while reading <a href="http://www.owens-foundation.org/docs/kalahari2.htm">Cry of the Kalahari</a> by Mark and Delia Owens. Under the right atmospheric conditions--when the desert is at its highest relative humidity between 4:30 a.m. and just after dawn--a lion's roar can be heard for 8 miles. The book says that "To roar, a lion draws air deep into its chest, tightens its abdomen with great force to compress the air, and then releases it through its vocal cords, the sound erupting from the throat with such energy that it carries great distances." I didn't tell the 2 year old all that, I just let him play with his mom. But, maybe, there was a roar, there was definitely a tightening in my chest.Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02604780070187163751noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4397297519936791008.post-33469302569879011242009-11-18T07:27:00.004-05:002009-11-18T07:40:31.795-05:00A special episode<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_YlXF5G1AVEo/SwPqmEJ5GEI/AAAAAAAAKxM/tPKAU0Ke8EQ/s1600/005_20A.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_YlXF5G1AVEo/SwPqmEJ5GEI/AAAAAAAAKxM/tPKAU0Ke8EQ/s400/005_20A.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5405421917445888066" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />In February, I <a href="http://bethmaddaus.blogspot.com/2009/02/revisiting-favorite-post-with-exciting.html">wrote</a> about <a href="http://www.tomandatticus.blogspot.com/">Tom and Atticus</a> being filmed by a crew from Animal Planet for an episode on Dogs 101. The episode originally aired in October and was super duper good. Their segment was the last in the show and the producers gave lots of teasers throughout to increase the anticipation.<br /><br />The episode will be repeated this Friday, November 20 at 8 and 11 p.m. and my advice--bring some kleenex and a cuddly pet with you to the couch.Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02604780070187163751noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4397297519936791008.post-53398391347898645802009-11-17T05:14:00.018-05:002009-11-17T11:17:36.674-05:00Rejuvenation and reminder<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_YlXF5G1AVEo/SwJ4-n7cZ2I/AAAAAAAAKwM/guX4Rv_wGgY/s1600/DSC_0062.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_YlXF5G1AVEo/SwJ4-n7cZ2I/AAAAAAAAKwM/guX4Rv_wGgY/s320/DSC_0062.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5405015520063547234" border="0" /></a>A month or so ago one of daughter Sara's good friends e-mailed her in Macedonia and said that she was weary of her city life and needed a nature break--did Sara think that her mother (that would be me) would let her come to Maine for a visit? Sara sent me the reply email which said "Are you kidding, of course she would!" So, it was set--Louise and a friend of hers (coincidentally named Sarah) would fly up to Maine from their busy lives in Washington, DC for Halloween weekend. The excitement of the weekend began when I met their plane in Portland<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_YlXF5G1AVEo/SwJ9o2wKeZI/AAAAAAAAKwc/OhMGnZrQh1I/s1600/DSC_0087.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 213px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_YlXF5G1AVEo/SwJ9o2wKeZI/AAAAAAAAKwc/OhMGnZrQh1I/s320/DSC_0087.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5405020643643783570" border="0" /></a> late Thursday night and we noticed that Senator Olympia Snowe had been on their plane. I guess she needed a nature break, too.<br /><br />One of our first stops on our nature tour was<a href="http://bethmaddaus.blogspot.com/2008/03/memorial-pines.html"> my favorite tree</a>. Since my last posting on the tree, it has been determined to be the second largest white pine in the state of Maine. If I was more competitive that #1 tree should be in serious trouble. After hiking all over the woods checking the beaver dam and the beehives, we went back to my parents' house and had a lovely dinner where my parents fell hook, line and sinker in love with these two girls.<br /><br />On Saturday, we drove up into the mountains and hiked out to <a href="http://bethmaddaus.blogspot.com/2009/02/bemis-track.html">Angel Falls</a>. Angels Falls is a startlingly beautiful waterfall that is really hard to get to. The path to the falls starts 3.5 miles down the Bemis Track which is sometimes navigable by vehicle, sometimes not. We hit it lucky--there had recently been some logging along the track so it had bee<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_YlXF5G1AVEo/SwJ-x4hW_jI/AAAAAAAAKwk/gfCbyURU4v0/s1600/DSC_0001.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_YlXF5G1AVEo/SwJ-x4hW_jI/AAAAAAAAKwk/gfCbyURU4v0/s320/DSC_0001.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5405021898249010738" border="0" /></a>n stabilized for the first 3 miles. After that, we were on our own and the last 1/2 mile was scary. But we made it to the trailhead and then hiked into the falls crossing the river once and then a stream once, twice, three times then navigated our way around a big boulder and there it was. Surprise!<br /><br />Halloween night in between passing out candy to every little kid in the River Valley, the girls discovered Molly and Archie's craft box and the sounds of their soft voices in front of the f<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_YlXF5G1AVEo/SwJ_lItz5bI/AAAAAAAAKws/5DmaDNLrusE/s1600/DSC_0025.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_YlXF5G1AVEo/SwJ_lItz5bI/AAAAAAAAKws/5DmaDNLrusE/s320/DSC_0025.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5405022778769532338" border="0" /></a>ire as they created cute little crafts made my heart absolutely grow three sizes.<br /><br />On Sunday morning, we headed off to the coast. There were no big storms out to sea and it was low tide so the waves were not impressive, but the setting was beautiful. Sarah looked out to sea, I watched birds on a nearby island with my binoculars and Louise sketched.<br /><br />After a final stop at L. L. Bean on the way to the airport, we said our good-byes and went back to our lives--all touched by the w<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_YlXF5G1AVEo/SwKAa4QF1OI/AAAAAAAAKw8/Lp9KuN_t48E/s1600/DSC_0033.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_YlXF5G1AVEo/SwKAa4QF1OI/AAAAAAAAKw8/Lp9KuN_t48E/s320/DSC_0033.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5405023702062847202" border="0" /></a>eekend. Louise and Sarah said that their souls were rejuvenated by being immersed in nature, by being with a family, by having their senses touched with laughing trick or treaters and soft kitties and a warm fire but my soul was rejuvenated because once again I realized that this generation of young people, just coming into their own, is really spectacular. The future is in very good hands.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_YlXF5G1AVEo/SwKBjfqBjgI/AAAAAAAAKxE/190cmu9EMp0/s1600/Maine+Coast.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 254px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_YlXF5G1AVEo/SwKBjfqBjgI/AAAAAAAAKxE/190cmu9EMp0/s400/Maine+Coast.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5405024949591182850" border="0" /></a>Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02604780070187163751noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4397297519936791008.post-21177730425482284432009-11-15T19:07:00.009-05:002009-11-17T07:57:30.730-05:00Hip Hopping at the Grocery<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_YlXF5G1AVEo/SwCZcFVD7TI/AAAAAAAAKvk/T7g2o-abImE/s1600-h/Grocery+Shop.GIF"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 276px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_YlXF5G1AVEo/SwCZcFVD7TI/AAAAAAAAKvk/T7g2o-abImE/s320/Grocery+Shop.GIF" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5404488260590497074" border="0" /></a><br /><br />On Sunday afternoons, I usually head to the grocery store to stock up on yogurt, skim milk and whole grain bread for the week. That is the giant yawn that has become my life here at 50 with children flown from the nest. Shopping these days is not nearly as colorful or tasty as it was back in the day when the cart was piled full with double-stuff oreos, fruit roll ups and Cinnamon Toast Crunch.<br /><br />Until today, though, the most excitement that I had experienced at our local Hannaford was when a daughter who should remain <a href="http://neighraith.blogspot.com/">nameless </a>(but linked) was home for a few weeks in between college and the Peace Corps and was bemoaning the lack of social life in her home town. As we pushed our cart into the local grocery store where everybody knows your name, we noticed an older man and a younger man pushing a cart just ahead of us. We did not know these people and more importantly to daughter--the young man was quite handsome. I will admit that we did an admirable job of stalking them that day in the grocery store discerning all sorts of things about their lives from the items that they selected. Daughter and I still talk about that--she'll say, "remember the time that we saw a good looking guy at Hannaford?"<br /><br />But today, as I mindlessly walked up and down the aisles looking for low unit prices and no transfat, I noticed that my step was a little bouncier, my shoulders were a little straighter, and a smile was on my face. About that time, I realized that music was loudly playing over the PA system. The next thing I knew a youngish looking good old boy on the pickle aisle caught my eye and boogied a bit as he karaokied to Play that Funky Music White Boy. So, a note to all of my male readers in the 20 to 35 age range (I know you are out there) any time that you get an opportunity to dance to Wild Cherry with a 50 year old woman in the aisles of the local grocery store--you really should do it.<br /><br /><br /><object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/qe1ScoePqVA&hl=en_US&fs=1&"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/qe1ScoePqVA&hl=en_US&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object>Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02604780070187163751noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4397297519936791008.post-451341477031880822009-10-18T07:11:00.014-04:002009-10-18T08:30:20.959-04:00Grab bag<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_YlXF5G1AVEo/Str6u6gmv9I/AAAAAAAAKno/m6qnsLakfo8/s1600-h/corrine%27s+bag.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_YlXF5G1AVEo/Str6u6gmv9I/AAAAAAAAKno/m6qnsLakfo8/s320/corrine%27s+bag.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5393899187616530386" border="0" /></a>Is there a statute of limitations on stuff your kids friends have left at your house?<br /><br />Would you say that if a friend of a daughter left a bag almost six years ago then the bag is up for grabs? Me too. So after six years of lusting for this bag as it hung on a peg in my hallway, I threw caution, patience and good manners to the wind and claimed it as my nature bag. It has pockets for guide books and binoculars a<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_YlXF5G1AVEo/Str75GmVwRI/AAAAAAAAKn4/vo4WfchpNI0/s1600-h/Beth%27s+bag.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_YlXF5G1AVEo/Str75GmVwRI/AAAAAAAAKn4/vo4WfchpNI0/s320/Beth%27s+bag.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5393900462172127506" border="0" /></a>nd a big pouch for the camera and room for a water bottle on the side--I am OUTFITTED.<br /><br />So with my new bag, I went off into the woods to see what I could see.<br /><br />I found some British Soldier L<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_YlXF5G1AVEo/StsJnYZmdwI/AAAAAAAAKpQ/2JXWiwGaHAw/s1600-h/DSC_0048.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 266px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_YlXF5G1AVEo/StsJnYZmdwI/AAAAAAAAKpQ/2JXWiwGaHAw/s320/DSC_0048.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5393915550875678466" border="0" /></a>ichen along the path and something that I believe is a lichen but that I have not been able to identify. Ideas welcome.<br /><br />My mom felt up to walking with me and we made it down to the river. We found a few trees that looked like the beavers had recently been at work but nothing like the activity that we saw l<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_YlXF5G1AVEo/Str-rYY-BXI/AAAAAAAAKoY/HgEwI_AHRHM/s1600-h/DSC_0051.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 226px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_YlXF5G1AVEo/Str-rYY-BXI/AAAAAAAAKoY/HgEwI_AHRHM/s320/DSC_0051.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5393903524964599154" border="0" /></a>ast fall and they have not repaired the dam. Their two lodges are still in the river, but do not have any noticeable fresh improvements. So, I don't know what to think about the beavers--the ice will be in soon but I'll keep checking over the next few weeks.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_YlXF5G1AVEo/StsJ8rFvqII/AAAAAAAAKpY/IpfNBbF6drw/s1600-h/DSC_0055.JPG"><br /></a>Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02604780070187163751noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4397297519936791008.post-26342417561395255242009-10-14T09:44:00.007-04:002010-01-14T14:14:37.884-05:00Where Have All the People Gone?<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_YlXF5G1AVEo/StXV_2kW_fI/AAAAAAAAKmQ/9-DtT6iO5PE/s1600-h/DSC_0041.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_YlXF5G1AVEo/StXV_2kW_fI/AAAAAAAAKmQ/9-DtT6iO5PE/s320/DSC_0041.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5392451421802528242" border="0" /></a><br />This morning walking to the Post Office I noticed an entire street full of empty houses. Walking along and counting I noticed that of the first ten houses that I passed, eight were empty. What is going on? Where are people going?<br /><br /><br /><br />Scary times.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Addendum: So, about 5 minutes after I hit <span style="font-weight: bold;">publish</span> on this, there was a knock on the door. A nice lady and her husband who are buying the empty house next door. Would I do the closing? Of course! Work and a neighbor all in one day! Brighter days ahead?</span>Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02604780070187163751noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4397297519936791008.post-3321885604404230492009-10-04T11:37:00.006-04:002009-10-04T13:21:50.428-04:00Shuffle Songs<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_YlXF5G1AVEo/SsjBlaJiqnI/AAAAAAAAKiM/ekuhc4iMLi4/s1600-h/DSC_0046.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_YlXF5G1AVEo/SsjBlaJiqnI/AAAAAAAAKiM/ekuhc4iMLi4/s320/DSC_0046.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5388769802567461490" border="0" /></a><br />It's a Sunday of nesting activities--cleaning the house and working on a baby blanket to send to a new mother in Estonia who translated for us and made us feel welcome when we visited in August.<br /><br />I love days like this with no demands.<br /><br />To set the mood, I set my ipod to shuffle songs and turned it up loud enough to function as my personal soundtrack. The random shuffle had gone through <span style="font-style: italic;">Pachabel's Cannon in D, Muleskinner Blues, Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy </span>and Alan Jackson's version of <span style="font-style: italic;">The Old Rug</span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_YlXF5G1AVEo/SsjHDBPvFCI/AAAAAAAAKiU/gRBigFLI2fI/s1600-h/DSC_0169.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_YlXF5G1AVEo/SsjHDBPvFCI/AAAAAAAAKiU/gRBigFLI2fI/s320/DSC_0169.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5388775808836768802" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">ged Cross</span>--in the time it took me to do a load of laundry. As <span style="font-style: italic;">Welcome to the 60's </span>from Hairspray began, it occurred to me that I really like every song on my ipod but there is probably not another list exactly like it. Our ipod lists are like snowflakes or fingerprints--unique--just like us!<br /><br />Many years ago, I stayed up late talking to the man who owned a bed & breakfast that I was staying in in Wales. As we traded thoughts into the wee hours, he said something so profound that I think of it every day. <span style="font-weight: bold;">It's all part of the tapestry of life.</span><br /><br />Yes, indeed.Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02604780070187163751noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4397297519936791008.post-16746314951885492922009-09-27T17:30:00.006-04:002009-09-27T18:35:18.552-04:00The Tippy Tops of New Hampshire<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_YlXF5G1AVEo/Sr_awO6b_uI/AAAAAAAAKfM/-kaA7NzMBB0/s1600-h/DSC_0058.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_YlXF5G1AVEo/Sr_awO6b_uI/AAAAAAAAKfM/-kaA7NzMBB0/s320/DSC_0058.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5386264201530179298" border="0" /></a><br />On Saturday, we hiked the Signal Ridge Trail to the top of 4700 foot Mt. Carrigain for my final New Hampshire 4000 footer climb.<br /><br />I read a lot of mountain climbing books and blogs and it occurs to me that 4000 foot tall mountains aren't really that tall--Colorado climbers have their 14,000 foot club and Europeans have the Alps and don't even get me started on the Himalyas--but for we New Englanders who hit the trail near sea level, 4000 feet is the best <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_YlXF5G1AVEo/Sr_c0aAUXlI/AAAAAAAAKfU/69UEb6HGJoo/s1600-h/DSC_0047.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_YlXF5G1AVEo/Sr_c0aAUXlI/AAAAAAAAKfU/69UEb6HGJoo/s320/DSC_0047.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5386266472250367570" border="0" /></a>we can do and doggone it, our trails are plenty hard enough for middle-aged weekend warriors like me! So yesterday on a picture perfect September day, we climbed up Mt. Carrigain. From the observation tower at the summit we could see 43 of the 48 peaks and we named them and remembered the climbs to reach their tops.<br /><br />Ethan came up from Pennsylvania t<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_YlXF5G1AVEo/Sr_oa-KvXpI/AAAAAAAAKfs/6CQAiRIORmk/s1600-h/DSC_0014.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_YlXF5G1AVEo/Sr_oa-KvXpI/AAAAAAAAKfs/6CQAiRIORmk/s320/DSC_0014.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5386279229420691090" border="0" /></a>o share the hike. Charlie's sons Caleb and Jacob joined us, too. Net result of so much testosterone--I did not have to carry a backpack!<br /><br />We ate our sandwiches on the summit and as we ate, I pointed out a beautiful gray jay keeping watch from a nearby spruce. He was so pretty and just weeks away from a long, long winter--so I gave in to temptation and shared a corner of my peanut butter and jelly with him.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_YlXF5G1AVEo/Sr_nUHEvnYI/AAAAAAAAKfc/_7_qFGCnZbI/s1600-h/IMG_8134_34.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_YlXF5G1AVEo/Sr_nUHEvnYI/AAAAAAAAKfc/_7_qFGCnZbI/s400/IMG_8134_34.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5386278012040748418" border="0" /></a>Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02604780070187163751noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4397297519936791008.post-27452321344392888452009-09-26T06:04:00.009-04:002009-09-26T06:17:14.919-04:00Today, Carrigain<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_YlXF5G1AVEo/Sr3p5CWTW3I/AAAAAAAAKZo/Ga1arS4ZNN8/s1600-h/DSC_0001.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 145px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_YlXF5G1AVEo/Sr3p5CWTW3I/AAAAAAAAKZo/Ga1arS4ZNN8/s320/DSC_0001.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5385717895497210738" border="0" /></a>Today is the day to finish climbing the 48 New Hampshire 4000 footers. Caleb is driving up from Massachusetts to meet us at the trailhead, Ethan is here from Pennsylvania and Charlie will be at my side as we hike Mt. Carrigain.<br /><br />See you at the top.Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02604780070187163751noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4397297519936791008.post-41798352585620452112009-09-23T06:32:00.004-04:002011-10-22T20:06:45.033-04:00Scales of Justice<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_YlXF5G1AVEo/Srn5YRU6IhI/AAAAAAAAKVA/BdHihES2yE0/s1600-h/scales-of-justice.gif"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 175px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_YlXF5G1AVEo/Srn5YRU6IhI/AAAAAAAAKVA/BdHihES2yE0/s320/scales-of-justice.gif" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5384609024861413906" border="0" /></a>One morning last winter, our morning news reported a man dead after a train hit a car on the railroad tracks in the wee hours of the morning in a nearby town. At first blush, that sounded unfortunate but not out of the realm of sad but ordinary. As details emerged, it became clear that it was anything but ordinary. The car was down the tracks away from the crossing. More details--the train was only going 25 miles per hour and the man in the car had died from injuries unrelated to the train crash. Oh dear, this began to sound grisley--more like Law & Order than the bucolic life in the mountains.<br /><br />A young man was arrested on circumstantial evidence.<br /><br />One of my friends took the case as the defense attorney and yesterday the young man was acquitted after a week long trial.<br /><br />There are lots of feelings in the community when something like that happens and I would not presume to characterize or minimize all of the emotions, but I am very proud of my friend. He protected his client and he protected the Constitution and he held the State to its burden of proof.Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02604780070187163751noreply@blogger.com12