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Archive for the ‘Favorite Places’ Category

“The caterpillar does all the work but the butterfly gets all the publicity.” — George Carlin

I can identify birds but not too many butterflies, so if you know what species this is, please tell me.  -- Photo by Pat Bean

I can identify birds but not too many butterflies, so if you know what species this is, please tell me. — Photo by Pat Bean

Flying Flowers 

I’m always chasing butterflies, trying to capture their image with my camera. But chasing wasn’t necessary during my recent visit to the Desert Bontanical Gardens’ Butterfly Pavilion in Phoenix this past week.

Photo by Pat Bean

Photo by Pat Bean

I hope you enjoy these delicate creatures as much as I did.

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Photo by Pat Bean

May the wings of the butterfly kiss the sun
And find your shoulder to light on,
To bring you luck, happiness and riches
Today, tomorrow and beyond.
~Irish Blessing

Just a bit of fun. -- Photo by Kris Gutnecht

Just a bit of fun. — Photo by Kris Gutnecht

 

But these are flowers that fly and all but sing:
And now from having ridden out desire
They lie closed over in the wind and cling
Where wheels have freshly sliced the April mire.
~Robert Frost, “Blue-Butterfly Day”

 

 

 

 

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Lake Powell, the setting for Nevada Barr's "The Rope," and one of my favorite places. -- Photo by Pat Bean.

Lake Powell, the setting for Nevada Barr’s “The Rope,” and one of my favorite places. — Photo by Pat Bean.

            “Uncertainty and mystery are energies of life. Don’t let them scare you unduly, for they keep boredom at bay and spark creativity.” – R. I. Fitzhenry

“The Rope”

I love Nevada Barr’s books. Not only is she a good writer, but I always learn something new about the places I love, this country’s wild lands  and our national parks.

Lone Rock at Lake Powell: I camped in sight of this rock on a Lake Powell beach the first night of my RV travels back in 20004. -- Photo by Pat Bean

Lone Rock at Lake Powell: I camped in sight of this rock on a Lake Powell beach the first night of my RV travels back in 20004. — Photo by Pat Bean

Her books have taken me from Texas’ Guadalupe Mountains to the South’s Natchez Trace, and from Yosemite’s high country to Ellis Island and the Statue of Liberty – and lots of other places in between.

But Nevada’s writing has a dark side to it. You can expect, at least somewhere in the book, to find her leading lady  in a deadly place that leaves her body ravished to the near point of death. The scenes fit her fictional character, Anna Pigeon, who is on the opposite side of the planet from Janet Evanovich’s  fun-loving Stephanie Plum.

While Stephanie’s biggest nemesis is a mother who wants her to settle down and get married and a grandma who gets her kicks at funerals, Anna fights against lost love, alcoholism and depression.

I can read Janet’s books in a day, but Nevada’s get stretched out over many days because I have to stop for a while so I won’t get too caught up in the tension.

Take last night for example, when I settled down with an audible version of Nevada’s “The Rope,” a flashback novel that explains Anna’s National Park Service career beginnings. It starts off very dark. And when I put the book down and fell asleep, I also fell into a nightmare – which thankfully I awoke from before it got too scary.

Wahweap Marina at Lake Powell. -- Photo by Pat Bean

Wahweap Marina at Lake Powell. — Photo by Pat Bean

I admonished myself to stop it, then went back to sleep and had a crazy dream in which I was treated royally at a funky party by a gray-haired, but handsome, Arabian man.  It was definitely more inspired by Stephanie than Anna.

This morning, I listened to a bit more of  “The Rope,” because of course I have to know how Anna gets out of her hole – and because I love reading about Lake Powell, the setting for the book. I’ll eventually finish the book, but I doubt I will take it to bed with me again.

My nighttime mystery reading from now on will be cozies, where there’s more mystery than blood. Even Anna, in her thoughts about her seemingly inescapable situation in the opening of “The Rope,” decided she was living a Stephen King novel.

The Wondering-Wanderer's blog pick of the day.

The Wondering-Wanderer’s blog pick of the day.

Bean’s Pat: Mystery Fanfare http://mysteryreadersinc.blogspot.com/ This is a good blog to follow if you like mystery books.

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”  Hunter S. Thompson

The first time I  rafted down the Grand Canyon, the Little Colorado River entrance to the mightier Colorado River was red and thick with mud from recent upstream rains. The second time it was crystal clean, and we floated in its current. I'm the middle blonde, and I was 60 when the photograph was taken.

The first time I rafted down the Grand Canyon, the Little Colorado River entrance to the mightier Colorado River was red and thick with mud from recent upstream rains. The second time it was crystal clean, and we floated in its current. I’m the middle blonde, and I was 60 when the photograph was taken.

A fantastic read.

A fantastic read.

 

Bookish Wednesday

A fairy tale begins with “Once upon a time.” And a river story with “No shit! There I was,” said outspoken journalist Linda Ellerbee in her essay about rafting down the Colorado River through the Grand Canyon.

And there she was — on an adventure one summer taken by 14 other fantastic female writers. The 15 women ranged in age, and in lifestyles that went from city women who had never peed outdoors to athletic women who considered nature their true homes. They each wrote about the Grand Canyon from their own perspective, and about how the fickle river and the high rock walls affected and changed them.

Being a female writer who has been on this same adventure twice in my life – the last time as a birthday present to myself when I turned 60 – my soul triumphed with joy when I came across their book, “Writing Down the River (1998, Northland Publishing, photographed and produced by Kathleen Jo Ryan) in the public library.

Of course I checked it out. Reading the book these past few days has brought back many memories of 32 days, 16 for each trip, that rank high on my list of the best days of my life.

Among my own writings about my Grand Canyon trip was one about the canyon wren, which often serenaded us during our early mornings on the river.

Among my own writings about my Grand Canyon trip was a bird column about the canyon wren, which often serenaded us during our early mornings on the river.

The first time I went down the river, I paddled myself almost the entire 225 miles in a small raft. I came away from the experience a whole person, accepting both my strengths and my weaknesses.

The second time I let the boatman (she was female but she was still called a boatman) oar me down the river, an admission that time had come for me to slow down a bit and take more time to smell the flowers and watch the birds – but also that my adventuring days were still far from over.

I highly recommend this trip for all women who are at turning points in their lives – and if you can’t go, at least read the book. The words and photographs can’t help but touch your heart and make you stronger.  

The Wondering-Wanderer's blog pick of the day.

The Wondering-Wanderer’s blog pick of the day.

  Bean/s Pat: Where Have All the Flowers Gone  http://tinyurl.com/l89g62e In honor of Pete Seeger and my generation of flower-child music.

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“Yes sir, I am a tortured man for all seasons, as they say, and I have powerful friends in high places. Birds sing where I walk, and children smile when they see me coming.” – Hunter S. Thompson

Metal bird sculpture at Tohono Chul Park in Tucson. -- Photo by Pat Bean

Metal bird sculpture at Tohono Chul Park in Tucson. — Photo by Pat Bean

Fooled by the Eyes

            Searching for birds has its surprises. Sometimes what you think is a yellow-rumped warbler turns out just to be the profile of a

I like it that this bird was created from junked metal parts. -- Photo by Pat Bean

I like it that this bird was created from junked metal parts. — Photo by Pat Bean

quirky tree twig lit by a spit of sunlight, or a snowy egret turns out to be a white trash bag that someone carelessly tossed away, and which was blown up against some weeds by the wind.

I’ve seen leaf birds, shadow birds, bottle birds (a blue one floating on the water that from a far distance looked like a blue heron), stump birds and thousands of litter birds of flotsam,  jetsam and abandoned debris.

I thought about these non-birds during a recent stroll in Tucson’s Tohono Chul Park. Unlike all the litter birds I’ve seen, the park]s birds made me smile.

Are you smiling, too.

The Wondering-Wanderer's blog pick of the day.

The Wondering-Wanderer’s blog pick of the day.

Bean’s Pat: The Currents of Life http://tinyurl.com/kenqp2u Just some things to ponder.

 

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“Birds sing after a storm; why shouldn’t people feel as free to delight in whatever remains to them?” Rose Kennedy

This alligator was shot from the viewing platform in Wolfweed Wetlands and was more than a football field away. -- Photo by PatBean

This alligator was shot from the viewing platform in Wolfweed Wetlands and was more than a football field away. — Photo by PatBean

And a Hissing Alligator

It was a busy day for my son, who had chores, errands and Community Theater rehearsal – He’s playing Marley in an upcoming production of “A Christmas Carol.” But he chose to play hooky from them for a couple of hours on the last day of my visit with his Texas Gulf Coast family.

The magical path leading into Bpbcat Woods at San Bernard National Wildlife Refuge. -- Photo by Pat Bean

The magical path leading into Bpbcat Woods at San Bernard National Wildlife Refuge. — Photo by Pat Bean

We two passionate birders stuck out of the house early to continue our birding adventures, which had been rudely interrupted the day before by a heavily weeping storm. This day, which shone bright and clear with bird song echoing from the trees, the two of us headed to San Bernard National Wildlife Refuge.

The birds were out in good numbers this morning, we noted, as their musical tweets came through the open windows of our vehicle. On the drive we saw a field of cattle egrets, which like yesterday’s scissor-tailed flycatchers were late in migrating south for the winter.

A great blue heron stood as still as a statue near a pond that we passed, and a magnificent broad-winged hawk atop a tall pole stayed in place as my son stopped and backed up the car so we could get a better look at it through our binoculars.

The hissing alligator. -- Photo by Pat Bean

The hissing alligator. — Photo by Pat Bean

I had only seen one other broad-winged hawk before so I was especially thrilled at this sighting. Our drive also turned up a flock of red-winged blackbirds and a few kestrels, which were just migrating back into the area for the winder.

At the refuge, we walked the refuge’s Bobcat Woods boardwalk, where we saw cardinals, ruby-crowned kinglets, eastern phoebes, red-bellied woodpeckers and yellow-bellied sapsuckers.

The plants, tree leaves and moss were thick along the boardwalk, letting us hear more than we saw. I surprised myself, however, that by sound I identified an orange-crowned warbler, whose sweet, single note call is so different from that of the single call of a yellow-rumped warbler.

Also identified by sound was a red-shouldered hawk, whose high-pitched keah, keah  screeches cannot be mistaken for anything else. We both spotted, at the same time, a cute belted-kingfisher flying low above a small stream. We both pointed and uttered the word “Look” at the same time, then we simply grinned at each other.

It was also a day for butterflies. You just never know what beauty will turn up in just a couple of stolen hours. -- Photo by Pa Bean

It was also a day for butterflies. You just never know what beauty will turn up in just a couple of stolen hours. — Photo by Pa Bean

It was when we had left the boardwalk, headed toward the viewing platform of the Wolfweed Wetlands that we were startled by a strange sound. I at first thought it might be a sudden gust of wind that had stirred the foliage.

Lewis, walking toward the sound to investigate, suddenly jumped back. It’s an alligator and it’s hissing at us. It certainly was, I saw, as I stepped closer to the small pond so I could take its picture. It wasn’t a big alligator; still we didn’t long in the area.

“I’ve never before been hissed at by an alligator,” Lewis said.

A little bit later, in another area of the refuge, Lewis was looking for rails in a reed-filled pond when he heard something popping into the water. He thought at first it was turtles, but on closer examination saw that it was baby alligators.

He left that area pretty quickly, perhaps because from the viewing platform that had looked out over a huge wetlands area we had spotted a second alligator – and it wasn’t small at all.

The Wondering-Wanderer's blog pick of the day.

The Wondering-Wanderer’s blog pick of the day.

Bean’s Pat: Jamaica Bay Shorebirds http://tinyurl.com/l83rlso A great birding photo blog

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            “Loving Life is easy when you’re in love with it.” – Author unknown

Scissortails and a Whistler in the Rain

A scissor-tailed flycatcher sitting in the rain at Brazoria National Wildlife Refuge. -- Photo by Pat Bean

A scissor-tailed flycatcher sitting in the rain at Brazoria National Wildlife Refuge. — Photo by Pat Bean

My son Lewis caught his birding addiction from me. I make no apologies. The shared craziness has given the two of us many hours of delightful magic and wonder.

So when I recently visited him and his family for a few days at his Texas Gulf Coast home in Lake Jackson, we decided to ignore the stormy weather forecast and go look for birds. . Sure, it was drizzling, but that could stop at any time. And besides, it would be our only chance to spend a day birding before I would be moving on to visit other Texas family, which includes two other kids and 10 grandchildren scattered far and wide across the Lone Star State.

We decided to go to Brazoria National Wildlife Refuge, which is located only eight miles away from my son’s home. It holds memories of Lewis’ first bird outing with me, and the moment he identified a tropical cormorant — which was the exact moment he was hooked on birding.  We laughingly relived that moment on our way to the refuge.

This is where Lewis and I were standing when the temperature dropped and the sky opened wide. -- Photo by Pat Bean

This is where Lewis and I were standing when the temperature dropped and the sky opened wide. — Photo by Pat Bean

We were standing on a boardwalk near the entrance to the refuge – ignoring a gentle rain while watching a chummy trio that included a dowitcher and two yellowlegs foraging in a pond – when a stiff breeze dropped the temperature several degrees.

In minutes we were standing in a deluge, but fortunately were standing under a roofed portion of the boardwalk. We waited, and waited, but it was soon evident that the rain wasn’t going to stop and we should head back to the car. The umbrella we shared did little to keep us dry, such was the fury of the storm.

I expected Lewis to turn toward the exit once we were in the car, but he headed deeper into the refuge.

“We can do a little car birding. Maybe we’ll spot some ducks,” he said. I laughed, knowing this is exactly what I would have done if I had been by myself. I have mentioned before, haven’t I, that passionate birders are a bit crazy.

“I’m sure we’ll have the place to ourselves,” I answered, as Lewis turned on the car defroster to keep the windows from fogging up.

I didn't get a picture this day of the black-bellied whistler, but here's a shot I took of them at Texas' Brazos Bend State Park a while back. -- Photo by Pat Bean

I didn’t get a picture this day of the black-bellied whistler, but here’s a shot I took of four of them at Texas’ Brazos Bend State Park a while back. — Photo by Pat Bean

We ended the soggy day with the car splashing through puddles so deep I was surprised the vehicle didn’t stall. What a great adventure. We even spotted 24 bird species on our outing. For the birders among you, I’ll enumerate: Forster’s tern, blue jay, killdeer, common and great-tailed grackles, laughing gull, European starling, black vulture, mourning dove, mockingbird, meadowlark, scissor-tailed flycatcher, white ibis, lesser yellowlegs, short-billed dowitcher, western sandpiper, willet, great egret, greater yellowlegs, snowy egret, bank swallow, savannah sparrow, black-bellied whistler and pied-billed grebe.

The scissor-tailed flycatchers and the lone black-bellied whistler were my top two favorite sightings. It was late for the scissor-tails to still be in the area, and along with a colorful pair of adults, there was also a tree full of less bright and shorter tailed juvenile scissor-tails.

The whistler stood in the middle of the refuge’s gravel road beneath the dripping sky, and didn’t budge until we were almost on top of it. Whistlers are a species that I love, especially when a flock of them fly overhead belting out a tune.

The Wondering-Wanderer's blog pick of the day.

The Wondering-Wanderer’s blog pick of the day.

Bean’s Pat: The Iris and the Lily http://tinyurl.com/lnt5xz4 Back road landscape. If you are a fan of Mother Nature, you will love this blog.

 

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            “The story never ends. There’s always a new corner, a new chapter – and who knows what wonders await there.” – Don George

A lily pad pond at Atwater's National Wildlife Refuge. -- Flick'r photo

A lily pad pond at Attwater’s Prairie Chicken National Wildlife Refuge. — Flick’r photo

O Frabjous Day! Callooh! Callay

            Lewis Carroll’s inventive words — a victorious chortle uttered after the Jabberwock was slain — popped into my head this morning.

In 1900, a million Atwater prairie chickens roamed the coastal prairies, by 1998 less than 300 remained. Like the passenger pigeon, this species is headed toward extinction. -- Wikimedia photo

In 1900, a million Atwater prairie chickens roamed the coastal prairies, by 1998 less than 300 remained. Like the passenger pigeon, this species is headed toward extinction. — Wikimedia photo

While my canine companion, Pepper, and my RV, Gypsy Lee, are staying behind at my daughter’s home, I’m going to be on the road for a couple of weeks, beginning with an airplane flight early tomorrow morning.

It will only be to my native Texas, and I will only be traveling between the familiar landscapes of Austin, San Antonio, Houston and Dallas in a rental car to visit family members. But, as is always my plans when traveling, I will make sure I drive down new roads and try and see things I’ve never seen before.

These birds today can only be found in the will at the Attwater Prairie Chicken National Wildlife Refuge near Eagle Lake, Texas, and the Texas City Prairie Preserve near Texas City.  -- Wikimedia photo

These birds today can only be found in the wild at the Attwater Prairie Chicken National Wildlife Refuge near Eagle Lake, Texas, and the Texas City Prairie Preserve near Texas City. — Wikimedia photo

The one thing in concrete on this part of my traveling agenda is a side trip to visit the Attwater Prairie Chicken National Wildlife Refuge. The wildlife sanctuary  is located off Highway 36 — between a son who lives north of Austin and a son who lives south of Houston.

I’ve passed by the turnoff to this refuge many times, but never allowed time to stop. Hopefully on this trip I’ll be able to add this rare bird to my life list. I’ve been forewarned that this might not happen. But even if I don’t see the prairie chicken, I know I will see many other wonders; national refuge visits have never failed me in this way.

And that’s why I’m chortling with job, “O frabjous day. Callooh! Callay!

The Wondering-Wanderer's blog pick of the day.

The Wondering-Wanderer’s blog pick of the day.

Bean’s Pat: A Time to Write: http://tinyurl.com/k6378j5 It’s not Musical Monday, but I think you’ll find this just as enjoyable on a hump-day Wednesday.

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Looking down from the road at one of the water-filled pools in Sabino Canyon. -- Photo by Pat Bean

Looking down from the road at one of the water-filled pools in Sabino Canyon. — Photo by Pat Bean

            “The whole object of travel is not to set foot on foreign land; it is at last to set foot on one’s own country as a foreign land.” – Gilbert K. Chesterton.

Six Miles from Home

Seeing this country from coast to coast and border to border has always been more important to me than stepping on foreign shores. That’s not because I don’t want to visit other countries, but because I’ve always believed America, because of being my native country, should be explored first.

The desert's many varieties of cactus and their flowers fascinate me. -- Photo by Pat Bean

The desert’s many varieties of cactus and their flowers fascinate me. — Photo by Pat Bean

Of course there is also the fact of a limited budget, and the fact I can see more of this country within its bounds then I can any other place.

With the exception of Rhode Island, I have now been in every state, including Hawaii and Alaska – and am now saving up to go to Australia. My itch to see and visit new places, meanwhile, is being satisfied right here in Tucson.

I’ve never lived in the desert before, so just observing its beautiful landscape is a pleasurable experience. I didn’t know a desert had so much color – but then the upper Sonoran Desert here in Tucson is the lush desert. It gets more rain – actually right now we’re in its monsoon season – than other deserts.

It was just after one of our recent rumbling thunderstorms, complete with a lightning show, that I visited Sabino Canyon, which is just six miles up the road from where I live. Its pools were filled with water, and delightful to the eye.

 

I think this rock spire had a name, but I can't remember it. Maybe I will learn what it's called on my next visit to the canyon. -- Photo by Pat Bean

I think this rock spire had a name, but I can’t remember it. Maybe I will learn what it’s called on my next visit to the canyon. — Photo by Pat Bean

 

I was amazed in my travels that I have met so many people who failed to visit landmarks in their own backyards, ones that people traveled thousands of miles to see. I promised myself to never be one of them.

Travel doesn’t always have to mean an overseas airplane ride. It can simply mean going down the road a bit to see a new sight, like Sabino Canyon. It was a fun outing, which included a shuttle ride, since you can’t drive your vehicle through the canyon, and a short hike.

I plan to do it again, soon.

The Wondering Wanderer's blog pick of the day.

The Wondering Wanderer’s blog pick of the day.

Bean’s Pat: North Sydney Birds http://tinyurl.com/ncdbchg If one can’t physically travel, one can still visit other places, and even bird watch, from an armchair. I do a lot of this.

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Time Changes your Life

“Time has been transformed, and we have changed; it has advanced and set us in motion; it has unveiled its face, inspiring us with bewilderment and exhilaration.”– Khalil Gibran

And your Journals

I write these days more about nature than I do about the daily chaos of living. -- Photo by Pat Bean

I write these days more about nature than I do about the daily chaos of living. This is  a photo of Taggart Lake in Wyoming.   — Photo by Pat Bean

Henry David Thoreau once said that his journals became less personal as the years went by and he found less drama and entanglements in his life.

Reading those words gave me pause to contemplate the changes in my own journal writing. This blog actually makes up about 90 percent of my journaling these days.

In it, I talk much more about birds, nature, magical landscapes, my dog Pepper, writing and the books I’m reading – and my reactions to these topics — than I do about the personal business of living.

That’s quite the opposite of my early journal writing, when I was bogged down in raising children, trying to find love after it failed me again and again, worrying how to survive until the next paycheck, feeling that I wasn’t good enough, and worrying about children who were nowhere to be found at curfew. I probably had enough chaos in the first 50 years of my life to keep a soap opera going daily for 20 years.

And I could journal forever about the birds I see every day, like this northern cardinal. -- Photo by Pat Bean

And I could journal forever about the birds I see every day, like this northern cardinal. — Photo by Pat Bean

Some of that inner anguish, when I could face it, was written down in my journals in the expectation that no one would ever read what I was writing but me.

In total contrast, here I am today keeping a very public journal, and loving it. I won’t say that my life doesn’t still go through an occasional soap-opera installment, but time has given me plenty of experience to know life will continue on even without the drama.

            Bean’s Pat: Memory Lane at the Museum http://tinyurl.com/ljrr9eb I love the comparison of scenes. A Thomas Moran print of Shoshone Falls on the Snake River hung in my home for many years. The artist also painted  Devil’s Slide in Weber Canyon, which was located  not to far from my former Utah home.  FYI: The reason  the color of  Morning Glory Pool in Yellowstone has changed is because of human pollution especially coins thrown into the hole. The first time I saw the pool, many years ago, it was still emerald green,

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      “Happy trails to you, until we meet again. Happy trails to you, keep smilin’ until then. Who cares about the clouds when we’re together? Just sing a song and bring the sunny weather’ .Happy trails to you, ’till we meet again. Some trails are happy ones, others are blue. It’s the way you ride the trail that counts, here’s a happy one for you.”  — Dale Evans

Take a Hike

Back in my youthful 40s, I did a couple of 10-miile hikes  in Kauai's Waimea Canyon, aka Hawaii's Grand Canyon. -- Wikipedia Photo

Back in my youthful 40s, I did a couple of 10-miile hikes in Kauai’s Waimea Canyon, aka Hawaii’s Grand Canyon. — Wikipedia Photo

I got to sing the above lyrics last week when I attended the promotion celebration of two of  my Tucson Elementary grandsons at Coyote Elementary. It’s their school song.

I can’t hear it without an image of my childhood hero, Roy Rogers, popping into my brain. It was his theme song.

It’s also an appropriate song to sing today because of it being National Trails Day, an event that takes place annually on the first Saturday of June. This year all 50 states have planned events to celebrate it.

I did my own celebrating this morning as I took a longer-than-usual easy walk with Pepper in sight of Arizona’s Catalina Mountains. As I walked, still babying my ankle that I broke earlier this year, I thought back to when I was capable of hiking 20 miles in a day.

This morning I took delight in a blooming ocotillo, which until it flowers looks like little more than a bunch of sticks stuck together in the ground. -- Photo by Pat Bean

This morning I took delight in a blooming ocotillo, which until it flowers looks like little more than a bunch of sticks stuck together in the ground. — Photo by Pat Bean

I only did that long a hike a few times, much preferring to do a more enjoyable 10 miles, which eventually dropped to five miles as time caught up with my body. The truth, however, is that the slower my steps became the more enjoyment came with each of them.

I had time to marvel at the ladybug on the underside of a leaf, to watch the tadpoles swimming in a pool of water in a shallow brook and to take time to photograph a flitting butterfly.

So, Happy Trails to everyone, whether they be short or long, or easy or hard. It’s all good.

The Wondering Wanderer's blog pick of the day.

The Wondering Wanderer’s blog pick of the day.

Bean’s Pat: Tinkers Creek http://tinyurl.com/jw4jquu This would certainly be on my places to hike list if I lived anywhere near its Ohio location.

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