Feeds:
Posts
Comments

Posts Tagged ‘postaday2011’

A wooden walkway anchored to moss covered rock walls keep your feet dry on the Franconia Notch Flume Gorge Trail. -- Photo by Pat Bean

“It is only when we silence the blaring sounds of our daily existence that we can finally hear the whispers of truth that life reveals to us, as it stands knocking on the doorsteps of our hearts.” — K.T. Jong.

Travels With Maggie

 Yesterday I took you on a summer day hike in the shadow of Wyoming’s Grand Tetons. Today I’ve decided we should take a fall walk up Flume Gorge in New Hampshire’s White Mountains.

The trail begins in Franconia Notch State Park. You have to pay $12 to access it, but I doubt you’ll regret the expense.

After crossing over the the Pemigewasset River, the path begins its ascent up the flume, a geologic wonder created from molten rock deep below the surface millions of years ago. The rock cooled, fractured and was eventually exposed by the forces of erosion.

The narrow gorge section of the trail consists of a series of bridges and steps anchored to steep moss-covered walls below which flows a rippling stream. The final section of the trail requires squeezing past a torrent of plunging water known as Avalanche Falls, an appropriate name because the falls was created in 1883 after a storm washed away a huge overhanging boulder.

The water level in the stream bed below the trail was low the fall day I hiked this scenicl trail. -- Photo by Pat Bean At the top, hikers can either take a shortcut back to the visitor center or continue on to Liberty Gorge, where another cascading stream makes its way down to the Pemigewasset River.

I continued onward, along with about half of the dozen or so hikers who had made it to the top the same time as me. While they set a fast pace on the trail, I dawdled, taking time to identify the birds and flowers and to photograph the beauty around me.

The result was that I soon had the path to myself. Miraculously it continued that way. I slowed my pace even more, drinking in the tranquility of nature’s whimsies right down to my little toes. Hug-able trees, fragrant flowers, a mysterious dark pool, water singing as it splashed playfully about, and scattered glacial rocks, one as large as a cabin with an interpretive sign to denote its importance.

“Life is good,” I told Maggie when I finally returned to my RV. Dogs weren’t allowed on the trail.

She wagged her tail and asked: So where’s my treat?

I gave her two

Read Full Post »

 

The path on the right leads to Taggart Lake at the foot of the Tetons. It’s one of my favorite hikes. — Photo by Pat Bean

                               _______________________

Do you have a favorite hike that you would like to share?

                                __________________________

“There is an eternal landscape, a geography of the soul; we search for its outlines all our lives.” — Josephine Hart

Travels With Maggie

There is nothing that pleases me more on a hike than to be serenaded by the brisk giggles of a tumbling stream. If you add jagged mountains bearing glaciers on the horizon, you’ve taken my kind of walk from merely bliss to absolute glory.

While Mother Nature has recently been playing weather tricks on Texans, she was playing nice the summer day a couple of years ago when I hiked the Taggart Lake Trail in the Tetons, where glacial streams flow down from snow-covered peaks. Mother Nature’s mixture here of water, mountains, blue sky, wildflowers and twittering birds is a recipe of perfection.

Taggart Creek: A giggling beauty. -- Photo by Pat Bean

I had hiked this trail several times previously, each time finding new delights to awe me, like a red-tailed hawk circling low overhead, or Indian paintbrush coloring a patch of the meadow red with its blooms.

This day, I had brought along a couple of friends who were newcomers to the trail. I took great delight in their delight at almost every step as we hiked the mile and a half to the lake.

Sharing Mother Nature, however, is a conundrum for me. While I want everyone to have an opportunity to enjoy this country’s scenic magnificence, I prefer my hikes be taken on uncrowded trails.

I share the locations of my favorite paths, however, because I truly believe we would have fewer psychotic people who commit harm if they had more grand canyons, meadows of bluebonnets, red rock arches and peregrine falcons in their lives.

So, if you’re ever driving between Jackson, Wyoming, and Yellowstone National Park, take the Teton Park Road past Moose to the Taggart Lake trailhead. You’ll emerge from the trail more peaceful — even if you’re not psychotic at all.

Read Full Post »

 

Birds, like this great egret that flew into Sea World in Orlando for a closer look, are what this traveler seeks. -- Photo by Pat Bean

“When you are strong enough to love yourself one-hundred percent – good and bad – you will be amazed at the opportunities that life presents you.” Stacy Charter.

Travels With Maggie

 Many of today’s travel books seem to be written by young women in search of love. One reason this old broad enjoys reading them is because they show me travel in a way I’ve never experienced.

I didn’t get on the road until I was in my 60s, and I spend my days in search of new life birds, like the elegant trogon that  I saw for the first time my third day on the road in my RV, or the golden-cheeked warbler I finally saw last year after five years of searching for one.

Once upon a time, I could probably have been like the women who write about the wonderful or not-so-wonderful men they meet in their exotic travels. I certainly spent many a night after I was divorced dreaming that I would find my perfect soul mate, or crying into my pillow because I didn’t think I would ever find him.

Take time in your journey to smell the flowers and watch the butterflies. -- Photo by Pat Bean

Fortunately I spent my days in a job I enjoyed and my time off in getting on with my life. I finally woke up one morning realizing, man or no man, what a great life I had.

It seems even more perfect since my dog, Maggie, and I got on the road. She, my friends and family, give me all the love I need these days.

I don’t envy my younger, female comrades, and truly hope they find what they are looking for – or have the sense to get on with life if they don’t.

I’m just grateful the journey itself is enough for me.

Read Full Post »

Canyonlands National Park, Islands in the Sky -- Photo by Pat Bean

 

“What is the feeling when you’re driving away from people, and they recede on the plain till you see their specks dispersing? It’s the too huge world vaulting us, and it’s good-bye. But we lean forward to the next crazy venture beneath the skies.” — Jack Kerouac.

Travels With Maggie

Good-byes and hellos with months between hugs from loved family members have long been a part of my life. It began when I left home at 16, continued when my children left home and is still a way of life today.

My five children are not among those who settled down in the same town in which they grew up, the kind of place where your best friend is that freckled-face boy or curly-haired redhead girl who sat behind you in kindergarten.

For people who need roots – and a part of me envies them – it’s a great life. But my children must have had too much of my wander lust in their genes to take this route.

They scattered to the four winds, almost before the ink on their high school diplomas was dry. At one time, I had a daughter in Canada, a son in Korea, a son in Japan, a son in Hawaii and a daughter in Utah. A few years later and they were all scattered elsewhere.

For this mom, who had long dreamed of living on the road as William Least Heat Moon did in “Blue Highways,” this wasn’t a bad thing. When I sold or gave away most of my possessions and took to the road in a 22-foot RV with my dog, Maggie, I wasn’t leaving any child behind.

My living on the road has meant I probably get to see my children more than I would if Maggie and I had stayed put – but certainly not as often as the mom whose children live next door, or even just across town. It means my hugs have to be squeezed into limited visits.

I’ve come to think of my life as one of those bitter-sweet oxymorons. While I love the hugs and hellos I also treasure the good-byes. There’s still way too much of the world out there I still haven’t seen.

I’m always hearing people say they want my life. I usually believe a few of them.

Read Full Post »

St. Francis, patron saint of animals, was being honored by sparrows until I frightened them away. -- Photo by Pat Bean

All of the animals except for man know that the principle business of life is to enjoy it.” — Samuel Butler

Travels With Maggie

Boston has a lot of statues, the most notable probably being the one of George Washington in Boston Commons. My favorite is much less majestic. It’s the weather-worn statue of St. Francis tucked away in a small downtown walkway between streets.

St. Francis, a 12th century Catholic friar, is best known as the patron saint of animals. It was this knowledge that drew my attention during a walking tour of Boston (yesterday’s blog). In fact, I might not even have seen the statue if it hadn’t been for the house sparrows perched on the unobtrusive sculpture with its back up against a brick building.

Being an avid birder, I never miss seeing birds.

I grabbed for by camera, not wanting to miss such an appropriate photo of birds paying homage to the patron saint of animals. Big mistake. My movement scared all the birds away. The sole one remaining was the one the sculpture had created to sit on St. Francis’ shoulder.

The George Washington statue in Boston Commons. -- Photo by Pat Bean

I snapped the picture anyway. Later, where comparing St. Francis to the photo I had taken of George Washington sitting proudly astride his horse in the city’s public gardens, I saw the extreme disparity between the two.

Now while I respect our country’s first president and approve of his prominent position on a pedestal in Boston’s most popular park, the modest image of St. Francis, who loved animals, touched my heart. And that’s why it’s my favorite Boston statue.

Read Full Post »

A memorial to Tom Mix can be seen off Highway 79 in Arizona. Mix was a silent movie cowboy. He died in an auto accident near this memorial. -- Photo by Pat Bean

 

When you set out on your journey to Ithaca, pray that the road is long, full of adventure, full of knowledge.” — Constantine Peter Cavafy

 Travels With Maggie

I should have a sign on the back of my RV that reads: I stop at roadside markers. Such frequent halts let me fully appreciate the landscape around me, give me an opportunity to take some photos, and time to listen and look for birds. It’s all about enjoying the journey as much as the destination.

The truth is, I’ve often enjoyed the journey more than the destination. But not all people think of a trip in the same way.

Twenty or so years ago, I drove cross-country with my oldest son, a career military man, and his wife. They were on their way to a new base where he had been transferred. My son’s only goal for the trip was the destination. Even pee stops were rationed.

His wife still laughs about the time I finally hit him on the head when he passed two service stations after I had told him that I needed a restroom break.

Echo Amphitheater is located off Highway 84 in New Mexico. No way would I have passed by without stopping for a closer look at this scenic beauty. -- Photo by Pat Bean

The next long trip I took with that same son was in 2004, when he drove back with me in my new RV from Texas to Utah. It took a week, with short stops at road markers all along the way and longer visits to places like Carlsbad Caverns and Monument Valley, to reach our destination.

 That trip must have opened his eyes. I say so because he recently thanked me for helping him learn to enjoy each moment of a journey instead of always focusing on the destination ahead.

It’s one of the nicest compliments I’ve every received.

Read Full Post »

 Buttercup: That’s the fire swamp! We’ll never survive.                                                                                                                      Wesley: Nonsense! You’re only saying that because no one ever has.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                 — The Princess Bride

View of The Great Dismal Swamp from Highway 17 -- Photo by Pat Bean

Travels With Maggie

 It was a beautiful fall day that found Maggie and I driving south on Highway 17. We had no plans except for making it 100 miles farther down the road, a necessity if we were to be back in Texas in time for Thanksgiving with family.

 I had just crossed from Virginia into North Carolina when I came upon the Great Dismal Swamp Canal Welcome Center. Of course I stopped to investigate.

 Maggie, who was recovering from one of her recurring bouts of the infamous cocker-spaniel-ear infections, gave me her: Don’t bother me, I’m napping look. No problem, I told her as I climbed down from the RV.

Sailboats tied up at the Dismal Swamp Canal Welcome Center in North Carolina. -- Photo by Pat Bean

From information available in the visitor center, I learned that the swamp stretched from Virginia into North Carolina, and that 110, 000 acres of it was a designated national wildlife refuge. The more fascinating information concerned the canal that ran behind the visitor center.

This 22-mile long waterway was the idea of George Washington, who saw it as an investment to accommodate trade between Virginia and an isolated region of North Carolina. In George’s day, such a canal was the only easy way through the swampy muck.

 Given the year it was begun, 1793 (finished in 1805), it’s a given that slaves were the digging tools. But the swamp was also a place of hiding for runaway slaves, which “Unce Tom’s Cabin” author, Harriet Beecher Stow, wrote about in her less known work, “Dred.” This is the story of an escaped slave who lives in the Great Dismal Swamp.

Civilized trail -- no snakes -- Photo by Pat Bean

 Today, the canal provides access to Lake Drummond , and is a shortcut for boaters traveling between the Elizabeth River and Chesapeake Bay in Virginia to the Pasquotank River in North Carolina. Six large sailboats tied up this morning at the welcome center dock told me it was a popular passage.

 By the time I got back to the RV, Maggie had decided she wanted to investigate, too. I took her for a walk on a short nature trail on the civilized and landscaped side of the swamp.

 Back on the road, Highway 17 traversed the swamp for another 60 miles. From my comfortable seat behind the steering wheel, with the tires of my RV humming a pavement tune, I didn’t find the swamp dismal at all.

Read Full Post »

Bridge standoff at Okefenokee Swamp Park. -- Photo by Pat Bean

 “We have met the enemy, and he is us.” Pogo

Travel With Maggie

 It was a fall day in 2006 when I visited the Okefenokee Swamp, a place I had once thought was as fictional as Anne McCaffrey’s Pern. I knew it only as the imaginary home of the animals in Walt Kelly’s comic strip “Pogo,” which ran in newspapers across the country from 1948 to 1975.

 Many a Sunday morning would find me curled up somewhere reading all about Pogo the possum, Albert the alligator, Howland the owl, Porky Pine the porcupine and a host of other animals that grew out of Kelly’s imagination.

 In its early days, I saw Walt’s colorful drawings as simply a comic strip about the four-legged and winged creatures that lived in a swamp. As an observant animal lover, I understood the human attributes he gave his creatures, but it wasn’t until I was about 25 that I realized he was satirizing human nature as well.

When the water levels are higher, visitors to Okefenokee Swamp Park are given a boat ride as part of the swamp experience. A drought in the park in 2006 meant no boat ride for me. -- Photo by Pat Bean

 My discovery that the Okefenokee was more than the byproduct of a vivid imagination came even later than that. While the Texas school I attended taught me a lot about the geography of Texas and the rich oil fields that lay off its Gulf of Mexico shoreline, it skipped completely any information about Georgia’s Okefenokee Swamp adjacent to the Atlantic Ocean.

 I had to learn that on my own.

For the record, the Okefenokee Swamp was once an ocean floor. It lay beneath the salt water until a sandbar, formed about a million years ago, cut the basin off from the sea. Time and the elements eventually turned it into the freshwater wetlands that today extends Georgia’s eastern coastline by about 75 miles.

Of course I compared what I saw on my day in the Okefenokee to my memories of it from Kelly’s comic strip.  What I saw made me glad Pogo’s home was not just an imaginary place.

Read Full Post »

This Morning's Texas sunrise was not something I would have wanted to miss. -- Photo by Pat Bean

 “One day your life will flash before your eyes. Make sure it’s worth watching.” — Unknown

Travels With Maggie

At the suggestion of a friend, I watched a video on YouTube http://tinyurl.com/4cr4yow featuring a crowd jumping up and down and singing “I”m Gonna Live Forever,” the theme song from “Fame.”

It got my heart dancing a joyous jig, and my mind thinking back to when I actually thought that was a possibility. I’m both an optimist and a late bloomer so the realization that I was only a mere mortal didn’t completely sink in until I was about 40.

It was only then that I finally understood the words Ian Fleming wrote for his famous James Bond character to quote. “You only live twice: Once when you’re born. And once when you look death in the face”.

Along with the acceptance that the years ahead of me were numbered, also came the realization that I didn’t want to die with regrets for things I hadn’t done. From that minute forward, I had a new zest for life, and an appreciation for each day given me.

It seems odd that this second life of mine, simply because I accepted that death is a part of the whole, has been so much better than the first. Perhaps it’s because I take time to enjoy each sunrise because I know there’s always the possibility it might be my last.

Read Full Post »

Epcot Butterfly Garden -- Photo by Pat Bean

“When bright flowers bloom, Parchment crumbles, my words fade. The pen has dropped.” — Morpheus  

Travels With Maggie

Enough already with the weather. I’m going to take you on a trip down memory lane to a spring day in Florida, the one  I spent at Epcot with a son and two grown grandchildren. It was one of those perfect days, full of laughter and sunshine, good food and pleasant company.

Fantasia in green -- Photo by Pat Bean

While I enjoyed everything about the day, the fantastic landscaping is what remains most vivid.  Perhaps I remember Epcot’s gardens best because they were so full of color and life, in contrast to this day’s grayness.

In an art appreciation class I once took, I was asked what two things I found most appealing about paintings. My quick answer was color and surprise. The canvas gardens at Epcot had plenty of both.

Golds, Reds, Purples, Blues, Oranges, Greens and Yellows were mixed together everywhere you looked. The surprises were things like the dancing green hippo and alligator, or Snow White’s voluptuous green, vine skirt.

It would be nice right now if I had could think of something philosophical to say about all the beauty I saw that day, but nothing comes to mind. Perhaps because the pictures are overshadowing my words.

So I’ll stop with the chattering and let the pictures do the rest of the talking. I hope they’ll brighten your day as much as they did mine.

Color to spare for a gray day -- Photo by Pat Bean

Read Full Post »

« Newer Posts - Older Posts »