Outdoor Life

Back to My Roots

As we walked my eyes darted from the trees to the leaves, moss, and rocks. I wanted to take it all in, study every detail. My dad knew everything about these woods. He had an eye for detail and he hiked this trail for decades. There was once a time when I would be looking for the differences between the Pennsylvania oak forests of my childhood and the coniferous forests of the Pacific Northwest Cascades, my adult home. But on this short hike I was desperate to find similarities. The way the granite sparkled on the trail, how the green moss gathered in clumps that were irresistible to touch, how mushrooms and lichen cling to the bark of the trees.

It had been five days since my dad passed away. Five days since we left the hospital in the wee hours of the morning under an almost full moon and a layer of frost. Five days since he squeezed my hand and gave me his bright and comforting smile. Five days since my sisters and I sang to him the last words he would hear in this world. Five days since the air was turned off, the mask removed, and peace enveloped him.

We spent five days with him before that day. At first he seemed well and we talked late into the night. We combed his hair and rubbed his feet and made sure he was comfortable. We watched Jeopardy, something we did together daily when I was a kid, and golf and a Phillies game, his favorites. We snuck sweets in for him and made him tell us all of his favorite things. Evie sat on his bed and blew him kisses. His room filled up with family daily. He greeted them all with his bright smile and cracked jokes. At one point we had the whole waiting room filled with family, laughter, and kids running around. We all sat around him and told our favorite stories and laughed and cried. My sisters and I told him that he was an amazing dad and we were so lucky to have him raise us all on his own. I made him promise he would always be with me and I told him I would take him everywhere, on every adventure and every mountain top.

Back on the trail, my Uncle Jack led the way as Evie yelled, “follow Uncle Jack!” We stopped at a small clearing near a large pine tree and he pointed down into the woods. That’s where your dad’s tree stand was, he told us. Everyone continued on walking and I lingered for a little bit. I was secretly hoping for a sign that he was there, like a visit from an animal or a sudden breeze. But there was nothing, no sign, just a comforting silence.

My dad often wrote poems for us and about spending time in the woods. As the family gathered in a circle to spread his ashes on his favorite mountain, my sisters and I read some of his poems aloud. We all held hands and my uncles and cousins shared their hunting stories and we prayed together. We brought some of the flowers from his memorial service and the kids took some of them and stuck them in the remaining patches of snow.

A month later, on another night with an almost full moon, I sat by the window and read my dad’s hunting journal. I didn’t know about the journal and I especially didn’t know he was such a great writer. My heart swelled as I read the entire thing in one sitting that night. He started it when I was 3 years old and kept it going for thirty years through the 80’s, 90’s and early 2000’s. Every winter he and his five brothers along with his nephews would go up to the hunting cabin on his favorite mountain. He enjoyed the hunting part and spending time in the woods, but mostly he loved getting the family all together.

There is a passage that he wrote that I think captures him perfectly.

“I spent several hours in my stand without seeing anything and decided to go back to the cabin to see if the others had any luck. On my way back along the trail several chickadees were in the laurel just a few feet away from me. I stopped to watch them move about from branch to branch. My rifle was tucked in under my right arm with the barrel pointed down toward the ground. I stretched my left hand out to see if I could coax the closest one to bite on my glove. He looked closely at it and flew instead onto my rifle barrel. He sat on the end for a half minute cocking his head back and forth looking at me as if to say Hello, what are you doing here? They are one of my favorite birds.”

I miss my dad terribly, but I feel fortunate that I got to spend time with him before he passed. It gives me great comfort that he was surrounded by family and treated with dignity and respect in his last days. I am forever grateful for my amazing family who helped us during this difficult time. No matter how far away I am I will always feel that pull back home. And until I return I’ll be seeking out the glittering granite, the pillows of moss, and acorns that bring me back to my roots.

“I can safely say that I never left after time in the woods without feeling all the better for being there.”

Road Trip

Northeast Part 3: New York & PA

The next morning we said our goodbyes as my mother-in-law stuffed our bags with apples and snacks and we headed out to catch the ferry to New York. The gusty cool autumn wind formed white peaks on Lake Champlain and I bundled up to run out of the car and snap a photo of the boat. As we waited, another ferry boat pulled up to the dock and unloaded. We watched several cars disembark and then, no joke, there were probably ten tractors that roared off the boat like a small town parade. We chuckled as the proud owners waved and we waved back.

This was just our first indication that we were traveling to another world, a place deemed “forever wild” when it was saved from deforestation and declared a park in 1892. While we crossed the lake we planned our route via paper map. Our smartphones could not help us find the most beautiful way through the mountains or the direction to go to spy the most lakes. Anyways there was no cell service in many areas we would be driving through. For a while we were free.

As we weaved through the windy roads we marveled at the unique architecture and outdoor furniture style of the area. It reminded me of my dad and his house full of mounted animals, a bear rug and rocking chairs made of twigs. The leaves here were the brightest and most colorful we’d seen yet. People with phones held up packed into small turnoffs along the roads. We planned to stop for a hike and thought we were clever but getting a few miles off the road, but we got a big dose of reality when we saw cars lined up for miles along the forest road. It was a short hike and we figured we would have to double the distance to include the walk from the car to the trail head. We decided to skip it and stop instead for brunch in Lake Placid.

The sun hovered above the horizon as we scanned the last of the Adirondack lakes for moose (we didn’t see any) and the way became flatter and filled with corn fields and farms. This was the beginning of the familiar territory that I recognized as my home land. The sunset colored the endless fields with a soft yellow glow. We counted deer in the fields between tiny towns as we crossed into Pennsylvania. By then it was too dark to see much, but we would see more in the days to follow. I was home.

The next day my dad took us to my favorite outdoor places growing up. He took us the “back way” on gravel roads bearing my maiden name through yellow and orange hardwood forest. I kept my eyes peeled looking for wildlife like I always did as a kid while driving through the forest. We drove to our old cabin filled with memories of family gatherings, lots of cakes and cookies (I inherited my sweet tooth from my dad and his five brothers), card games and laughter. On the way we stopped at a overlook where my uncle’s ashes were spread.

While driving back, we spotted a beautiful white church across the road from an apple orchard. I asked my dad to stop so I could get some photos. While I took photos my dad wandered through the tiny graveyard next to the church. He found that almost all the gravestones had our family name on them. He’s driven by that church more times than you could possibly count but had no idea that we might have relatives buried there. It was a beautiful discovery.

Lastly we stopped at Halfway Dam, a small lake with a sandy beach where I spent many a summer day with friends and family. I remember running wet and barefoot through the stone structures built by the CCC to the concession stand to buy popsicles and hotdogs. I hadn’t been back there in years but it all came back to me like it was yesterday. These places are so ingrained in my being. My family’s roots run deep here in central PA and we can trace our ancestors back to the Revolutionary War. And no matter how long I’m away, it will always feel like home.

 

Road Trip

Northeast Part 2: Vermont

This year I’m thankful that I got to spend time with my family, especially outdoor time. Our next stop on our Northeast road trip was Vermont, my husband’s home state. We started off our visit with his family with a bike ride in the Northeast Kingdom. Well, actually we started at The Museum of Every Day Life, which is exactly what it sounds like. It is a small barn on the side of the road with exhibits of matchbooks (including erotic ones displayed behind a curtain), paperclips, toothbrushes and a special exhibit on dust. There was dust from the moon, Mount Saint Helens and the Sistine Chapel. They even tackled big questions like, is belly button lint a form of dust? It was surprisingly philosophic, endlessly entertaining, and very Vermont.

We continued on our way to Barton where we began our bike ride. The weather was beautiful and the fall color was just starting to get good. We biked to Lake Willoughby, a long narrow lake framed on both sides by colorful mountains and is apparently sometimes referred to as the “Lake Lucerne of Vermont.” Is that right? I said as I chomped on an heirloom apple. It may not truly be like Lake Lucerne, but still gorgeous in its own way. Our next stop was the Old Stone House in Brownington which I was thrilled to arrive at to give my tired legs a break. The building was originally called Athenian Hall and was a boarding school run by the first African American to serve in state legislature, Alexander Twilight. Now it’s a museum that houses exhibits of 19th century life.

We started the next day off with a visit to Morse Farm for maple creemees and to stock up on maple syrup. It was cold and rainy but we couldn’t resist the urge to have some maple flavored soft serve for breakfast. Once sugared up we headed to an old granite quarry. Vermont is well known for its high quality granite and along with it, a community of talented carvers. The path we took was riddled with carvings on the rock faces. It was fascinating to see the artwork blend into nature around it. If you weren’t paying attention you could walk right by them.

The path led to ice blue ponds surrounded by shear cliffs and curved wooden boardwalks labeled as a roller coaster for mountain bikes. Large smooth cut pieces of granite jutted out of the ground at strange angles like an abandoned graveyard. We found numerous artifacts and old rusted tools laying in the stands of white birch and stopped to admire the views at overlooks. Just before the end of the trail we passed a happy young couple with a picnic basket. They just got engaged. Then we saw candles lining the end of the trail at a lookout. How romantic.

Our last day in Vermont was my husband’s birthday and we wanted to hike up into the Green Mountains to celebrate. We headed to Camels Hump, a local favorite. The mountain is recognizable by its distinctive hump and as the third highest mountain in the state, can be seen for many miles in all directions. It’s even featured on the Vermont state quarter.

There are many trails through the state park that lead to the summit. We took a steep and rocky path through hardwood forest and red and yellow foliage. We passed many people heading down enjoying the beautiful fall day. About halfway up we stopped at a clearing with views to the top. The hump rose abruptly and I wondered where the trail would traverse. I would soon find out as we broke above the tree line.

We skirted around the steep face of the hump on bare rock like mountain goats to the more easy going side. Then we entered a stand of stunted pine trees. As we climbed a bit more we got a surprise. The tops of the trees and the rocks above us were covered in a layer of hoar frost. The last push to the summit was like climbing through a winter wonderland. We bundled up with our extra layers and snacked on homemade apple squares and ginger cookies.

The views from the summit were stunning and spanned from the White Mountains of New Hampshire, the mountains we visited only a few days ago, to Lake Champlain, our next days destination. Our Vermont visit was coming to an end and we made plans to head to Pennsylvania via upstate New York the following day. The birthday celebration continued that night as we savored our time with my husband’s family. Next stop: the Adirondacks.

 

519vSBHtFQL._SY344_BO1,204,203,200_Wandering Home by Bill McKibben

McKibben, an environmentalist with many books to his name, takes a walk from Vermont to the Adirondacks of New York while pondering the state of his home lands. Along the way he visits with organic farmers, environmental students, and conservationists to discuss the history and issues of the land. He explores the differences between the tidy, more populated Vermont and the wild of the Adirondacks and ultimately the intricacies of the relationship between man and nature.

 

 

 

 

 

Hikes featured in this Post:
Camel’s Hump

Road Trip

Northeast Part 1: White Mtns, NH

My husband and I have been wanting to do a northeast road trip for awhile and we finally did it this year. We both grew up there, I in Pennsylvania and my husband in Vermont, and we haven’t been back during autumn for a long time. So we packed our bags and hiking boots and hopped a red eye to Boston. The east coast greeted us with a beautiful sunrise. We planned to meet up with friends that evening so we had all day to explore. Since it was getting close to Halloween we headed to Salem. We wandered through the neighborhoods and spooky graveyards, and explored old haunted buildings. I insisted on visiting the local indie bookstore Wicked Good Books and we grabbed brunch at the Ugly Mug Diner where they serve you coffee in tacky mugs. My husband’s said, Don’t let the bastards get you down. Mine said, Got lobstah?

The next day we headed north to Vermont, but first we wanted to take a hike in the White Mountains of New Hampshire. We headed to Franconia Ridge, a popular route for peakbaggers going for all of the 4000-footers in the Whites. There are six 4000-footers along the ridge and most people hike a 9 mile loop to collect them all. We didn’t have time to complete the full loop but we did part of it, up to the Greenleaf Hut on Mount Lafayette.

We started out at the busy trailhead (it was a weekday!) and followed the Old Bridle Path under a canopy of yellow. The way was easy going and we soon came upon a babbling brook completing the picturesque experience. The air was cool and the sunny skies we had earlier were beginning to cloud up. We were in mountains notorious for extreme weather, a place where you always need to be prepared for inclement weather any time of year.

As we climbed the grade steepened and the rocky insides of the ancient mountain revealed themselves. The white granite flowed down the trail like waves. There was a break in the trees and we finally had a birds eye view of the terrain. We could see Mount Lafayette above a sea of yellow, green and orange, its top obscured by clouds. Some folks headed down toward us in winter coats. I asked if they made it to the top of the mountain. Yeah, but we were socked in – cold and windy too. Good thing we weren’t looking to summit.

Soon we approached the hut. I was a little surprised, ok, I was a lot surprised. When I think of “hut” I think of a one-room structure with little to no amenities. This hut is quite different. It’s huge. It has two bunkrooms that together sleeps 48 people, a full size kitchen and a large dining room. The indoor composting toilets were immaculate and you can wash your hands! They even boasted of their all fresh & local cuisine. We wondered how they got fresh food up there as we ate our lunch outside. I insisted we share a $1 self-serve hot chocolate from a real ceramic mug, because why not?

The hut was built in 1930 and is maintained by the Appalachian Mountain Club. I lingered near the bookshelf in the dining room and pulled out a trail log from the 1960s. The entries were written well before my time yet they were familiar, as our collective love of nature has been unchanged for decades. It warmed my heart. Accents from all over the world filled the air around the hut and I listened to their tales of a long day’s hike. Three miles remained of their tough loop hike.

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The clouds that obscured the top of Mount Lafayette had cleared and provided us with views of the peaks along the ridge. As we descended the steep granite we passed a young man sweating buckets and carrying an enormous load of boxes filled with cartons of eggs and other food. So that was how they got fresh local food!

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The sun began to lower and in doing so lit up the foliage with an extra golden glow. We looked west toward the Green Mountains of Vermont, our next stop. But first it was time to meet up with my in-laws for beer and food in the little town of Littleton at the Schilling Beer Company. The day was a wonderful start to our colorful and beer-filled road trip.

 

More info about the Greenleaf Hut & Franconia Ridge:
Appalachian Mountain Club site & Hut Reservations
Franconia Ridge Loop on Section Hiker