Where have all the flowers gone?

Wow how do I even sum up anything anymore? 

Today is my 39th birthday. One more year until 40. Phew, strange to write that when in so many ways I still struggle to see myself as an adult, which is funny considering I have an SUV, two kids and two mortgages. 

I have an almost 2 and a half year old and an almost 1 and a half year old. 

I became a stay at home mom as of April 2nd 2021. 

I have learned a lot about myself and how I work and what works best for me and that I am not as bad at laundry as I thought I was… now putting it away is a totally different conversation. 

Recently DJ started brewing beer and I was able to see the process and we brewed a batch of hard cider. It is a silly thing but it has been on my bucket list for quite some time. It is science and magic and delicious! Making cheese, homemade soap and roasting coffee beans are still on the list!

Violet is quickly becoming a truly sentient being with her own thoughts, feelings, and emotions. 

I am learning that she is really watching me and learning. This is when the rubber meets the road in regards to my consistency and clarifying what I really want to be like as a parent. Fully understanding that I am still human and will fail but having something I am striving for I think is important. 

Driving home last night we only saw three lightning bugs. I was completely overwhelmed thinking about what kind of world we are leaving behind for our children. Like gut wrenching, painful, ache…. 

I started researching how to cultivate for lightning bugs and bats and wildflowers and bees…. Feeling like I am on a frantic search to save something for the future and for my kids eyes. Wondering if they will be able to experience the true richness of the earth and catching lightning bugs in a jar like we did when I was a kid. Wondering if the delivery of so many goods by mail is going to put the local markets completely out of business. Is everything going to move online and will we be living more of our lives digitally rather than in the flesh? Will masks become a permanent fixture for them? Will they learn that people are good at heart mostly and that a smile really can change someone’s day? What will be the “new smile” if masks are permanent? Will they learn how to love someone different than them and find their common humanity or will the world continue to be divided at its core? 

This anxiety coupled with remembering that we were able to go to a local creek and see tadpoles and green dragonflies and crayfish and be in awe of the water falls and the splash of the rocks…. Gosh parenthood is weird. It’s the constant feeling of trying to bottle up a waterfall in case you missed something and wanting to give them the best and remember every little second. 

I feel so inadequate to be my children's mother sometimes. Am I enough? 

I am struggling with my faith as of late as well. I believe God is good at my core. There is something there for sure. But I struggle to look in my daughters eyes and explain the Moses story or the story of Christ and the crucifixion or Daniel and the Lions Den. I struggle to explain that it is, at heart, a story based on our need and our lacking as if somehow she is not enough just for who she is. To explain that there are no black and white/good and bad splits in life but everything is a mix of all of it. Life is lived in the gray area. It’s weird to write that considering so much of my identity in the past has been wrapped around that part of my life. 

This is definitely just a collection of many seeds of thought I have been having lately and I am sure that I could expound on each one for pages but just getting this out right now is good. I think we not only experience growing pains in our physical body but also in our thoughts and experiences. Things need to break in order to grow. 

Children and becoming a mother and living more of life has a way of doing that. But this journey is also breaking things down that have held me back for so long. Like I wear shorts now on the regular. I wore a two piece bathing suit at the beach this summer. I felt the sea breeze on my bare stomach. In college I thought I couldn’t wear a tank top because I was too fat. I have come far, very far. This s the kind of mindset I hope to instill in my girls. 

I want them to know that they are enough. That they are more than enough. 

They are strong. Their bodies are beautiful and worthy of being cared for. 

That they can do amazing things. That they can do simple things. That they can do hard things. 

That the world is a wonderful place. That we really are connected to each other in a deep way.

That lightning bugs are worth saving.  

A Word is Dead when it is said, some say. I say it just begins to live that day. ~ Emily Dickinson

I figured I would start with the only poem I have ever memorized... plus it is fitting. 

I set a goal for myself that I would write a post at least once every quarter. The seeds of thought for this one have been floating around in my head for weeks now but today I feel like they are ready to share. 

It has been a whirlwind of so much over the last two months. We have welcomed babe #2 to the family as of March 25th, Iris June! I still have moments when I realize that I am now a Mom of 2! It is all surreal and amazing and HARD and awesome and messy.. and sticky... why is everything sticky!! 

Her delivery was something else. I earned myself a new title that I never wanted - NICU Mom. Now I write that fully knowing that there some that have never had a chance to be called “Mom” as well as those that had a much longer journey in the NICU than we experienced and I do not want to discount anyone else’s experience. I simply want to share my story. 

Towards the end of the pregnancy I was unable to walk without severe pain because of relaxin trying to break my pelvis. So between the pain and the new pandemic we decided to move forward with the planned induction as of March 23rd. When we got to the hospital and they assessed how I was doing they tried to encourage us to delay the induction and give my body some more time to move along. I couldn’t handle the thought of leaving and needing to come back. Not knowing if DJ would even be allowed in the hospital with me if they were to change their policies because of the COVID. So we chose to proceed and get the process started. The first medication did not have much affect or move me closer to labor but that alone took about 12 hours or so. The next day they started drug #2 which is the same they used for Violet and that got the ball rolling in the right direction. I was able to experience my water breaking which was new. I gotta say that is a very weird sensation...like something literally pops. 

I labored for a few hours and then I started into active labor. At the first wince of pain I requested the epidural. With Violet there was a delay between my asking and when it was administered so I wasn’t going to try and tough anything out! But this time they were on it super quick and I was medicated and enjoyed the sweet relief of an epidural. After going through a month or so of severe pain and then progressing into labor, the medicine was such relief. I was able to finally get some good rest and let me body labor as it needed to. 

Some time after midnight I started to feel things moving further along. They are not kidding when they say it may feel like you need to have a bowel movement when it is time to push. The sensation was there but not completely overwhelming so I just rode the waves so to speak. 

Once I called the nurses around 3 am to check the progress, it turned out I was crowning and didn’t even realize it! Two pushes and she was delivered. It was pretty amazing for that moment! With Violet I was so incredibly tired and worn out plus there was a vacuum assist at the end so I wasn’t fully aware of what was going on for her delivery. I had labored for over 24 hours and was completely spent. So to be present and see Iris delivered was incredible. 

** bottle and diaper intermission... **

As soon as she was delivered, they put her on my chest for skin to skin. I wasn’t able to do the skin to skin with Violet because I was so exhausted so they only thing I wanted with Iris was to do skin to skin. Unfortunately I was getting sick soon after I delivered so she was handed off to the nurses to do their assessments and the post delivery care. I didn’t realize that she wouldn’t be coming back to our room. 

Her initial APGAR scores were great but then her breathing took a small hit. She wasn’t breathing as well as they liked and I believe her heart rate was off as well. There was a flurry of activity over at the warmer, calls for more staff, another horde of nurses invaded our room, someone asking me if I was on opiates at all, then administering narcan to my innocent little girl, getting intubated and then whisked off in an isolette. They told us they would give us an update on they had a handle on what was going on. By then the midwife was done with my care and had left our room. Then it was just silent which was the most unsettling. My nurse and her student stuck around for a bit, I think to keep us company but eventually needed to care for other patients. So after delivery DJ and I were just in our room alone... with no baby and no update. It was the strangest most surreal feeling in the world. Not to mention that it was 4 am which already lends itself to its own strange vibe. 

For the brief moment that I was able to hold her, she had left her mark on my chest and sports bra. I couldn’t bring myself to shower or change until I was able to see her and hold her again. This “stuff” on my chest was all I had of my precious daughter at the moment. 

When the nurses stopped in around 6 am to tell us about ordering breakfast, we actually needed to ask them for an update on our babe because no one had been in to see us yet. I think I was still in shock from the whole experience. 

Finally they came in to let us know that they were concerned about her breathing and heart rate, that she was intubated and on a vent. My tiny, healthy little new born babe was on a ventilator. 

We ate breakfast and had some coffee to get our wits about us after such a long night. Then we were able to go down and see Iris June in the NICU. They tried to warn me both in our room and as we scrubbed in that she was on a vent with tubes and wires. No matter how much someone tells you about it, nothing can prepare you for that moment. On our first visit, I was only allowed to put my hands in the isolette and put my hand on her head and hold her feet so she felt secure. That was hard. So freaking hard. She would wrap her toes around my fingers and it ripped me a part that I wasn’t allowed to hold my baby.

She was hooked up to four heart monitor pads, breathing, tube feed through her nose, IV, and a pulse oximeter on her foot. So many wires for such a little tiny babe. She was fighting against the breathing tube and taken off the vent after about 12 hours. Thankfully my girl has a little spunk.

Once she was off the vent I was able to finally hold her in my arms. I wept... I cried so hard in that moment. Because of pain and beauty and relief and fear and so many reasons. 

There were doctors and nurses and nurse practitioners over the next few days. Explanations offered all pointed back to my medication. Medications I took for my own mental health and well being, that I was told were safe with little to no impact on the baby - Zoloft for postpartum depression from Violet and Concerta for my ADHD.  If there is ever an example of kicking someone when they are down, I would say this is it. A postpartum mother whose newborn is in the NICU during a pandemic and oh yeah, your medication caused the issue. Oh, but don’t feel bad because you need to do what you need to do for your own health as well. What are you supposed to do with something like that? Ultimately there was a whole host of reasons that things turned out the way they did. I had an epidural, taking Benadryl to sleep, my medications, quick delivery, etc. I was able to read her chart and notes and see that they referenced many different explanations with no clear culprit. I was able to, mostly, let go of the guilt but it was still a struggle. 

The rest of our stay continued on with many ups and downs. Between conflicting information and being told that we would need to stay another 24 hours and then another 72 hours...etc. Then one day they just said, “You can go now”. I asked if there were any instructions or anything special we needed to know. “No, you can go”. So we packed up and made the journey home! We were admitted to the hospital on Monday, March 23rd, delivered on Wednesday, March 25th, then discharged on Tuesday, March 31st. 

There is more to say I am sure but I think I am done for now. The words have stopped flowing and I think I will listen for now instead of writing more. If you have made it this far, I thank you. 

The Early Days... Jan 2020

“Oh, I like the way you talk now, you talk like me

All the funny things you're saying, you're real good company

Oh, the odds are strong and crazy, and our love profound

you make our messy house feel like holy ground”

At the end of last June, I sat down to write and I was excited to write more. Little did I know that soon thereafter I would find out that we were expecting again. It was far too early to share the news and then as a result I didn’t feel like I could share the moving or the everything else so it just sat by the wayside but I missed the writing process.

For the first time, Violet is at Granny’s for two nights in a row and I am sitting in the midst of unfinished tasks, toys everywhere, in need of a shower, but just enjoying the time and space inside my own head. So I figured I would write. When there are moments of space without the babe, I always feel pressure like I need to be productive but sometimes it is nice to just be.

Lord have mercy, so much has changed over the last seven months. We now have a walking ten month old spitfire of a daughter who is not afraid of a doggone thing...like climbing the steps on her own! Thankfully she plays hard and has slept through the night since she was three months old... which may have led to her sister..😉. but I digress.

We now live at 110 Ann Street, have double the amount of space and at times, it still doesn’t feel like quite enough. But I definitely think this will be our “forever for now” home and I am so happy to be able to feel settled. There is an amazing pantry to fit all of our canned goods and canning supplies. A wood stove in the middle of the living room which has always been a dream of mine! Turns out I’m pretty good at getting a fire started too!

It is no joke when they say it takes a village... Motherhood changes you in so many ways. We are not rich by any extent but we have a friend clean for us on a weekly basis. I cannot begin to explain how much of a blessing it is knowing that the floors will be cleaned, the litter boxes will be addressed and the bathrooms wiped down on a weekly basis when I just do not have it left in me to do so.

My husband’s step mother takes on the laundry when she is here. For me, someone who at one point in her life was afraid of truly letting people in, to really let them see me for who I am, it was a stretch to let someone handle my actual dirty laundry, messes and all and to be ok with it, to be thankful for it and to learn to stop apologizing for it... which I am still learning.

Any time my mother or mother in law are over, they help with the dishes. Putting them away, loading the dishwasher, hand washing, you name it. I used to think I needed to be the one to do all the things. To be in control, to have everything perfectly organized and in their place. To let anyone help was a failure because I didn’t do it on my own.

We are blessed to have a neighbor on the corner who takes Violet in as part of her family. Violet is able to be a part of their homeschooling adventures, be loved on and be close to home. I don’t know how we got so lucky.

There is so much more I want to say but I think this is a good start for now... 

Be loved friends.  

”You've got to hold on, it goes so fast

These early days, well, they don't last

Got to enjoy them, they go so fast

The baby days, well, they don't last“

“Look forward to the evenin' when the monkeys go to bed

Then we talk all night about 'em, we feel half dead

We used to be too tired to eat in but it's a total crap shoot to eat out”

“Oh you're gettin' rid of diapers that you washed every night

And we're saving up for date night so we can have our fight

If its quiet for a moment, oh you better run upstairs!

'Cause the toothpaste in the bathroom is redefining everywhere”

“Oh, I like the way you talk now, you talk like me

All the funny things you're saying, you're real good company

Oh, the odds are strong and crazy, and our love profound

you make our messy house feel like holy ground”



The song I live by these days... and the source for the title.  

https://youtu.be/w8_HsMQ_AQw 

Motherhood is Hard

Ok as you know I’m not one to really get into things on Facebook or such but I saw this article earlier and I can’t get it out of my head. I even took an earlier than usual lunch break so I could share. 

I want to give this poor Mom a hug. Granted I don’t know any more details than what’s presented in this very brief article but I can tell my story. 

Motherhood is hard. Fucking hard. It’s the hardest thing I’ve ever done and I’m just a little over 3 months in. I’m even doing this with a husband and an amazing family with an amazing support network and it’s still hard. This girl was going at it solo. 

Those first few weeks and months for me were and are so hard. Your entire life has changed, you hurt, you’re not sleeping, you have no alone time, there is crying and bottles and laundry and it’s all just so damn much. 

Having organizations available to help are good but it’s hard to reach out and admit you need help. You’re a Mom and you’ve had 9 months to prepare and there is some unwritten expectation that you should just instinctively know what the hell you’re doing. Asking for help is hard because it feels like a failure as a woman especially when it’s so early in the journey because then you just feel like you’re going to fail as a Mom too and everything starts to spiral. 

As someone who struggles with pretty serious anxiety and baseline depression issues I knew going into labor and delivery that I was going to need help and medication onboard in order to make it through postpartum. 

In fact when I was in the hospital after giving birth I asked damn near every nurse if they followed up with my psych consult. I was insistent that I get that appointment before I went home. I was put on medication that day and I’m so grateful I did. I find even now that if I forget to take it or take it too late in the day I struggle to even get off the couch that day and that’s not an option when you have a baby. 

It seems that once Mom’s have the baby, all of the attention shifts to the baby and Mom is then an afterthought. Hormones can straight up wreck you, no joke. 

More times than I would like to admit I’ve been in this Mom’s shoes - sad, tired, need help but I had wine. 

Thank God I had people offer to help and if I needed anything to call or message them anytime. Sometimes you just need another living breathing human being to talk to and maybe even someone else to hold the baby for a few hours and not judge you if you spontaneously bust into tears because it happens. 

Like I said, organizations are great and I’m glad they offer support but Mom’s need people, friends, neighbors, hands to help hold the baby or fold laundry. 

Do you have any new Moms and Dads in your world? Reach out to them. Offer them some of your time and conversation. It can be a lifesaver trust me. 

Are you a new Mom or maybe a Mom with some experience? Do you have a circle, people you can call when you need help? 

If not, let me know. I don’t have much to offer but I’ve got a comfy couch and a lot of coffee. 

Be loved friends. We’re all in this together and we’re not going to make it to the end without looking out for each other. ❤️ 

** Edited to Add: Just to make sure everyone knows, this is not a cry for help. I am ok. I have a support system, people, docs and medication on my side. Not everyone is so lucky. Reach out. Message me directly. Do what you need to do, hell I dyed my hair pink and blue and it helped. ❤️

Front Porch Table

Front Porch Table 

This table has been with me for some time now. I remember sitting at my old apartment and sitting outside for hours and nights on end with my cigar and either wine or beer and some music. Thinking about life, wondering where mine was going and I was ever going to find someone.

“Cause I’m given a chance and a rock, see which one breaks a window, see which one keeps me up all night and into the day”

Now mind you, this table wasn’t mine at the time. It belonged to my downstairs neighbor Dan, who for some reason was nicer to me than I could have asked for my first official neighbor. I would share my extra produce with him from Spiral Path and he would help me out when I needed it. He fixed up my free work computer with a second monitor, wireless card, extra memory and even let me use his Wi-Fi for awhile. Helped offset the time his “date from Tinder” tried to burn down the apartment building but that’s a different story. 

I remember one point when David Pepka came over to hang out and we sat on the front porch and talked for a few hours. Unbeknownst to me Dave liked me but I was unaware. I just enjoyed going for walks with him and getting some exercise. He was a fun guy to hang out with but I didn’t have those kind of feelings for him. Well after sitting and chatting and me smoking a cigar which I think impressed him, he stood up and the chair was now half it’s original stature. The chairs are not the most comfortable and not built for someone with such personality but they suffice. He left soon thereafter. I was then left with an anxiety attack trying to figure out how I was going to explain to Dan what happened to his chair that he was gracious enough to let me use. 

In his typical nonchalant fashion he just packed it up in the back of his truck and went on his way. A few days later it was back on the front porch and as good as new. I kept offering to pay for it or something in exchange but he wasn’t worried about it. 

Fast forward a few months, Dan and his long time partner were able to buy a house and they moved out leaving me the table and chairs. 

And then I met this guy. A guy I had already known but at the time he was taken so he didn’t quite register to me. It was during a rough patch for me. I was broke. The weekend we met, I was supposed to be in Pittsburgh visiting some friends that we had met in Costa Rica but I couldn’t afford it. I had a crappy week between getting a root canal which ended up with a pulled tooth and then going for new glasses at an eye specialist which turned into 6 hours in the library with dilated pupils unable to see and being told my best option was surgery which I didn’t want. 

I was depressed and didn’t know what else to do so I went to the woods. Trees are usually my happy place and this time was no different. I walked around a bit out Clarks Valley and then sat down by a little pond and just poured my heart out to God. Starting with my laments of being single, why was I still single, did God forget about me? Did I want all of these things, family, husband, house, for naught? Was it just never going to happen? And then similar to the Psalms of David, it went from lament to praise. Praising God for being who he is, for making me who I am, and then praying for my future husband whomever he may be and whenever I would meet him. I left the woods that day with a renewed spirit for sure. God has a way of doing that sort of thing. Taking our crappy crappy mess and all out real ness and using it for His and our own good. 

Instead of being alone that afternoon, I went to my parents and poured my heart out to my mother. I wanted a beer but I didn’t want to drink it alone. My mother heated up some day old pizza for me and got me a beer. Not where I thought I would be at the time but it was good. 

We chatted for awhile and then I went to Sorrentos to be out of the house. I had messaged a few people to see what they were up to but I didn’t get any real responses so I figured I would take my chances. I sat at the bar, close to the taps so didn’t feel too alone and drank my beer...or rather beers. 

Then DJ walked in. He walked in and sat down beside me. I didn’t know the full details of his story at the time but I knew he had some stuff going on. Through the course of the evening we started talking a bit and I believe it all started because he was reading an email similar to “7 Steps to Jesus” or something like that. I started going off, in my typical fashion, about how that’s not how this stuff works, that’s not how any of this stuff works. God does not fit into a box. We complicate Him far too much and it’s just not that way. So now I ended up finding myself a cute guy to talk to about Jesus over beer. I knew I was in trouble. So much so that I asked a friend of mine to make sure she didn’t leave me alone with him. I wasn’t sure I could trust myself with him. If I wanted a friendship with him that wasn’t the way I wanted to start it. 

** Don’t worry I haven’t forgotten about the table. It’s coming back soon, I promise. 

To back track for a minute, when I was living on my own, I always had a tendency to hope for surprises, I would hope to see a note on my car on my front door or have something special waiting for me wherever I went. It never failed. I always had that moment of expectation wherever I went that there would be a surprise. This went on like this for months, maybe even years, I don’t quite know. I would always be a bit disappointed when I wouldn’t find a surprise but it didn’t keep me from hoping the next time. That’s the crazy thing about hope. It can keep us going even when our eyes tell us different. 

When I got home that night after the beers and the Jesus talk with this cute boy, I Facebook stalked him, as everyone does nowadays. Granted I was on my parents couch as he encouraged me to do because I had far too much to drink to drive back to Harrisburg where I was living at the time. One of the first times in my adult life that I had to wake my parents up at 3 in the morning because I was too drunk to drive home. They didn’t ask too many questions and just let me crash for the night and I was incredibly thankful. 

The next morning, my Dad and I ended up sitting on the porch while we discussed his gun collection. For the life of me I cannot remember how or why this conversation started but it was one of my best times hanging out with my Dad up to that point. We talked through each of his guns, he let me hold them and see how they felt to me. There were at least two that just felt right to me. They fit in my hand and I felt confident in them. It was awesome that I was able to share that time with my Dad discussing something I know he loves. 

DJ and I started talking a bit here and there. I mostly was trying to act like I wasn’t into him, especially not in such a small town as Duncannon where everyone knows everyone’s everything! Granted I screwed that one up on the day of the Sesquicentennial but that also is another story. Our first official “date” which was a non-date was at Costco. I was hungry ie. hungover and could use some company. I wasn’t about to go to a warehouse and eat a hot dog by myself so at least now I could have some company. We ended up sitting at Costco all but to closing time and then decided to go to my front porch and talk some more. I was trying to behave myself and didn’t let him in the house and demanded that he stay on the front porch. And we were sitting at this very same table. I probably smoked a cigar then as well. We were entertained by some skunks that decided to start procreating in the side yard. It is still a running joke to this day.

Fast forward again to a week or two after Costco, he offered to bring me dinner because he knew I had a busy night and a busy week. I struggled with the answer because I knew I liked him but I didn’t want to fall for him. I always seem to do that in guy friendships. I get them messy with feelings and I was determined not to do it this time around. My sister helped convince me to let him bring me dinner so I said yes, begrudgingly. 

I got home from work on one Monday evening to find a fully set table for dinner on my front porch. There was a table cloth, bottle of wine, actual plates, multiple sides, rotisserie chicken and all the dipping sauces a girl could ask for! He was slyly sitting across the street in his Jeep so he could watch me as I pulled in and walked up to the table. I knew at this point I was in trouble. I was also pretty convinced at that point that this is the guy I would marry and it scared the crap out of me. I figured there was a reason I was always looking and hoping for something and that that hope was met in this guy that I met over beer. 

Now this table sits on the front porch of the house that we own together. 

I sit at this table in the morning and feed our daughter, Violet Mae. 

This table is where I drink my coffee, when I can and try to wrangle the dogs from attacking the innocent passers by. 

My life is a full world away from where it was when I first sat at this table. Wondering where it was all going. Wondering if I would always be alone. Wondering what plans God had for me and still wondering, to this day, what plans God has for me. 

Now I sit outside and watch the birds and the neighbors and remember where it all started. 

“Well this days been crazy but everything’s happened on schedule. From the rain and the cold and the drink that I spilled on my shirt. “Cause You knew how You’d save me before I fell dead in the garden and You knew this day long before you made me out of dirt. And You knew the plans you have for me. And You can’t plan the ends and not plan the means. And so I suppose I just need some peace just to get me to sleep.” 

So I finished writing this this morning and was feeling pretty good about myself. Violet had woken up from her nap and we came inside to get a clean diaper and possibly even some lunch. I finished changing her and picked her up and she proceeded to spit up all down my back and onto the floor. 

Motherhood daily reminds me of my need for grace. Not just because I am in need of grace  but grace for the eyes to see the bigger picture. Grace to see the good amidst the mess. To be able to see the beauty to be thankful and grateful for the spit up that was slinking down my back because it came from a healthy little girl that calls me “Mom”.... or at least she will soon someday. Right now it just sounds like “uuuhhghhhghhhhhhhooooooo” but I can hear “Mom”. ❤️

My Wanderings... Clarks Valley

Welcome...

I have yet to find something as centering as a walk through the woods when life starts to get away from me. When I am in the woods, I find that I enjoy photographing mushrooms. 

It forces me to stop and pay attention. To stop being in my own head, to stop worrying about everything and investigate the little pop of color hiding underneath the leaves. 

The forest and trees operate on a different energy level something closer to what we are created for. There is something about a tree that makes the chaos in my brain stop... just stop. 

Nature does not ask anything of us and continues on completely ambivalent to our existence. That can be both a humbling and terrifying experience but either way it puts our worrying into perspective. The mushrooms force you to stop. 

 To pay attention to the small details that are all around you. The mountain laurel was only 3 inches tall... 

 A Parable of Sauntering

by Albert W. Palmer

Excerpted from The Mountain Trail and Its Message (1911)

There is a fourth lesson of the trail. It is one which John Muir taught me [during an early Sierra Club outing].

There are always some people in the mountains who are known as "hikers." They rush over the trail at high speed and take great delight in being the first to reach camp and in covering the greatest number of miles in the least possible time. they measure the trail in terms of speed and distance.

One day as I was resting in the shade Mr. Muir overtook me on the trail and began to chat in that friendly way in which he delights to talk with everyone he meets. I said to him: "Mr. Muir, someone told me you did not approve of the word 'hike.' Is that so?" His blue eyes flashed, and with his Scotch accent he replied: "I don't like either the word or the thing. People ought to saunter in the mountains - not hike!

"Do you know the origin of that word 'saunter?' It's a beautiful word. Away back in the Middle Ages people used to go on pilgrimages to the Holy Land, and when people in the villages through which they passed asked where they were going, they would reply, "A la sainte terre,' 'To the Holy Land.' And so they became known as sainte-terre-ers or saunterers. Now these mountains are our Holy Land, and we ought to saunter through them reverently, not 'hike' through them."

John Muir lived up to his doctrine. He was usually the last man to reach camp. He never hurried. He stopped to get acquainted with individual trees along the way. He would hail people passing by and make them get down on hands and knees if necessary to see the beauty of some little bed of almost microscopic flowers. Usually he appeared at camp with some new flowers in his hat and a little piece of fir bough in his buttonhole.

Now, whether the derivation of saunter Muir gave me is scientific or fanciful, is there not in it another parable? There are people who "hike" through life. They measure life in terms of money and amusement; they rush along the trail of life feverishly seeking to make a dollar or gratify an appetite. How much better to "saunter" along this trail of life, to measure it in terms of beauty and love and friendship! How much finer to take time to know and understand the men and women along the way, to stop a while and let the beauty of the sunset possess the soul, to listen to what the trees are saying and the songs of the birds, and to gather the fragrant little flowers that bloom all along the trail of life for those who have eyes to see!

You can't do these things if you rush through life in a big red automobile at high speed; you can't know these things if you "hike" along the trail in a speed competition. These are the peculiar rewards of the man who has learned the secret of the saunterer!

Source: The Mountain Trail and Its Message (Boston: The Pilgrim Press, 1911) 

life is always an adventure!

greetings once again... many changes right now and i look forward to updating...
peace.... (there is more than enough to go around!)