This was an odd week in some ways. There were some contradictions. The most telling of the contradictions had to do with Spring. In ways ;)
There were a couple of times that I felt as old as I have ever felt. Some of it was looking in the mirror first thing in the morning and then part of it remembering how long ago different events took place. Wow, it is already 2018! The Year Two Thousand is supposed to be some distant future of flying cars and all, and it is now the distant past!
But then, there were a few times that I felt younger than I have in years. These young times all occur outside. Sometimes it will be run and playing with the dogs, jumping and twirling in the air, land backwards and running backwards as I egg them on, jumping again and twisting to land fast first and instantly sprint and.. I know, the people in town think I am totally insane, but :) And then I caught some sights, scents and feelings that transported me to a different time and place. For a few minutes I would see the world through five year old (or ten or thirteen at different times) eyes. I would feel the way I did then, think the same thoughts. It was like a flashback or even a memory. Well, it was a memory, a memory of who I felt and thought. And the world was new once again.
I think this is part of what spring is about. Not the feeling old part. That’s part of aging – realizing that time does move on and we move with it. But there is also that renewal. I feel so alive in autumn, maybe more than any other time of years. And summers are fun. Winter can be both good and bad, though often it is what we make of it. But I feel young in spring.
So I am writing this as fast as I can. When i am done, I will go back out and spend as much time outside as possible.
It renews me, rejuvenates me.
It makes me young, or at least young at heart.
This is actually a double throwback event! The very long snippet below was written in early 2010, so it’s six years old. It was the start of a childhood memory about Swift’s Hollow, aka Gore Orphanage. I’ve written about Gore Orphanage in the past and wrote a short story based on the legends. As I said in the one post, it was a major part of my youth. I had planned on a major rewrite of this little snippet, but I think it’s fun to look at it as I wrote it over six years ago, totally unedited.
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It was a hot day. Not the crisp, sparkling heat of July that makes you want to go out and enjoy yourself after the disappointment of the typical cool and bland Ohio Spring. No, this was the dull, moist heat that only comes in August. A dog-lazy heat. In my child’s mind I always thought of the dog days of August as the days so hot and humid that nobody with any sense, not even a dog, would willingly go out.
Of course nobody ever accused an 11 year old boy of having any sense. Continue reading
I was out walking my white boxer, Brady. It was a dark evening, but I felt that there was no place safer than a small town. Besides, Brady was pretty big and could be intimidating if you didn’t know him. As I was heading back, walking down a road with no houses or street lamps, a large, older car pulled up beside me. It was dark, but my guess was an early 1970s Cadillac. This happened in 2006. The driver rolled down the window. I couldn’t see her very well and had no clue who it could be.
“Do I know you?” she asked.
“I’m not sure,” I answered. “What’s your name?”
“Oh, I know you,” she said. “You went to Georgetown.”
“I’m sorry, you must have me confused with someone else,” I said. “Good evening, I must be on my way.”
“But you did go to Georgetown, didn’t you?” she asked.
“No.” Continue reading
(Note – I wrote this in July of 2010)
“Smooth as a mill pond.” This is such an apt phrase and one of the things that makes kayaking on Powder Mill Pond so enjoyable. No matter how windy there is never more than just a ripple on the pond. With an average depth of 3 feet it is hard for even chop to develop the way it does on deeper lakes.
Powder Mill Pond is a small (419 acre) lake that straddles the line between Greenfield and Bennington, NH. There are 2 main sections divided by a very low railroad bridge crossing a narrow choke point. The main section is well over a mile long and has large expanses of open shallow water. There are several bays and inlets. The other section, which ends at the dam, is a little less than a mile and is dominated by a large island. Since the highway, Rt. 202, comes down close to the water in this second smaller section, I often just paddle a short way into it, perhaps looping around the island. Continue reading