Early this morning, we got up and out, went
down the road a bit , hung a right on Chmura, and headed up to a forest path.
This morning, instead of the thick overcast skies we had for days, we have
beautiful bubble clouds, racing by far overhead, bright blue sky showing
between them.
We drove past carts with a mind boggling array of strange types of gourds and pumpkins In all shapes, all colors, you know? All those bumps. Just beautiful.
We drove past the old Hadley flea market, which is slowing to a close pretty soon, bustling with long lines of traffic and officers mediating, all summer long.
I slipped the leash on him, and also the long red line hanging from his harness, so that he's easy to retrieve. And then we set off into the woods.
Even after being on this planet all these years, it never fails to amaze me how easy it is to wake up in the morning, and say to yourself "oh! I'm just too ______. So I'm not going to_________ today."
Right? And sometimes things are just too extreme. Illness , some serious protected energy expenditure, a bunch of events.
But sometimes, it's just the new normal. It's just most probably going to be like this. Which means, if we are going to manage whatever it is, going for that walk, doing those sit ups, doing that little video of yoga, going to a yoga class, going to planet fitness, making and freezing that broth and drinking it, we're probably going to have to use the bootstrap method. Where we locate them, and we tug.
The really amazing thing I've always known about having kids or dogs, is that it's a built in "pull yourself up by your bootstraps or you're going to suffer big time."
If you don't get those kids outside and running around and having some fun, they're going to be the biggest pain and they won't go to bed easily. Oh, and they won't eat well.
If you don't get that dog for a good run, you're going to feel badly and the dog is going to be the biggest pain in the butt.
Some of us behaviorally respond better to misery chasing us, then the hanging carrot method. Which of course is pretty different than a hanging chad. Sheesh, what a world .
So despite the fact that I wake up each morning and think "Oh God, not today. " Still , thank goodness, I pick things up and settle things, and then get that dog out the door. And then we go ahead and we do the walk. And afterwards, well, it was wonderful to be out and about, no matter the weather, and somehow it happened once again.
I discovered this particular path this month, and it's beautiful. You can't really see it's a path from the road. I've never met anyone on it, which is good for walking with this fearful-thus-pretty-scary large black shepherd. It's in the ravine, so there's a beautiful stream, really high inclines either side, and usually when I am there early, the sun is just beginning to crest, falling down into the woods.
When you have kids or dogs, you begin to figure out the activities you can bring them on that get the most bang for the buck. This is a hilly terrain, complex, many fallen trees and branches and overgrowth, so it exhausts him while delighting him. Plus he gets to listen to all the chipmunks yelling at him as he runs about.
You can drink and play in the stream, and thunder far up the steep hills. While I walk, on the small path, watching how the leaves are slowly turning in bits.
I was walking along, and the forest floor was literally covered with acorns , so it's a little tricky. Plus there's all these little tiny stumps sticking up along the path, presumably where kind others cut small saplings.
I was actually just waking up, the shepherd thundered up some steep hill and nowhere to be found, and I kept almost falling, bumping into these stumps. Thinking to myself "God. Is it because I'm getting older? Am I going to fall out here? Is there something wrong with me? Have a really gotten too exhausted this time?"
And then I stopped. It was exquisite, the light. Silent, save the calling of the Chipmunks, some Blue Jays, one distant Hawk. I was deep in the forest, Hills rising up steeply on either side, bright green leaves surrounding me and overhead, speckled with some yellow, a bit of orange. The small stream was flowing beneath my feet, sparkling in the sunlight.
The song Amazing Grace came into my head, "was blind, but now I see". And then I got it, the way we do. That it was OK. I was pretty tired out , but turning the corner. This simply happens to all of us.
The forest floor was littered with a remarkable number of acorns, and I just needed to watch carefully. I turned and looked down at the path, and suddenly I saw every single tiny stump, that just need to be seen and walked around every single time. It's just like that. For all of us.
I turned, to start back. Whistled for the pup. Stood there, listening. Whistled again. Gave a really big whistle. Waited a bit more. I waited. And suddenly, down he came, far off, high up on the ravine, his beautiful black shape thundering down the hill through the thick woods, across the stream, to me.
He was a little nervous. Very excited. Completely innervated by the hike. All touchy about coming to me, so I threw him a few sticks, and then stepped on the red line next to him, which is why it's there. Just for those times.
And then I noticed. How short it was. I put the leash on him, unhooked the red line, and sure enough, he had been caught somewhere in the woods. Chewed through, and then came running back to me. Sure gave me pause.
Last year I was with a friend walking her four dogs, the smallest with her lead. She was fearful also, needed a lead running from behind, to be able to grab it in case she got scared of people , became aggressive. Only a problem in the thick woods. Luckily, these leads are made of very chewable stuff. I was there when two of her dogs didn't come back from running around in the woods. So we split up, searching. Calling. Finally the two missing dogs came back. Turns out, her line had been tangled in the woods. One of the other dog stayed with her, till she chewed through.
So I hugged his big furred form, and started us back down the path again. The sun shining through all the greenery. The red brown of the Pine needles underfoot so golden in fall. My mind cleared, my muscles relaxed, lungs filled with the beneficial microbes inherent in any pine forest. As we slowly made our way home.
We drove past carts with a mind boggling array of strange types of gourds and pumpkins In all shapes, all colors, you know? All those bumps. Just beautiful.
We drove past the old Hadley flea market, which is slowing to a close pretty soon, bustling with long lines of traffic and officers mediating, all summer long.
I slipped the leash on him, and also the long red line hanging from his harness, so that he's easy to retrieve. And then we set off into the woods.
Even after being on this planet all these years, it never fails to amaze me how easy it is to wake up in the morning, and say to yourself "oh! I'm just too ______. So I'm not going to_________ today."
Right? And sometimes things are just too extreme. Illness , some serious protected energy expenditure, a bunch of events.
But sometimes, it's just the new normal. It's just most probably going to be like this. Which means, if we are going to manage whatever it is, going for that walk, doing those sit ups, doing that little video of yoga, going to a yoga class, going to planet fitness, making and freezing that broth and drinking it, we're probably going to have to use the bootstrap method. Where we locate them, and we tug.
The really amazing thing I've always known about having kids or dogs, is that it's a built in "pull yourself up by your bootstraps or you're going to suffer big time."
If you don't get those kids outside and running around and having some fun, they're going to be the biggest pain and they won't go to bed easily. Oh, and they won't eat well.
If you don't get that dog for a good run, you're going to feel badly and the dog is going to be the biggest pain in the butt.
Some of us behaviorally respond better to misery chasing us, then the hanging carrot method. Which of course is pretty different than a hanging chad. Sheesh, what a world .
So despite the fact that I wake up each morning and think "Oh God, not today. " Still , thank goodness, I pick things up and settle things, and then get that dog out the door. And then we go ahead and we do the walk. And afterwards, well, it was wonderful to be out and about, no matter the weather, and somehow it happened once again.
I discovered this particular path this month, and it's beautiful. You can't really see it's a path from the road. I've never met anyone on it, which is good for walking with this fearful-thus-pretty-scary large black shepherd. It's in the ravine, so there's a beautiful stream, really high inclines either side, and usually when I am there early, the sun is just beginning to crest, falling down into the woods.
When you have kids or dogs, you begin to figure out the activities you can bring them on that get the most bang for the buck. This is a hilly terrain, complex, many fallen trees and branches and overgrowth, so it exhausts him while delighting him. Plus he gets to listen to all the chipmunks yelling at him as he runs about.
You can drink and play in the stream, and thunder far up the steep hills. While I walk, on the small path, watching how the leaves are slowly turning in bits.
I was walking along, and the forest floor was literally covered with acorns , so it's a little tricky. Plus there's all these little tiny stumps sticking up along the path, presumably where kind others cut small saplings.
I was actually just waking up, the shepherd thundered up some steep hill and nowhere to be found, and I kept almost falling, bumping into these stumps. Thinking to myself "God. Is it because I'm getting older? Am I going to fall out here? Is there something wrong with me? Have a really gotten too exhausted this time?"
And then I stopped. It was exquisite, the light. Silent, save the calling of the Chipmunks, some Blue Jays, one distant Hawk. I was deep in the forest, Hills rising up steeply on either side, bright green leaves surrounding me and overhead, speckled with some yellow, a bit of orange. The small stream was flowing beneath my feet, sparkling in the sunlight.
The song Amazing Grace came into my head, "was blind, but now I see". And then I got it, the way we do. That it was OK. I was pretty tired out , but turning the corner. This simply happens to all of us.
The forest floor was littered with a remarkable number of acorns, and I just needed to watch carefully. I turned and looked down at the path, and suddenly I saw every single tiny stump, that just need to be seen and walked around every single time. It's just like that. For all of us.
I turned, to start back. Whistled for the pup. Stood there, listening. Whistled again. Gave a really big whistle. Waited a bit more. I waited. And suddenly, down he came, far off, high up on the ravine, his beautiful black shape thundering down the hill through the thick woods, across the stream, to me.
He was a little nervous. Very excited. Completely innervated by the hike. All touchy about coming to me, so I threw him a few sticks, and then stepped on the red line next to him, which is why it's there. Just for those times.
And then I noticed. How short it was. I put the leash on him, unhooked the red line, and sure enough, he had been caught somewhere in the woods. Chewed through, and then came running back to me. Sure gave me pause.
Last year I was with a friend walking her four dogs, the smallest with her lead. She was fearful also, needed a lead running from behind, to be able to grab it in case she got scared of people , became aggressive. Only a problem in the thick woods. Luckily, these leads are made of very chewable stuff. I was there when two of her dogs didn't come back from running around in the woods. So we split up, searching. Calling. Finally the two missing dogs came back. Turns out, her line had been tangled in the woods. One of the other dog stayed with her, till she chewed through.
So I hugged his big furred form, and started us back down the path again. The sun shining through all the greenery. The red brown of the Pine needles underfoot so golden in fall. My mind cleared, my muscles relaxed, lungs filled with the beneficial microbes inherent in any pine forest. As we slowly made our way home.
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