Countering my own Earth Day rant

It’s Earth Day, 2017. This morning, I felt like writing a rant about the things we’ve done to fuck up this beloved planet of ours, and to complain about the egomaniacal, thing-filled greed that fuels the raping and pillaging of Planet Earth and the butchering of its wild animals, the slow execution of our reef systems, and the rampant willful ignorance that paralyses a government from acting to save ourselves from ourselves.

This will continue for as long as corporations keep the heroin needle of constant consumption in our arms, necessitating individually wrapped everything; ubiquitous use of convenient, single-use plastic bottles and wrappers and bags and cups; easy, convenient, processed consumables, disguised as food, laced with deforesting palm oil; absurdly low gas prices, “disposable” electronics, a government-subsidized diabetes epidemic, funded in part by a corn syrup industry and a PAC-funded government denial of the merits of real food. Corporate pockets will get deeper in direct correlation with the width of our waistlines; they will grow richer in inverse proportion to the level of natural resources remaining; they will get more resolute and change their doublespeak as our majestic wildlife, our tropical fauna, dwindles and fades into mere memory… paradise paved to put up a parking lot (or office park or housing tract), as it were; they will point fingers as coral reefs bleach, then die, and watch as the base of our planet’s ecosystem fails in an ignorant dismissal of science at all costs.

I wanted to rant about all this, but then got sidetracked by a quest for beauty this afternoon. A self-posed question of what I love about Planet Earth. What have I seen that has taken my breath away? If the only will or want I can control is my own: what can I share that might change someone else’s?

So on this Earth Day, I share some photos of the things on Planet Earth I’ve seen in my near half-century, as ocean temperatures rise and carbon levels increase and sugar-induced disease becomes endemic; these are the things that give me pause every day to stop and appreciate the Wonder that is inherent in this magnificent ball of rock that we inhabit, for as long as she will have us.

Happy Earth Day 2017.

Hometown exploring: adventures in Dogtown

There is a magical place in Gloucester, which is said to house the spirits of witches, the ghosts of its working class and vagrant denizens from the 17th and 18th Centuries, and the memories of a band of dogs who became feral as their owners died off or abandoned them amongst the rocks and boulders; dumped in a place formed by glaciers’ terminus. Dogtown, Massachusetts. Anita Diamant wrote an exceptional historical novel set here, The Last Days of Dogtown.

This is a place I go to get lost and find myself healed by nature, its rocky, windy, rooted trails wending their way through the woods. And, it’s a place I’ve been lost more times than possibly any other. Take one wrong turn (or, like today, let the dog choose the trail) and you’ve arrived squarely in what I call “land of the giant boulders,” a wooded, natural obstacle course whose gauntlet requires keen attention and preferably Vibram soles to survive. It’s a tame version of the Fire Swamp, devoid of ROUSs, lightning sand (tho during the wetter months, its mud pits quite rival) or fire spurts.

During the Great Depression, Roger Babson commissioned the carving of inspirational sayings on 30+ boulders strewn throughout the woods. One end of the trail starts with Truth. The other end is Work. On the trail, we’re reminded to Be On Time. And of the importance of Integrity. Intelligence. Courage. Loyalty. Initiative. Kindness. Ideas. Study. Ideals. Spiritual Power (this is emblazoned on rock that towers 5 or 6 metres high; coincidence?). Scattered elsewhere in the woods (most of which I’ve found; many after being lost over the years): Prosperity Follows Service. If Work Stops Values Decay. Be True. Help Mother. Get A Job. Keep Out Of Debt. Use Your Head. Never Try Never Win.

2016-10-08-13-21-25-1So today, I started with Truth. Found Courage and Loyalty along the way; Kindness, Ideas… stopped for some bouldering on Spiritual Power. Got lost somewhere after Work; a wrong trail taken and a bridge crossed that I haven’t seen in eons. Got found before I reached Never Try Never Win.

Sometimes I let Gus choose which trail to take, and sometimes he gets us lost. Part of the fun in exploring, even in a place you’ve been countless times before, is finding your way back after taking the wrong trail. So, on a day that began with a yoga class focused on the energies of living as an intentioned, breathing, thinking, doing being, a hike in the woods amongst these reminders (Truth = Satya; Kindness = Ahimsa; Ideas = Iccha; Spiritual Power = Samadhi) was perfect.

2016-10-08-15-03-15Today was most certainly a win!

On Fernweh and Being ‘Fromless’

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Fernweh is a German word that means, among other things, farsickness. Or, much more simply, wanderlust. Where wanderlust assumes just a desire to travel and see new places, farsickness – and I can really relate to this concept – it implies a restless need to be Somewhere Else Soon; a heartfelt ache to be in a place other than the immediate and familiar; a need to see, hear, smell, touch, taste things which are as yet unknown; a feeling that where your stuff is might be just a stopping point in-between adventures, however wide that gap; a feeling that home is more about a connection you feel to a person (or a people), a place or a space, than a physical, tangible abode.

I remarked to a friend recently that I felt ‘fromless’*

What I meant was that where I live now is a place that is not where I’m from. And where I’m from holds not much for me in the way of nostalgia. The home in which I spent most of my childhood has long since been that which other families’ kids called theirs. That neighborhood has sprawled and morphed into something I don’t even recognise (or care to). The girl scout house that sat behind mine when I was of girl scouting ilk has long since become McMansionized. The New York City co-op that was my alternate home after my parents’ split has long since been occupied by nouvelle Lenox Hill up-and-comers.

So northward I came for college and it stuck; or I did, as it were.

Then there were the myriad dorms and sublets and rentals which sufficed for home. And the fabulous flat in the South End with the exposed brick in a bubbling, pulsing, slightly gritty neighborhood and fabulous Sunday scones right down the block. And the house in the suburbs which was, by all accounts, its antithesis. And the also-fabulous flat with its exposed brick and brilliant light, mere blocks to the beach and a painless train ride into Boston; and Saturday egg sandwiches – or scones, which are good but not quite the same as the ones from Claremont Café.

And those were all places to live and play and work and grow and learn. But they’re not where I’m from.

Because where I’m from doesn’t exist anymore. Which is a dismally crushing realisation when you’re feeling drawn to parts unknown. Liberating in its pull, perhaps, in that it’s within a conceivable fantasy to Sell It All (or most; there’s always storage) and heed the call of the far-reaching ends of the world. And devastating as a chaser because when you come back, where do you go? Where is “back?” And why? Why there? Why here?

So the second brick-walled flat with its high ceilings and rustic charm becomes, if not where you’re from, then where you’re at. Where you stay becomes as much like home as any other place that might vie for the designation. And where you feel most at peace maybe, just maybe, becomes where you’re from.

dsc_2302-2Here’s where I think Fernweh makes its mark: It calls you to seek out what’s important. It makes you curious, and perhaps even a little fearless. It draws you to identify that which provides a sense of comfort and ease and well-being and inspiration and fullness. It compels you to distinguish what categorically does not.

While being fromless will never go away, having farsickness is perhaps what the doctor can neither diagnose nor cure. And that, I think, is a good thing.

 


*As far as I can tell, I’ve coined the term fromless. If it becomes a thing, I’d like credit. Merci.

Hiking and Peeping New Hampshire

I’ve spent the last week as tourist in New England. As the carpet of nearing-peak fall colour unfurls in the White Mountains’ valleys, this week I relinquish thoughts that one must go far and wide to properly travel. It’s like touristing in my backyard: open-eyed, wondrous and ready for whatever nature (and New Hampshire) has in store…

Fall cooperates fully, with seasonably-warm days and threats of hurricane and cool, wet weather all but an afterthought. Nature’s annual fireworks show begins in earnest on the drive along New Hampshire’s scenic Kancamagus Highway, as we stop intermittently (as one does) for photo opps with nature.

My friend has arrived from Europe to tick off an item on his bucket list: fall hiking on the Appalachian Trail. First stop, the Twinway Trail via the Zealand Trail and the AMC’s Zealand Falls hutDSC_2146Views from the lookout over Whitewall Brook towards Whitewall Mountain are nothing short of show-stopping (Mt. Washington making a cameo appearance in the far background, over my shoulder…actually I don’t think it even snuck into this picture), and we realise this is just the hors d’oeuvres for our big hike tomorrow: the Franconia Ridge. Looking out over these purple (green, red and orange) mountain majesties, it’s no wonder my hiking partner keeps breaking into assorted patriotic tunes as background music to the rhythmic sound of boots on rock (and f-bombs exclaiming the occasional mis-step). The only irony is that he hails from some distance across the pond.

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Franconia Ridge: I’ve done this hike before, but not in something on the order of 15 years. It’s a rocky, bouldery, scraggly above treeline hike that’s accessed by the sweet-sounding Falling Waters Trail. I say sweet because for all its scenic splendor, the trail traverses active waterfalls and ascends a steep and treacherous boulder-laden trail that teases you at every corner (“we’re almost at treeline…really…just 1km to go…hehehe”). So just when your quads are screaming, “uncle” and you’ve gotten one foot stuck beneath the other in a bit of rock (and just by telling said hiking partner, will never live that admission down) there’s just a little bit more to climb.

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The above-treeline views are more the reward than are the (now-squashed) sandwiches we’ve packed for lunch. But our revelry is short-lived because the fog rolls in and its little cat feet kick our butts into gear to move along the trail, bagging Little Haystack (4760ft), Mt. Lincoln (5089ft) and Mt. Lafayette (5260ft) in the process. There’s something deeply satisfying about both checking 4000-footers off a “did that” list and feeling that you did that with your own steam. Yay, us!

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DSC_2223As if the descent might be easier than the ascent… We descend with the hope that the wisps of cloud and fog don’t follow us back into the trees and morph into forest trolls. Quads steeled for the endeavour, we march onward, downward and into the forest via the AMC Greenleaf Hut and the Greenleaf Trail. It’s all downhill from here, though this particular downhill section also includes its gauntlet of slick granite and really gnarly boulderized and rooty outcroppings. Proceeding with caution and a smattering of hummed ballads (and Queen songs), we land back at the car feeling that way you do when you’ve used the human machine as intended.

Our third day of hiking was the much more relaxing, yet only slightly less bouldery, Arethusa Falls trail to Frankenstein Cliff. As if the highest/biggest/best views thing could be outdone with each subsequent day, it delivered as promised: tallest waterfall in New Hampshire, jaw-dropping views from the cliff and an opportunity to walk along the tallest railway trestle in NH. By suggestion, I’m bringing back the term “neat-o!”

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Leaf-peeping in New England is somewhat a sport, with prognosticators forecasting the best weeks to catch peak foliage months in advance. Reality dictates that you get what you get, though we’re more than giddy to have caught New Hampshire on a good week, the right side of peak.

Another thing you don’t much do when you’re home: hire a guide. So in the tourist spirit, we hired a climbing instructor for the day from IME (best climbing store in the region), and set off to scale some rock and help me surmount a dread-fear of multi-pitch climbs.

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And so, looking from the top of the first climb, seeing Mt. Washington and the butt-crack of Huntington Ravine, I felt small but strong; held firmly by my faithful belayer and the trusty ropes and harness. The 2nd pitch was not nearly as daunting as expected (though the bruises on my legs from gripping razor-sharp rock may tell a different tale), and from something on the order of 100 feet from where my feet left the ground, the views and the feeling of being simultaneously surrounded by and part of nature were something there are not words in the English language to describe.

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While my version of travelling has little to do with seeing crowded attractions or doing the mainstream, we surely partook in our share of cider donuts (a seasonal New England delicacy), wandered in and out of gift shops and even contemplated taking the Cog Railway up Mt. Washington before nixing that idea in favor of a day of climbing across the way. Another hike to add to the next NH Adventure itinerary, I reckon…

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The ride home had us detour through Ogunquit, ME for lobsters at Barnacle Billy’s (because you have to!) and some outlet shopping in Kittery to dodge the inevitable raindrops. A good time was had by all as they say… And so the week ends with a local afternoon of people-watching in Salem as the witch-crazy flock here from all ends of the earth for their annual pilgrimage.

Next adventure will hopefully take me out of New England, but as adventures in one’s backyard – and adventures in general – go, it was pretty great.

On World Photography Day

I’m an amateur and today is World Photography Day.

I inherited my love of photography from my father. Hours spent in the basement darkroom taught me patience, persistence, practice (in not necessarily that order) and the wonder that comes from seeing an image emerge from its liquid bath. I try to take a picture or two (or sixteen) every day. It’s like a snapshot in time, capturing my moods, my perspective and a connection with the natural world; the world around me. It’s amazing to observe the ocean or the woods, my dog, or even interesting geometry in the things we walk past every day…even the same vantage point provides a new perspective each time you visit.

It’s a reminder that we live in an evolving, moving and living-breathing space.

Pictures capture the wry smiles and the veiled tears; the summer growth spurts, the holiday silliness and our “I can finally do this” moments. I love how ubiquitous images are today – there is truth to the saying, “a picture tells a thousand words.”

While we live in a world where we hang our shameless selves out there, biggifying and aggrandizing our humble existences, I think photography – with the shutter’s click – reminds us that we are individual historians, capturing and curating our life’s work for posterity. It reminds us to slow down, to pay attention to details and to sometimes put the camera down to just listen.

Today, I captured nature’s symmetry and a woman in a hat. Yesterday, it was ships in the harbour and a giant hibiscus. Photography enables us to be travellers in our own daily routines, and observers that discern amazing tidbits from the daily ritual.

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Beverly Harbour, just after sunrise   2015-08-17 13.13.43

Bonus: dragonflies…

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