I may hate being cold, but there's much to be said for the weather we had last week. Words like glorious and gorgeous! Having a sunburn in January is a bit surreal, but I have no intention of blocking all that Vitamin D. I've spent so much of my life on a foggy coast or working in the woods in deep shade that I hunger for all the sunshine I can get.
I've been walking nearly every day, which would be a lot warmer if I didn't have to start out first thing in the morning. If I don't start before the sun comes up, it simply ain't gonna happen. I'll get busy, something else will grab my attention, then the day is over and I'm too pooped to pop.
So I shiver my way down the trail when the ice is as thick as the
puddle and the grass is crunchy. But every turn brings new views of
magic with air so clear it sparkles. Tassels on the silk tassel bushes
are lengthening out, Oregon grape leaves are scarlet and meadowlarks fan
out in front of me.
The idiots are cutting live wires along Old Mill Road again,
destroying the fragile ecosystem of barely stabilized dunes with deep
ruts, leaving what appear to be live wires dangling in the trees. I
don't recommend grabbing any wires you find hanging in the brush.
The new camera is quite the nicest toy I've ever had, and I'm using
it as a sort of log book of hikes. As the shutter snaps it records the
date and time, so if I ever need an alibi, I've got one. I'll be
recognizable by the shadow in the bottom of the frame, a perfect
silhouette of what appears to be a fat baby in a snowsuit. Because I
hike alone friends sometimes worry about me. Sally laughingly said she
could just imagine someone finding pieces of me scattered around, camera
"Ah yes, there's the bear coming toward her. My, that paw is huge!
Well, at least we know what happened." In truth, though I've encountered
a lot of bears over the years, none has ever threatened me. Even the
cougar seemed willing to live and let live. The only thing that scares
me is the wingnuts that value life so cheaply they cut live wires, but
they're nocturnal and I am not.
And now there's a second new toy, a refurbished computer. Like cars,
I'd just as soon let somebody else put the first few thousand miles on
it. That way I can get a lot more bang for my buck. The last computer
was so old it didn't have any print on the "E" when I got it five years
ago. If I'd stuck to writing and email it might have lasted a bit
longer, but the sudden flood of photos was too much for the poor old
dear. May she rest in peace.
Reach Inez Castor, a longtime Triplicate columnist, at firstname.lastname@example.org .