Sunrise? Sunset?

One of the "things to do" at Acadia is to wake up at what I can only describe as the middle of the night, and drive at the (pardon my crass description) butt crack of dawn to the top of Cadillac Mountain to watch the sun rise. This event is special because, with the mountain's eastern location and elevation, people at its summit see the sun before anyone else in the USA.

We saved this activity for our last day. Partly, this seemed like a special way to end our trip, having some sort of poetic symmetry with how we ended our wedding. And partly it had a practical application... we wanted to leave very early and get in well over 12 hours of driving, so we had to wake up really early anyhow. The problem with saving it for the last day is... it's the last chance. So in the middle of the night, when thunderstorms awoke us, I decided that we would go anyhow. I hadn't been up to the top of Cadillac Mountain, and wanted to see it.

This is our sunrise from Cadillac Mountain.

I'm just kidding, of course. That was the western view. Here is the real sunrise.

Yup. That's right, it was raining and we were in a cloud. Oh, well. There were some spectacular lichens up there. Pink and orange, black and mint and olive...

On Top of the World

View from the Top

In New Hampshire (No, I'm not going in order) we climbed Mount Monadnack. The name, I'm told, means lonely mountain, because it rises alone from land that is hilly, but certainly not mountainous. The trail that we took went up for about 2 miles, and down the same distance on a slightly different path. And when I say it went up 2 miles, I mean it went UP for 2 miles. It was a trail unlike any that I have ever hiked upon. First, it basically went straight up the mountain. No messing around with things like switchbacks, or stairs. Just... UP. Second, the trail was often just rocks that already happened to exist without vegetation, which I guess was convenient for the trail-makers. The path was marked with white dots painted on rocks -- not quite often enough and in a color that was coincidently similar to some of the lichens that also occurred on the rocks. Happily, there were some very large and creative cairns to follow as well... sometimes. Anyhow... the way up was dotted with lovely glimpses and also populated with some wildlife -- we saw a kestrel, a dragonfly, and red squirrels, which I love. They are so much tinier and spunkier than our grey ones. Also shier, and I felt lucky to have gotten a photo of one at all.

Big Thoughts on Small Things

On the seemingly interminable drive from Acadia in Maine back to suburban Chicago, we listened to the audio version of Dayton Duncan and Ken Burns’ National Parks: America’s Best Idea. As a side note, this was a nice follow-up to our east-bound listening, Eaarth by Bill McKibben. They complimented each other in an odd way, and I would recommend both, although I would not read Eaarth if you have an inclination for depression. It definitely made me want a Prozac… it essentially described how humans have gone past the point of no return in terms of wrecking the planet, and that our only hope for the future is an immediate re-definition of our expectations and lifestyles. It made me glad I don’t have children; in fact, it made me wish I was old. Because I don't think people are any closer to listening to this advice now than they were when The Limits to Growth was published in 1972. Actually, I suspect we're further away. And although I'm one of the people that would enjoy McKibben's prescribed changes more than most, I don't see them happening to our society voluntarily, and the involuntary way seems pretty scary. Some of us are going down. But back to the point.

National Parks, on the other hand, described the same as one of the great and hopeful innovations of America. Although it was balanced, and presented some of the unsavory and disappointing aspects of the NPS, the book, overall, made me proud. It even made my eyes tear up a bit. It also made me think about my relationship to the national parks, and to nature in general.

At Acadia, one of my favorite things was the trail around Jordan Pond. If you’ve been there, you know that this 3.3 mile trail is one of the few in the park that is completely flat… elevation change: 0. It doesn’t climb a mountain or take you to the edge of the Atlantic. It does offer some spectacular views of a pristine lake surrounded by pine-covered hills. I, like the other thousand people that visited the park that day, (or at least like all the ones that got more than 100 yards from the store and restaurant) snapped a picture of each perfect view.

Unlike everyone else, my scenic view photos will be couched in the photo album between a great many close-ups of lichens and fungi, berries and bugs. I remarked, as we were traversing a boardwalk through a mossy forest, that this was a place in which I could spend 8 hours exploring and not get five feet from where I’d started – not even notice the clear mountain lake reflecting the landscape around it.

I think I have a very different relationship with natural spaces than John Muir. At least as described in National Parks, he sought out the grand views – the mountains and waterfalls. I like those as much as the next guy, I suppose, but that’s not where my head is really at. I seek out and celebrate the small things…

It reminds me of my first real job interview. I was 24, and had spent a few years after college doing seasonal environmental ed jobs. I’d interviewed for them over the phone and never, honestly, doubted I’d get them. But for this interview, I dressed up in a suit (probably overkill) and went in person to the Nature Museum in Chicago. And the moment I remember, the question that sticks out in my head, was “Describe your personal relationship with nature.” What? Certainly I had a relationship with nature. I’d spent a year living in the northwoods in Minnesota, outside every day. I’d spent a year on the Georgia coast soaking up sun and learning the intricacies of ocean life. And I grew up in a family that went camping pretty frequently. For many years, my parents took us west each year, to spend a few weeks in Colorado or one of the magnificent parks described in National Parks – Yellowstone, Yosemite, the Tetons, the Grand Canyon… but I grew up in the suburbs, not in the back country, and so I had the confused relationship to nature you might expect from someone with such a duplicitous upbringing. I really hadn’t spent a lot of time defining this relationship. Certainly, this was not one of those interview questions that you typically prepare for when getting ready for an interview…

Part of me answer -- the part that I still remember discussing word for word -- was that the relationship was really based on small wonders. I see magnificence in the ordinary, in the things that most people walk by every day while they're searching for the perfect mountain vista, or even on their way in from the parking lot or whatever.

So... here is a collection of my small wonders photos. I would like to note that

1. This is just a small selection of the photos of moss, fungi, lichens, parasitic plants, etc. that I have, so I did some major editing... and

2. I recognize that I probably should do some more, but I can't pick!

You're still scrolling down? OK, these last are a little different, but from the Jordan Pond hike so I've included them here. I also did some sketching, and later I will scan and put that in too...

We're Back...

Well, we're home from our adventures east... actually, we got home a few days ago but I've been terribly busy since then, but now for a few moments on this rainy day, I sit at the computer. I have many, many discoveries to share... so many that I'll post several entries over the next few days and still, probably, some will be too long. And some cool things that don't fit in will be left out. I'll start... at the very beginning. I heard somewhere that it's a good place to start.

Our first stop in New Hampshire was Pisgah State Park, where those in the know -- which is not me in this case, btw, but did happen to be Chris -- head off the trail to a small and lovely clear-water lake for swimming in what I think of, being from the midwest, as Boundary Waters-style.

That rock is one of the entry points where you can jump in. But in the interest of modesty, I shall stop with the photos there. I am not a swimsuit model.

Until later...

The Dawning of a Brand New Day

The sun rose over Lake Michigan early this morning. We watched, while swatting mosquitoes, as the sky went from midnight blue to pink and orange and purple to the pale blue of morning.

Yesterday, we had perfect, lovely weather -- not too hot or humid, and delightfully sunny. As the sun set to the west, a full moon rose in the east. The night cooled down to make sitting by the fire comfortable and welcome. (Although there were mosquitoes then, too.) I hope that this beginning means a blessing on our marriage.

Just Twisted.

It's been a great while since I've sat down and written. We went through weeks of no rain and wilting plants, but made up for it last night, as I shall explain. At 10:45 pm, which is nearly my bedtime over the summer (and past it during the school year), we received an automated phone call from the fire department. It notified us that tornadoes had been sighted in our area and that all residents should seek shelter in their basements or interior areas of the house. So, we gathered our cats -- not an easy task... though they are in general quite loving and social, especially for cats, they seem to know when they are being pursued for the purpose of containment. Although they cannot tell the difference between the evil carrier-to-vet type of containment and the benign go-to-basement-(where-you-spend-time-anyhow)-to-save-your-life type of containment. Anyhow, with only one scratch on Chris, we got them, and ourselves, downstairs.

For almost an hour, we sat there, cleaned and chatted and puzzled and whatnot, sometimes jovially and other times -- like when we heard loud booms from above -- in fear. The booms turned out to be thunder, not the house falling down or some sort of disaster-burglar taking advantage. So. I finally asked when this little drill would be over. You see, I sort of had to pee. We don't have a bathroom in the basement, although, as Chris pointed out, there is both a litter box AND a floor drain. Not amusing. So, would the fire department call back? Chris thought they would, although neither of us had any experience with this form of tornado alert system. For everyone's future reference: They don't call back.

But we didn't know this, so we sat there and waited a bit longer. Eventually, we decided to venture upstairs and check some sort of media to determine if it was safe... and use the bathroom. It seemed fine outside and inside, but the television told us that our area was in a tornado, flood and thunderstorm warning zone until 7 am. OK, then... We gathered pillows and a DVD, and headed back down stairs. I creatively commandeered some camping gear and set up a sleeping mat and blanket bed under a table (in case the house fell while we were sleeping). And so, around 12:30, we settled in for a long night on the floor of the basement with the spiders and the millipedes.

This lasted about 1/2 hour. The sleeping mat, which fit perfectly under the table, was really not large enough for two people, even on our sides. The blanket wasn't warm enough. But we toughed it out until we heard, right by our heads, a retching sound. And another. Ah, bueno. Cat barf. And it was smelly. Chris found the light (it is really dark in the basement at night) so that we could see to clean the vomit, which was on my puzzle. Really, kittens?

In the end, we decided that we probably weren't going to be in the path or a tornado. In fact, when we went upstairs, it was so calm that the tree branches weren't even moving, and it pretty much remained that way for the remainder of the night. We got some hard rain this morning, as well, and by 11 am it was sunny.

Time to assess the damage. In the time I've lived here I've had tomatoes and peppers blow over, sunflowers fall down, large branches land on the lawn, all the normal things you'd think would occur in Illinois summer storms. But this storm? Hardly did a thing. One pepper plant snapped off -- it was already staked because of its tendency to fall over under its own weight -- so now I have many, many too-small peppers to use. Otherwise, everything is fine. Including a lone sunflower I have that is, no exaggeration, 12 feet tall, and not surrounded by other plants or staked. So, it was a bust. I haven't talked to anyone else who experienced any damage, but I haven't talked to that many people.

I feel pretty lucky that all this happened last night, and it's supposed to rain some more tonight and tomorrow, and then Sunday is supposed to be sunny and high around 80 F. We are getting married outside on Sunday, so I sure hope that prediction rings true! Perhaps I"ll post pictures, at least of what flowers are blooming that day. (Note to self: charge camera.)

Other things that have happened since I've last blogged:

• I have seen a lot of dragonflies, including a few unusual ones like a halloween pendant or a painted skimmer -- something with orange and black mottled wings -- what did not let me photograph it.
• We have whiteflies in the garden, mostly on the cucumbers, which I'm sort of OK with since I've already made a whole year's worth of pickles and we're going out of town next week, but I don't want them to move to my birdhouse gourds, which are doing GREAT and I want to get a lot of gourds so that I can make a lot of birdhouses. We got lacewings and set them free today, so we'll see.
• Also in the garden, we harvested garlic and are getting some tomatoes, tons of beans, some peppers, carrots, etc. In addition to lots of jams and pickles, this year I have canned carrots, green beans, and jalapeno peppers.
• Silphium of all varieties are in full bloom. But my own compass plant is not blooming, because its head was tragically chopped off by friendly fire in a rain barrel installation incident. It is growing a new one, so I may get flowers yet.
• Joe Pye weed is blooming, and... on and on and on... it's mid-summer. It's hot and lots of things are blooming!

Time Marches On ...

The first blazing stars opened maybe a week ago. Ironweed opened a few days ago. Silphiums are in full bloom... I'm not sure why I haven't felt like writing about it.

I can't believe summer break is 1/2 over. So not fair.