“Now it is November, my favorite month. November calms me. It comes, blessedly, before the rising pressures of Christmastime. It brings soup season, and a good book by the fire, and brisk walks. Whatever the year has held, things seem to exhale in November. The projects and chaos and messiness of the inevitable activities of spring and summer tend to be winding down, at least here where the snows of winter arrive to muffle the bustle.”
“It was a perfect day for splitting logs: fresh breeze, cool, sunny. I enjoy this sort of work, with its rhythm and sense of accomplishment as the pile of large pieces is processed into a pile of more usable sizes. Pick up a log, place it on the splitter’s horizontal surface, pull the hydraulic lever, wait. Let the machine do its job. Easy-breezy.”
“Well, my goodness! It’s been months since I have written a blog. At first, back in July, I fretted about losing my twice-a-month goal, and letting down my faithful readers… What a summer it was, one of abundant (self-induced) chaos and disruption, on the heels of a fairly disruptive spring (also self-induced). Autumn? It’s been a little nuts, too.”
“Japanese toilets nowadays, however, transcend the mundane nature of Western toilets by offering a somewhat bewildering array of techno-options. From what I could discern from the picture icons, there are various bottom-washing options, including the strength, direction, and warmth of the water stream…”
“Among the oldest pilgrimages in the world, the 88 Temple Pilgrimage threads its way through all four prefectures of Shikoku. It mostly traverses the coastline, veering occasionally into the interior regions. “The pilgrimage route is diverse,” says one source. “It winds through quiet picturesque villages, along striking coastlines, across bustling modern cities, and up ancient misty mountains.”.
“Our group of twelve Westerners pauses at the temple gate where the imposing Nio statues stand guard. We are new to the proper etiquette, so Tom, our guide, teaches us to bow upon entering the temple grounds. One of us rings the giant bell to announce our collective arrival…”
“At our hostel on the eve of our return… my three travel buddies and I discussed when to schedule our shuttle… Hmmm, I said. Why don’t we make it 7:15... Always leave time for a flat tire, whispered my inner voice… When the conversation persisted, I said it out loud: “It has served me a time or two to leave time for a flat tire.” Our shuttle picked us up at 7:15 a.m.”
“To ski has been a near-religion in our family. My mom, we love to say, had me skiing before I was born. To her, skiing wasn’t just a pastime. It was a passion, an unabashed need… I remember how that joy remained undiminished throughout the coming decades, which included two hip replacements, knee surgeries, an ankle fusion. For a while in the 1980s, she skied on outriggers and one ski, just so she could get out on the mountain.”
“About forty years ago, I gave myself one of the finest gifts ever: the reframing of an interior life that was dark, depressed, and negative. Learning a new habit to choose a fresh, upbeat approach to my days was demanding work… Gradually, I was able to build a new way of life…”
“...so there we are, twelve of us, plus our guides, scrabbling over rocks and other uneven terrain down a forested gorge somewhere in Madya Pradesh, India. We have already walked a couple of miles from where the vehicles disgorged us, leaving us with just our daypacks, trekking poles, and one another.”
“We have driven well into the park on the heels of dawn. Birdsong greets us, as do the langur monkeys, who are on the move. The herds of spotted deer, called chital, are grazing peacefully… the favorite meal of the object of our quest: the Bengal tiger… the tigers enjoy status that approaches royalty. They are, after all, the national animal.”
“Think back. All that isolation, all that fear. All that mask fashion! All the neighbors, coming out at 7pm to make a grateful racket for the first responders and essential workers. The clear skies, and wildlife sightings in places which had seen none for decades. The empty streets and highways and airports. The Zoom classes…”
“I laze, and think back. Last time I woke up in a bed, I was 7,200 miles away in Shimla, India. Traversing space becomes a matter of duration. Arriving home was a 41-hour gauntlet of driving and waiting in airport lounges and hiking through terminals to the four flights (one for 16-1/2 hours) that brought me home…”
“It is a hard life, with a harsh climate, continual manual labor, and dependency on the grasslands of the steppe to nourish the herds, and thus, them. But there is also abundant beauty, whether embedded in the faces of people secure in who they are, or being beneath the “Eternal Blue Sky,” or feeling deep appreciation for the animals.”
“Imagine my surprise, to discover that I live smack-dab on the North Country Trail. This happy realization occurred when I joined some friends who were chipping away at the NCT in 10-mile segments through Kent County in 2019. Although I had intended to join them multiple times that year, I only made it once, on a steamy-hot summer day in August.”
“Most of what I recall from high school world history about Genghis Khan is of a brutal culture. I learned about hordes of warriors racing on horseback across much of Eurasia, causing all sorts of mayhem in the course of building the Mongol Empire. But the full story behind it paints a very different picture. While preparing for the journey to Mongolia in September, 2023, I found myself applauding much of that history.”
“In Mongolia, a centuries-old tradition of hunting in partnership with eagles endures. Our small group of travelers had several chances to witness this unique human-eagle bond while traveling around the western province of Bayan Ulgii in September, 2023.”
“I step from the four-passenger SUV and gaze across the land before me. The image I have imagined since reading about the steppes of Mongolia in childhood is of undulating land that doesn’t end until somewhere beyond the limit of my sight. This place is stunning and harsh and fantastically empty of almost anything but the natural world. Above the unending terrain is the eternal blue sky.”
“…the immense moonless bowl overhead is brightly etched with stars. The air’s sharp September bite soon drives me back to my cozy sleeping bag. As I enter and close the door, the interior is as silent as a snowy morning. Inside, a person can’t help but feel safe and secure from whatever may come: cold, wind, noise. My temporary home out here on the steppes of Mongolia is called a “ger.”
“A month into my return from Mongolia, I have at last finished sifting the 3,800 photographic images of a magical time. How easy it has been to be re-immersed in that far-away place. I can still close my eyes and still feel my feet on that amazing terrain, smell the clean air, hear the silence of the steppes.”
