Higher Realms

Higher Realms

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Yesterday’s walk was business as usual, the neighborhood loop in humidity so thick it felt like I was striding through pea soup. I consoled myself with memories of Deep Creek walks.

Though we were only there seven days I found a lovely route: a stretch of road with tall trees that met up high, cathedral-like, befitting the book I was reading: Sarum, about Salisbury, England, and its cathedral.

The light that reached walkers was dappled and fine, with puddles of sunshine and brief bright stretches. Each stroll lifted me up, spun me out of daily duties into higher realms. Which is, after all, what you want a walk to do.

Feeding on the Forest

Feeding on the Forest

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We stopped for a hike on the way home from the lake, strode through tall grass and old forest, sat on a bench and watched the eddies in Tolliver Creek.

At one point we heard a bird that sounded familiar, that sounded as if it was talking to us right from the heart of the woods. The Merlin app told us it was a hermit thrush, a relative of the wood thrush I heard last month.

It was a gem of a walk, with paths through meadow, park and woods. At the end we watched as butterflies fed on milkweed. It’s all the rage to plant milkweed now — we have some in our yard — but this was one of the first times I’ve watched animals taking advantage of it.

Milkweed is not an unattractive plant, but it’s not my favorite, either. Seeing it as food made me appreciate it more. Hikes can be food, too, sustenance for the spirit. This one was for me.

I felt as if I was feeding on the forest. After the clamor and clang of a busy week with the family, it was a quiet moment, time to absorb all the week had to offer.

Paddling the Creek

Paddling the Creek

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Yesterday it was my turn to go out in the kayak, to paddle across the lake and explore the creek we heard about from longtime residents.

Many streams feed the lake, but this is the first time we had a chance to explore one of them. The creek was a world apart, a ferny, reedy paradise where herons feed and turtles nest (not that I saw either of these creatures).

But I did feel the restorative calm of an alternative universe, a kingdom of water.

Yesterday’s paddle put the creek in Deep Creek Lake.

Sand Castles

Sand Castles

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The low clouds have blown away and in their wake comes a picture-perfect mountain beach day: blue skies, low humidity, a gentle breeze.

The beach was still a bit chilly this morning, so I only waded, but the kids jumped in full tilt, as they always do. The adults observed from the sidelines, or entered the water when necessary to supervise. But otherwise, it was a children’s world.

After their swim the kiddos dug and raked and patted — and built what must have been sand castles to them.

Cheaper by the Dozen

Cheaper by the Dozen

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Into every lake morning some donuts must fall. Today was the morning here. Not just traditional glazed and chocolate but all sorts of flavors and toppings, with glazes of caramel or cinnamon plus sprinkles, M&Ms and drizzled icing.

There was s’mores donut, a Samoa donut (named for the Girl Scout cookie), and a salted caramel number (my fave). There was chocolate milk and strawberry milk. There was no coffee. We went somewhere else for that.

It’s best to eat these donuts with a knife and fork, though it’s hard to avoid using your hands. Which meant we had plenty of sticky fingers by the end.

These donuts are cheaper by the dozen. I meant to take a photo of the dozen we purchased, but by the time I reached them, these were the only two left.

A Lakeside Birthday

A Lakeside Birthday

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Often our family lake trip coincides with Claire’s birthday. It does this year. How special to be with a daughter not just for an hour or two but for the whole day of her birth.

I’m not sure exactly what’s on the agenda, though a trip to the indoor pool seems likely since it’s raining. But I could also see a day of cozy movie-viewing and fudge-making. We’ll have to see.

Meanwhile, I’m up early to reflect on the bounty — and dodge the chaos.

(Photo from a sunny day at the lake beach last year.)

Making the Best of It

Making the Best of It

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We’re back at Deep Creek Lake, the sixth year in a row we’ve come here as a family. This year’s rental house is in a different location. It’s the replica of the familiar cabin we’ve booked the last four years but situated closer to the lake.

I’m getting used to this new venue, to how the light falls in the morning, to the waves in the lake. Will there be enough calm water to kayak? We’re looking into it.

We didn’t pull off the first swim we attempted (at a smaller, more kid-friendly lake) due to an e-coli outbreak. The bugs are everywhere these days, it seems. But we will avoid that lake (along with iceberg lettuce) and make the best of it. An ironic statement, of course, because as you can see from the photo above that’s not hard to do around here.

Magic To Do

Magic To Do

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“We have magic to do, just for you. We have miracle plays to play.”

From the moment we stepped into Signature’s theater-in-the-round with its shiny silver disc of a stage, I knew we were entering another world. I was holding my breath. I’ve loved the music of “Pippin” for decades. Could this revival possibly measure up?

I’m happy to report that it did! The singing, dancing, glitter, camp — here it was in the flesh, the musical from which the music derived. I learned that Pippin belts out “Morning Glow” right after he kills his father, Charlemagne; that “Spread a Little Sunshine” is sung by the devious stepmother Fastrada; and that Catherine, whose lilting soprano is perfect for “Kind of Woman,” is a widow with a young son.

The music I’ve loved for years became embodied last night, rich in color, drama, irony. From now on, when I listen to “Pippin” I’ll see the arched eyebrows and knowing glance of the Leading Player — or the grandmother stripping off her old-lady clothes to reveal a burlesque outfit underneath.

I’ll remember again what I too often forget: that we need stories, illusion — and magic — almost as much as food and drink and sleep.

A Tip of the Hat

A Tip of the Hat

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It happened on an ordinary walk, and it happened twice, since this ordinary walk was on a circular trail, where you run into people more than once if you’re strolling in opposite directions.

I’m glad it happened twice, though, because the first time I didn’t believe my eyes. By the second time, I was sure. A fellow walker, a man about my age, smiled and tipped his hat as we passed.

I’ve written before about how walkers acknowledge each other. I don’t expect much, am happy if I get a nod or wave. I never expected a tip of the hat. Such behavior harkens back to an earlier age, when gentlemen wore fedoras and opened doors for ladies.

Did the hat-tipper similarly acknowledge male walkers? I have no answer to that question. But I do know how nice it felt to be the recipient of a such a courtesy. It was a congenial gesture; it made me smile all the way back to the parking lot.

(President Calvin Coolidge tips his hat. Photo: Wikimedia Commons)

Shiftless

Shiftless

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As you might expect from a walker in the suburbs, I’m not big on driving. I do it, of course, because I have to — but I do it almost exclusively with a manual-transmission sedan. I shift up, I shift down. I lean into corners and feel the road. Piloting a stick shift has made driving as fun as it can be, almost as much fun as walking.

I did not come to this skill easily. I was an automatic transmission girl until I married into a stick-shift-car family and painstakingly learned to handle a clutch. With no automatic to fall back on, I had no choice. But it wasn’t easy, especially after living for 10 years in cities where I relied solely on public transportation.

For decades now I’ve mostly driven a manual, and loved doing it. I mourned our old stick-shift when it finally bit the dust. The 25-year-old Saab that we’re keeping alive by dint of a mechanic named Louis and way too much money may be the last manual I’ll ever drive.

A recent Washington Post article reveals that stick-shift automobiles account for only 0.6 percent of the American auto market now compared with more than 34.6 percent in 1980. Manufacturers are discontinuing their stick-shift models. Electric vehicles don’t require a manual transmission. And then there’s the comfort factor. As one auto industry expert opined, “The more the car becomes your couch, the less you’re going to want to shift your gears.” 

For me, a car is a tool, not a couch. It’s a necessary item. And if I have to own one, I’d like it to be one that mimics walking with all its stops and starts and adventures.