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I left my heart in Ouray ❤️🏔

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We finally found a spot beyond the thunderstorms where we could walk the dogs without getting soaked in a downpour. As the pups raced around each other on the beach, waves of fog rolled up over the shoreline, climbing up hills in the distance until it swept in around us and obscured the last of the sunset.

#dogwalk #sunset #ghostwaters

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I didn’t expect that much of a viewpoint and ended up with the clearest view I’ve had of the Catskills since the last time I drove by them on the NY Thruway.

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The temperature is dropping as the wind picks up. Every tree branch is encased in its own crystal ice palace and bows under the unexpected weight. We cross the tree line between fields quickly, crunching over the countless branches that have already fallen from above. We escape the shower of broken ice blowing onto this side from the tree tops and move farther and farther into the middle of the upper field. Here the wind whips sharply. The sun hides between dramatic clouds but escapes at intervals to make the ice blaze and sparkle. The crest of the hill might as well be the top of the earth - cold and vast, but safe. Despite the freezing gusts sweeping over us, it is peaceful here. We stop for a moment to contemplate it before pushing on back home. 🌬❄️

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When you wake up to snow on the morning of Christmas Eve, you go for a holiday hike!

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Someone recently asked me about my favorite tree and I realized how many “favorites” I actually have. There’s the one along a hiking trail in woods that used to be fields. Since it grew without being shaded or crowded by any other trees, its branches stretch way out in every direction, towering above the trail and dominating the canopy. It now has a red X on its trunk marking it to be cut. There’s one in the middle of a field situated perfectly amongst rolling hills with a mountain off in the distance behind it. I drive by it every day and always think to myself that I’ll ride my bike to where I can get a good long look and a picture. There’s a tree on another trail whose roots rise above the ground and form a little bowl against the trunk. It was there that I stopped and sat and cried during when someone dear to me was in emergency surgery that I knew deep down wouldn’t be successful. I remember that person and the comfort I felt nestled there every time I see that tree. And among many others, there’s my own personal party tree, a magnificent oak, pictured here in my back yard. I’ve held my own “long-expected party” (a la Lord of the Rings) under its boughs and spent many peaceful days in its shade.

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Morning walks during the autumn hay harvest 🌱🍂

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It stopped raining for a hot second, so I took the opportunity to take my road bike for a spin. It was a short ride, racing the sun to get a few miles in before dark, but it was perfect. I clicked through the gears comfortably and was amazed at how well I fit into the geometry of the bike (the professional fit at the bike shop 2 years ago was entirely worth it!). I’ve spent time on other bikes this season, and this just felt so much better. I got into a bit of a sprint and felt the wind in my face and the exertion in my legs. I slowed down at a farm with pygmy goats. About 3 or 4 were out near the road around a bale of hay. Most were nibbling at the hay, but one white, horned, and bearded billy was standing proudly on top of the bale. I smiled to myself and called out, “Until next time, friends!” as I passed. I rode past a field of giant pumpkins and acres of corn and soybean plants turning gold before harvest. I watched the sun get low and throw orange light over the fields and wooded hills beyond. I sang out the Grateful Dead’s lyrics “Goddamn well I declare! Have you seen the like?” and then went on for a few choruses, because who doesn’t sing Dead songs while cycling? It’s good to be back in the saddle.

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Who Should You Fight: Gothic Horror Edition

Mary Shelley: Are you Harriet Westbrook?  If so, consider fighting Percy instead.  If not, why on Earth would you want to fight Mary Shelley?

Bram Stoker: Go for it; the guy was sickly all his life.  Just try not to catch his latest batch of terminal illnesses.

Edgar Allan Poe: Like Bram Stoker, but really sad.  Don’t fight Poe.

Matthew “Monk” Lewis: You’ll have a fun time fighting Matthew Lewis, whether you win or not.  Watch out, though- he fights dirty.

Oscar Wilde: You think you can take Wilde?  Really?  I mean, I know pop culture thinks of him as silly and frilly, but he was also 6′3″ and Irish.  You cannot take Oscar Wilde.

The Marquis de Sade: Win or lose, there is no possible end to this fight that does not leave you feeling gross.

John Polidori: Absolutely fight Polidori.  If only his little half-assed attempt at a mustache were longer, you could pull on it!

Henry James: First, decide whether you believe he was sympathetic to the plight of women or revelled in depicting their downfall.  Then bypass Henry James entirely in favor of fighting one academic side or the other.

Ambrose Bierce: I cannot emphasize enough how much you cannot beat Ambrose Bierce.  This man ended his life by riding off to join Pancho Villa’s army, and some scholars believe he was murdered for sassing his host.  Unless you are Pancho Villa, don’t fight Ambrose Bierce.

M.R. James: You could beat James up, but then Christopher Lee would beat you up.  Choose wisely.

Charles Dickens:  He’ll be the one to fight you, for calling him a gothic horror writer in the first place.  And while I have no proof of it, I am convinced Dickens has killed men before for such insults.

Sheridan Le Fanu: On the one hand, I feel bad advising anyone to fight a man who campaigned to get the British government to do something about the Irish famine.  On the other hand, those muttonchops were meant for grabbing.

H.P. Lovecraft: You’ll win, but you won’t enjoy it.  There’s no fun in kicking a man who’s already down.

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I was “challenged” on Facebook to post the covers of seven books that I love or which have had a profound influence on me. This was the result. It was interesting to delve in my bookcase to find those that had been influential throughout my life. I’m not sure that I would feel the same way about “The Razor’s Edge” if I read it now, but I believe that “Flower’s for Algernon” would hit all of the same emotional strings, and maybe some more. “The Lord of the Rings” has been a continual inspiration as I read it over and over through the years, and its push to journey and explore has led to new chapters, like those inspired by “Mud, Sweat, and Tears”. I’ll be interested in seeing how this list changes in years to come.

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There are some things worth waking up at daybreak to see.

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I can't come with you on this journey, my sweet girl, and my heart breaks for it. I didn't keep track of how many miles we traveled together over the years, but you were the best trail buddy a girl could hope for. You taught Pippin well, and he'll be taking the reigns (leash?) from now on in adventure-related matters, but you will always have a very special place in my heart for drawing me out the door and down all of those unknown roads. Moving, seeking, and exploring were requisites of every day for you, and it made my life so rich and exciting. You led the way on nighttime strolls down the street and sunrise rambles around the neighborhood. There were rainy trail runs and frozen snowshoe treks. You went "mountain biking" and ran a 5k and escaped onto the course of a 10-mi trail race to pace me for a segment. And when you started slowing down with age just as I slowed down with a knee injury, you ambled along during our walks with as much curiosity and excitement as ever. In addition to being an athletic, adventurous dog, you had the sweetest disposition and the best personality a person could hope for in a pet. You were one of a kind and one of the best. I love you, and I miss you so much. 💔 . "The Road goes ever on and on Out from the door where it began. Now far ahead the Road has gone, Let others follow it who can! Let them a journey new begin, But I at last with weary feet Will turn towards the lighted inn, My evening-rest and sleep to meet." .

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A tantalizing smell of caramelized onions wafted from the takeout bag as I walked across town to where my car was parked. I reasoned with myself that, even though it was too early for dinner, it wouldn't hurt to have a taste right away. As soon as I reached my car, I opened the bag and pulled out a salad, condiments, utensils, and the square container that was the source of the mouth-watering aromas. "Hold on," I reminded myself. "Don't dig right in. It needs some sour cream to be complete." After applying an appropriate dollop, I arranged some caramelized onions, but not too many, because I didn't know how well the flavors would blend. And then I took a bite. At first, my senses were confused by conflicting flavor messages. On one hand, it was a traditional Polish pierogi, accented perfectly with soft, savory onions. On the other hand, it was definitely Irish corned beef, blended with cabbage and a hint of carrot. With the next bite, it was gone, and I was readying the sour cream for another application. The second pierogi received less analytical review and was simply consumed in a state of decided approval. By the third pierogi, I realized that the onion topping was vital to this experience. Exquisitely crafted with generous sprinklings of black pepper, the onions coated the pierogis in a caramelized glaze that offered even more peppery bite than the corned beef filling could provide. It completed them. I had ordered the pierogis boiled instead of pan-fried, and the soft boiled texture allowed the toppings, dough, and filling to meld together beautifully. The salad sat on the passenger seat, utterly forgotten.

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How To Tell If You Are In A Jane Austen Book

found on the-toast.net

• Someone disagreeable is trying to persuade you to take a trip to Bath.

• Your father is absolutely terrible with money. No one has ever told him this.

• All of your dresses look like nightgowns.

• Someone disagreeable tries to persuade you to join a game of cards.

• A woman who hates you is playing the pianoforte.

• A picnic has gone horribly wrong.

• A member of the armed forces has revealed himself to be morally deficient.

• You once took a walk with a cad.

• Everyone in the neighborhood, including your mother, has ranked you and your sisters in order of hotness. You know exactly where you fall on the list.

• You say something arch yet generous about another woman both younger and richer than you.

• You have one friend; he is thirty years old and does business with your father and you are going to marry him someday.

• You attempt to befriend someone slightly above or slightly below your social station and are soundly punished for it.

• A girl you have only just met tells you a secret, and you despise her for it.

• You have five hundred a year. From who? Five hundred what? No one knows. No one cares. You have it. It’s yours. Every year. All five hundred of it.

• There are three men in your life: one true love, one tempting but rakish acquaintance, and a third distant possibility — he is courteous and attentive but only slightly interested in you. He is almost certainly the cousin or good friend of your true love, and nothing will ever happen between you two.

• A woman who is not your mother treats you like her own daughter. Your actual mother is dead or ridiculous.

• You develop a resentment at a public dance.

• Someone you know has fallen ill. Not melodramatically ill, just interestingly so.

• A man proposes to you, then to another, lesser woman when you politely spurn him. This delights you to no end.

• A charming man attempts to flirt with you. This is terrible.

• You have become exceedingly ashamed of what your conduct has been.

• A shocking marriage of convenience takes place within your social circle two-thirds of the way in.

• A woman in an absurd hat is being an absolute bitch to you; there is nothing you can do about it.

• You are in a garden, and you are astonished.

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Long shadows on a cold, stormy night

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Postscript 1868 There are things which happen and leave no discernible trace, are not spoken or written of, though it would be very wrong to say that subsequent events go in indifferently, all the same, as though such things had never been. Two people met, on a hot May day, and never later mentioned their meeting. This is how it was.

A.S. Byatt, Possession (p. 508)

In my line of work, I preserve the discernible traces that people leave behind and help genealogists put together clues to trace their ancestors. I handle personal diaries, government documents, correspondence, and more, and I love the glimpses these traces give into peoples' stories. This quote is a reminder that I can never know the whole story, though. That reminder is a little disappointing, but it is also beautiful and mysterious. There are, indeed, things which happen and leave no discernible trace.