Botanical Naples

Back in Florida. It's difficult to love this place, unless of course you are really into the beach, or really into Disney. As I walked to work the other day, thinking about all the cons and scams endemic to this state, I had to dodge several drivers on their phones -- and a venomous snake to boot.  To quote Danielle, "this is not a place where you can live wide open".  It requires suspicion, wariness and vigilance.

We have had some good times, of course.  St. Petersburg, in particular, has become our urban retreat. The farmer's market, the walkable downtown, the breweries, the good music and food, are resplendent compared to Naples. But overall this noisy, ostentatious, crowded state has exposed a need that I can't satisfy: a need for wild and empty spaces.  There is no ready road into the country, no path into the deep woods.  Just urban sprawl eating away at the edges of vast swamp.  I enjoy taking my students out in nature, to be sure, but there are usually cars or boats zipping by. So I have taken to early morning visits to the local botanical garden, finding refreshment in the small and ever-changing blooms.  For all of you getting your first snowfall, spend a few extra minutes enjoying the beautiful quiet for us.  And if the cold is getting to you, here's a taste of the subtropics. Be well this winter and stay in touch.

Koa's Shrine

Colorful shells from nightly walks on the rocky shore. Glittering mica from an abandoned mine. Wildflowers from a picturesque meadow.  Feathers found at rest on a bed on pine needles.  All these artifacts of our summer explorations were brought back to Koa's last resting place with heavy hearts. By summer's end, a small cache of nature's riches marked the spot.  On Danielle's last visit to the shrine, a solitary maple leaf drifted down, atop the pile.  It hinted at the first signs of fall and signaled a turning of the seasons in our family life -- a benediction.

Though we carefully tucked Koa's ashes into our luggage, it was hard not to feel as though we were leaving her behind.  Even now, some four months on and two thousand miles removed, there is a palpable vacancy in our lives. Tears still roll when Danielle realizes Koa isn't coming back, and I can barely bring myself to talk about it. So we reestablished a shrine to Koa in our living room. Lit by a single candle, it is both a memorial and a request. A request that Koa guide the next soul in need into our lives.  

Maine Ministered To Us, Gently

The summit of Mt. Chocorua from different vantages. 

Treading softly, quietly in the White Mountain high country revealed a 

tableaux of miniature treasures.

Driving through the pastoral countryside with the windows rolled down, taking in the 

mountain air from a falcon's perch, biking hut-to-hut in the Carrabassett Valley... 

these moments restored hope and reignited playfulness.  

The soft, healing light of late summer.

Too soon, Bon Voyage.  Thank you Maine.

Love, Pure and Simple: Remembering Koa

Koa, the guiding star of our lives and frequently the star of this blog, loved Maine.  Florida’s extreme heat, profusion of venomous snakes, and beach regulations kept her life there fairly sedate.  In Maine, every chipmunk chirp was a call to arms.  She was free to plunge hurly burly through the pines and splash around in every brook.  What a joy to see that vitality unleashed.  She even took up paddle boarding.

One day, in the midst of this fun, she slowed down, found the shade of a red maple, and quietly passed away in my arms.  It was a stroke, and she was gone within minutes.  We have not yet ceased being shocked.  A family of two just doesn’t square in our hearts and minds.  It has been difficult to enjoy any of our usual outdoor pursuits without her, but we try anyway. 

Knowing that there will come a day when warm, happy memories will resume center stage, I am preparing a compendium of Koa’s many exploits.  For an emaciated, pregnant and near-to-death stray, she landed a glorious life.  We have expressed the true worth of this chapter in our lives in providing such a rich life for her.   

I will never forget the unclouded purity of love in her eyes as she gazed at me, or the way she would nuzzle my neck.  No one was immune to that look and she had many, many admirers.  Thank you to all of you who were kind to Koa.  Thank you, especially, to those who cared for her over these past seven years. Stacy, Donna and Tracy, Jan and David, Amy and Cess: thank you. 

Here are a few of the last photos we took of our “baby Moa”.  Safe travels to my best friend and constant companion.  Go get ‘em, Koa. 

New New Englanders

Summer in the other Portland:

one of its fine lighthouses, the miracles the sea works on ancient granite, 

a huzza of wildflowers, and a 1758 summer home on Swan Island (Aaron Burr slept here!).

Two days after returning from our western odyssey, it was time to drive 1900 miles north of Naples.  After a respite in North Carolina for some southern Appalachia mountain biking, we pushed on to Portland, Maine.  We call it “The Antidote”, in that it is a beautiful, coastal city devoid of traffic and rife with young people and good food.  It has also been a good base camp for weekend excursions to the Berkshire Mountains of Western Massachusetts, the White Mountains of New Hampshire, and northern Maine’s Acadia National Park.  New England is unlike anyplace we’ve ever been, every corner of the bucolic country dotted with historic villages, whitewashed churches and family cemeteries.  Nothing about the preposterously rocky and rooted trails – or local tales of bitter winters and black flies with the thaw – suggest this is an easy place to live.  But we are certainly grateful to experience the best of what the northeast can offer in a single season.  Wishing these summer days lasted as long as they seem to for children…

Hiking with friends through Berkshire meadows, careful to not trample the odd five-lined skink. Plus, an abandoned factory complex turned art and music venue.  Thank you, MOMA and Wilco.

Looking out on the islands of Acadia; 

freeing a damselfly from the carnivorous snares of sundew.

 High in the Whites, and a trailside discovery.

Whistlestop West

Grand Junction: cruising with my biker gang and taking in the verticality of 

Colorado National Monument.

In May, Danielle and I embarked on an ambitious three-week tour of the West in which we reconnected with nearly everyone in our circle.  It felt good to revive our wanderlust, and even better to soak in the unfailing love of our nearest and dearest.  Thank you to cousin Abbey for graduating high school and providing the impetus for our return.  Piecing together planes, trains, and rental cars, we made stops in Colorado, California and Oregon.  Forgoing the innumerable photos of smiling people with arms around one another, here are a few glimpses of the grand tour.  

Relishing that cold Truckee air, and high altitude bocce with Danielle's dad, JD. 

 

Back in the City of Roses, enjoying a Forest Park walk with my Dad, Mike.  

One too-brief night on the coast, reconnecting with friends.