Sea Time

I recently had an amazing opportunity to be a “Distinguished Visitor,” or “DV” as we were called, aboard the USS Bush (CVN 77) last week with a group of environmental professionals. We were invited to take part in a tour of the Navy’s environmental practices at sea. While I had been on the USS Reagan, while it was in port in San Diego, this would be my first time aboard a carrier at sea. I was excited, as I had heard much about Chad’s trip on the USS Stennis, several years ago and, in particular, about the flight out there on a COD (Carrier Onboard Delivery) and the harrowing “shoulder roll” it did as it dropped down to land on the ship; the joy of “sleeping” under the flight deck; and being catapulted off the ship upon departure. The USS Bush is the newest carrier and the last of the Nimitz class carriers. Construction began in 2003 and when it was launched in 2006 much of the interior was still under construction (in fact, parts of it are still being finished). Although it is the newest carrier in the Navy, its technology is already out of date, and it hasn’t even been out on deployment yet. They are already working on the USS Ford, and its technology will likely be out of date by its completion as well. To give you a sense of scale, the USS Bush stands 20 stories above the waterline, is 1092 feet long, can go 30 knots (though you can hardly feel it) and carries 6,000 people (the population of the average American city, according to one of our guides).


We started our journey at the Hampton Inn, just outside of the Norfolk Naval base, where we were met by representatives of N45, the Navy’s Environmental Readiness Unit, the organizers of our trip. After introductions, we were whisked off to LP1 (landing pad) on the base and then given a safety briefing on our COD flight, which included the issuance of a set of earplugs, cranials and a horsecollar. The cranials would go on and off at least a dozen times throughout our visit and were marked with “DV” just in case everyone didn’t already know we were visitors. Our flight out was very smooth, though quite loud (hence the earplugs and the cranials), and there was no infamous “shoulder roll” upon landing. Maybe it was the new 8-bladed propellers aboard our colorfully painted aircraft. Upon landing, we were greeted by the flight crew and escorted to the George HW Bush meeting room, which was decorated with old pictures of the Bush family, including a couple I recognized from Kennebunkport. It was stunning to see young George HW and Barbara and also little George W. The CO (Commanding Officer) of the ship introduced himself and gave us a briefing on what they had planned for us during our stay aboard. We also met the PAO (Public Affairs Officer) and our escorts. Our afternoon was filled with tours of every part of the ship, taking us up and down many ladders, through hatches, and up and down passageways every which way (blocking them with our dozen or so crew) such that we were grateful for the numerical and alphabetical grid coding marking our three dimensional position on the ship. We were escorted everywhere, which I think had less to do with security than it did with the fact that we would have most certainly gotten lost otherwise.

On the flight deck, we watched flight ops (operations) where F18 Super Hornets, CODs and E2Cs (these look like a COD with a satellite dish on top and are a type of spy plane) practice being catapulted off the ship upon take-off and then “catching the wire” upon landing.

The USS Bush carries up to 80 or so aircraft aboard. Up in the flight tower, we watched the amazing coordination between the different members of the flight crew both there and on deck, each dressed in a different color to mark their job (brown for maintenance, purple for fuel, and so on). We also visited the “Ready Room” right below the flight deck (a fact which you were not likely to forget) for the airwing that was currently on board, VFA-31, also known as the “Tomcatters”. We met a few of the pilots and learned that the Tomcatters have been around since 1935 and are one of the oldest flight commands in the Navy. We learned about the Super Hornets they were flying, which have only been around since 2000. They are 60’ long with a 45’ wing span (part of which is collapsible for storage in the hangar) go up to 1.8M, and carry 10,000 lbs of fuel. These are single seat planes, unlike the co-piloted F14s made famous in Top Gun, and the next generation of fighter planes is likely to be unmanned. We were then shown to our staterooms - I got the VP Suite (not as luxurious as it sounds), which I shared with a woman from the EPA. We had about five minutes to get settled before being escorted to dinner. A table was set for us in the Ward room where several officers joined us and we were served with military precision by an impressive staff. I was fortunate enough to sit next to the ship’s XO (Executive Officer) who was quite congenial and interested in my impressions of the ship’s operations. He presented us each with a coin from the USS Bush to take with us – it is a Navy tradition to collect these.

We had a full schedule after dinner, beginning with presentations by a Naval Oceanographer from Fleet Forces in Norfolk and by the Deputy Director of N45, describing the Navy’s consideration of marine mammals in its use of sonar and outlining the most pressing environmental priorities of the Navy, most of which focused on efficiency and energy reduction. Luckily, there was coffee provided, as well as the ubiquitous cookies (which there seemed to be plates of in every meeting room - we heard several people joke of a “5 cookie day” referring to a day with 5 meetings), because our night was still young. From there, we toured the on-board waste disposal facilities from the hazardous waste area to the compressor that turns hundreds of plastic bottles into a single giant hockey puck and the metal shredder that makes short work of aluminum cans. We were also taken down to see one of the ship’s four “screws” at the very bottom of the ship. The ship is powered by nuclear reactors (which can apparently operate for more than 20 years without refueling) which produce steam, which in turn powers the ship. Needless to say, it was quite toasty down in the bowels of the ship around the propeller shafts, which are some 40 feet long. Finally, we watched night flight ops from the vulture’s walk, outside above the flight deck, and then went up to the top of the flight tower to meet the “Air Boss” and “Mini-Boss” who run the operations. Despite the excitement of watching night flight ops, I felt myself beginning to sway with tiredness, as it was now approaching 1130pm. Finally, we were escorted back to our state rooms and, after a quick “military shower,” I headed for a peaceful night’s “sleep” right below the flight deck. I was actually grateful that they kept us up so late, as I was so tired that I actually did fall asleep (helped along by the handy earplugs).

At 5am in the morning, we got a knock on the door from one of our escorts telling us to get ourselves up and ready for a 6am breakfast followed by a helo (helicopter) ride out to the DDG Gonzalez, a Destroyer that was nearby. En route, we were able to see both the Bush and the Gonzalez clearly from the air. Once aboard the Gonzalez, we were greeted by the CO, one of the few female COs of a Destroyer. We learned that the Gonzalez was about to deploy to West Africa on an anti-piracy mission. We also learned about UAVs (unmanned aerial vehicles), which are remote-controlled helicopters equipped with video cameras that feed live video back to the ship and used to detect enemy ships. The CO also presented with a USS Gonzalez coin to add to our collection. Much of our time on the ship was spent learning about the Navy’s practices regarding marine mammals. We saw a marine mammal drill where the captain reduced the ship’s sonar strength in response to the siting of a marine mammal. They have some pretty handy tools for identification and for knowing the required practices for operations in various areas depending on the local marine mammal populations and their endangered status. One of the neatest parts of the trip was going down into the sonar room. This was the only part of our tour where we weren’t allowed to take any pictures. You really had the sense that this was where it all happened – myriad screens with displays in green and yellow and a line-up of sailors with headsets and microphones communicating positions to each other. Apparently, unlike in the old days of Russian nuclear subs, today, most of the enemy subs are diesel-electric and are small and very quiet, making them very difficult to detect. Whereas the bigger nuclear subs were detectible with passive sonar (basically just amplified listening) these new types require active sonar (sending out a signal) and this is what can cause impact to marine mammals. In accordance, the Navy has a very strict protocol to “step down” the sonar in the known presence of a mammal.

We returned to the USS Bush via the helicopter for lunch and a handful of remaining ship tours.

These included the anchor room (each link weighs 365 lbs!), which is typically used for many ceremonial functions, but today was being used for choir and band practice - as ships are not known for sound absorbent surfaces, it was nearly impossible to hear our tour guides with the music. Then, we saw the flight hangars, which double as the onboard gym and are filled with treadmills and stationary bicycles; then to the medical ward, where we saw the onboard operating room; then, to the enlisted berthing, where bunks were stacked three high and it was hard to imagine not clocking your head every time you got in and out. We also got to tour the galley, full of giant cooking cauldrons and the food storage area (though I wasn’t impressed with the amount of processed cheese and canned meat products, the level of organization was certainly impressive – the ship can carry supplies for 90 days at sea). We also got a tour of the media department, which produced all of the snazzy folders and information sheets we received as a part of our tour. And, we visited the ship store where we were able to purchase USS Bush paraphernalia for friends and family. Finally, we got a brief peek at the sunshine when we were invited to partake in a “Fob” (foreign object), walk on the flight deck. Every day, everyone aboard walks slowly across the deck in silence, save the rock music blaring over the loudspeaker, to check for every tiny piece of debris that might be on the flight deck and could pose a safety hazard to the planes. They also call this operation the “Skittle parade” because of all the different crews on the flight deck, each in their different colored turtlenecks.

We ended our tour in the Bush tribute room, where I was impressed to learn that George HW Bush was the youngest aviator in the Navy at age 18. His plane was shot down in Chichi Jima, Japan in WWII, but not before he completed the bombing mission. For his bravery, he was awarded the Distinguished Flying Cross. After four hours in a life raft, he was rescued by an American rescue submarine and all of this was remarkably captured on video. We returned to the Bush meeting room for a farewell from the CO where he presented each of us with a personalized set of souvenirs and asked if I would be a volunteer to show what we would received. We each were given a photo book ending with a picture of us sitting in the captain’s chair in the flight tower, which one of the ship’s media crew had taken the night before. We also received a certificate declaring us each an “Honorary Tailhooker,” having “experienced deceleration from 105 to 0 mph in two seconds and acceleration from 0 to 128 mph in three seconds” on board our C-2 Greyhound COD (something we were about to experience). I was honored to be personally presented with my certificate by the CO, who shook my hand as he read it aloud. Back on with the cranials and horsecollars, we said many thank yous and marched out to the COD. The catapult was quite an experience, like being lurched forward and frozen there for what seemed like minutes, though I know it was a matter of seconds. The flight crew has a little fun with the whole operation and just before you are slingshotted off the carrier, they yell “Here we go!” and flail their arms in the air. Partway through the flight, they invited anyone interested to ride in the cockpit, which I jumped at. The pilots were very friendly, but I quickly found out that my microphone didn’t work so we had to resort to a sign language. A short ride later, our crew arrived back at LP1 and went our separate ways, all looking forward to a good night’s rest after quite a busy trip.

After the whole experience, there were a few things that made big impressions on me: the professionalism of all the personnel we encountered and their ability to communicate what their jobs were(which was often quite complex) to an audience unfamiliar with military operations; how candid the Navy representatives were about their mission, which is military, not environmental, though they try to have the best possible environmental practices they can without impeding their operations; and how much I miss the camaraderie of the Navy and the variety of interesting people we encountered from all backgrounds and experiences during our time involved. All in all, it was a once in a lifetime experience.

Vernalized

You know you’re in a good place when you are greeted with samples of mango and banana rum at the airport and you see a sea turtle from the ferry. We had never been to St. John and didn’t really know what to expect, but it turned out to be a tailor-made Chad and Sooz vacation spot. And, we were amply vernalized by the long winter in Maine, ready to spring forth into the soft warm tropical air upon first opportunity. For five glorious days, we repeated the same schedule: pack a backpack (snorkels, books, sunscreen, picnic supplies, camera), hike for a few hours to a good snorkel spot, snorkel, picnic on the beach, hike back, read on the porch of our cabin with a creatively concocted rum drink, cook something on the Coleman stove to enjoy on the porch while watching the colors fade, and maybe have another swim before heading to sleep (although that required a descent of over 100 steps down to the beach and back up as well).

Back to day 1 – we arrived at Maho Bay campground, which is an eco-resort on the north side of the island that was built on a series of elevated pathways to minimize the impact on the forest floor, giving it a Swiss Family Robinson feel. These pathways connect simple canvas-sided tent cabins that all share common bathhouses and a central pavilion which has a small store and a restaurant with nightly entertainment. The utopian aspect is enhanced by the fact that you can sign up for activities ranging from yoga to glass blowing to snorkel tours.

On the first day, we arrived in time for an evening snorkel at Little Maho Bay (at the base of the aforementioned many steps), sighting in a matter of an hour or so, a giant school of silvery Jacks, tube worms of all sizes and colors, an assortment of whimsically shaped corals and sponges, noisily munching parrot fish, a giant eel, and even an octopus! That night, we tried out the pavilion restaurant and were sadly disappointed by limp vegetables and four sad, overcooked mussels, hence the routine of campstove-cookery which we followed for the remainder of our stay. That night, we fell asleep to the chirping of tree frogs and gentle, and moist breezes blowing across out hardened, dry winter bodies. The morning’s soundtrack was a chorus of songbirds with a background of passing dappled showers. After breakfast of toast toasted in a pan on our campstove and real drip coffee through a makeshift cone attached to a measuring cup, we packed the daily backpack and headed out for the ruins of the Anaberg sugar plantation. Our list of wildlife grew with sightings of two deer and a mongoose along the trail before reaching cliff-side Frangipani trees filled with munching caterpillars. The sugar plantation was one of 25 or so on the island in the late 1700s, run by Dutch settlers with labor provided by African slaves, which produced molasses and rum. There is an impressive windmill on the plantation that was used to mash the cane and can be seen from much of the island. With the end of slavery in 1848 on the island and the refining of sugar beets rather than cane in other parts of the world, the sugar industry collapsed. There was a brief period of cattle ranching afterwards, leading to the further removal of nearly all the first growth forest on the island. In 1917, the US purchased the island from Denmark to prevent takeover by the Germans in WWI. Then, in 1956, Rockefeller purchased most of the island and turned it over to the US Parks Department so that it could be preserved.

There you have the brief history of St. John. Following the advice of a very helpful guide at the plantation, we walked up the path to the ruins of a villa of a former sugar baron named Murphy, passing donkeys on the trail. Yet another cliffside tree poked through the crumbling walls of the villa, with a pair of kestrels framed against the pale blue waters of Leinster Bay below. We trekked on to Brown Bay, where we encountered a stiff breeze, but found a sheltered stretch along the rocks to snorkel and saw our first sea turtle while in the water. Creeping conchs, listless sea cucumbers, and hidden flounders dotted the sandy sea floor. On our hike back, we added soldier crabs skittering around a fallen termite next to the wildlife tally, their crackling sounds giving them away despite the stolen snail shells they wore as disguises. We fit in one more snorkel of the day at big Maho Bay, which led Chad to remark, “Every part of the reef is like a little miracle.” Finally, a hummingbird greeted us upon our return on the walkway back to our cabin.

The next morning, we were greeted by a large iguana silhouetted in the tree in front of our porch. He was not at all phased by us and made himself a part of the view during our leisurely breakfast. That morning, our hike took us to Waterlemon Cay, which we learned was not Watermelon Cay. And, on the way, we saw giant iguana/dragon #2 of the day, rustling about on the forest floor. We snorkeled around the Cay and saw another amazing array of fish and reef critters, including a stingray with a remora tagging along for the ride and a brightly spotted eel hidden in a large coral head. We returned to the Anaberg ruins in time for lunch so that we could sample the “dumb bread” produced in the cook shack for the site’s work crew and available for the tourists to sample. It is a simple doughnut-like bread with coconut and powdered sugar on top and was delicious. We returned via Francis Bay for another snorkel, where we saw our first big leatherback turtle with two remora in tow and also a baby turtle munching eelgrass, as well as a lobster, a brittle star, a giant rainbow parrotfish floating above orange coral cups, a blue iridescent spotted flounder, pipe fish bobbing up and down next to purple gorgonians with flamingo tongue shellfish attached, a giant puffer fish, boxfish, and a five foot barracuda. We took it all in once back at Maho Bay while sipping Cruzan rum and Cokes from the deck and cooking burgers on the trusty camping stove. We attended an evening lecture at the pavilion on the ecology of the reefs in the area and then headed down the many stairs for an evening swim, marveling at the lights of St. Thomas in contrast to the darkness of the vastly protected parklands of St. John.

In the wee hours that night, we heard the scuttling of soldier crabs through the cracks in the floorboards of our cabin, their constant clickings adding to the night songs of the tropics. And, for our morning wildlife sighting, we saw fish jumping nearly five feet out of the water in the bay below. We snorkeled first thing in the morning at Little Maho with two young green sea turtles, one of which let us look him right in the eye with millions of tiny silversides streaming through the water and sparkling in the morning sun. Among the other treasures were a corkscrew anemone (with little white corkscrew markings twisting up each tentacle), fingerlike soft corals and frilled gorgonians, trunkfish, puffers, featherduster worms, tangs, angelfish, wrasse, and gobies, just for a snapshot. I really wish I had pictures of these fantastic plants and animals! After snorkeling, we picked up a rental car for the last couple of days and headed to Vie’s Snack Shack on the east end of the island for recommended garlic chicken and Johnny cakes drizzled with honey, both of which were worth the trip. On the way there, we were able to see more of the island than previously covered on foot, including twisty roads with peeks of hidden rocky bays reminiscent of Sardinia – particularly the narrow, winding roads, and the goat crossings. That afternoon, we hiked out the Reef Bay Trail to another abandoned sugar mill, passing iguanas, chickens, mongoose and deer along the way and smelling the sweet scents of Bay Rum trees. We took a side trip on the Petroglyph trail to see the paintings of the Taino Indians on the rocks reflected in a small pool beneath a completely dry waterfall. These are the same native group that we saw evidence of on our trip to Puerto Rico. The reef at Reef Bay was the first we’d seen in St. John that was in poor shape – covered in sediment and plant growth with murky waters that were hard to see through while snorkeling. Even more eery through the cloudy water was a shark, which Chad claims was six feet long (though I never actually saw it). We attempted a picnic upon return, but the beach was hopping with sand fleas and hurried us on our way. We headed back to Maho Bay for our last night on the porch with ginger beer Dark and Stormies followed by a final night’s swim.

We were sent off from Maho by a chirping bananaquit on the porch amongst gently cooing doves and a brown-throated sparrow, which hopped right onto the banana peel on our breakfast table. We spent the last night of our trip at Concordia Camps, which is the sister resort to Maho Bay. We had first read about Maho Bay because the owner is currently in a battle with the land owner to maintain the lease on the land. During this battle, he bought a piece of land on the dry southern side of the island on the site of a former cotton plantation and built another resort that he wholly owns. From Concordia Camps, we hiked out to Ram’s Head for beautiful views from steeply descending cliffs, a perfect spot to see a turtle and a ray from above. The terrain was completely different and very reminiscent of San Diego and Baja, Mexico – prickly pears, tiny wildflowers and scrubby desert vegetation and spicy scents. We passed a fault line at the neck of the head, beyond which the rocks were dark and cobbly rather than the porous coral, which enhanced the different feel of this part of the island. Quite parched from the hike, we eagerly donned masks and snorkels and spent an immeasurable amount of time exploring a small islet in the middle of Salt Pond Bay, which had the brightest, most varied array of corals and critters we’d seen so far. When we finally extracted ourselves from the water, we picnicked at a shady table beneath a giant mangrove cuckoo, its spotted tail hanging down over the branch above, and a flitting hummingbird, which barely slowed long enough for us to identify it. On the way back, we crossed the neck over the salt pond to Drunk Bay to see the whimsically arranged rock/coral/coconut shell people displayed on the rocks and then poked our way along the shore to perhaps the gem of the trip – an empty beach with two chairs in the shade of a homemade shanty of sorts, branches woven together by an old fishing net, where we read for hours punctuated by dips into the water. Not knowing exactly how we’d make our way home and hoping we wouldn’t have to scramble over the rocks from whence we’d come, we happily discovered that we were just below the foot of a road that led directly back to Concordia Camps. We’d decided to splurge for our last night and get a place with actual walls and running water – a nice place to rest and clean up before our trip home. After settling in and cleaning up, we enjoyed our final rum concoction - an invented coconut milk and grapefruit soda mixture, which was very refreshing given the dry heat of the day. Our other splurge was a dinner out in Coral Bay, where we were instructed to try the Guavaberry martini (guavas have berries?) and were not disappointed.

And, finally, the last morning – we had to get in the water one more time and were not disappointed. We were bid farewell by a sea turtle, a spiny lobster, and a giant silver grouper. A quick rainshower subsided to provide a full rainbow across the bay, which we viewed upon surfacing. We then caught the ferry from Cruz Bay, wading along the shore among silver tarpon while waiting for our boat, and then headed to Charlotte Amalie in St. Thomas, catching views of yachts practicing for the upcoming Rolex Regatta along the way.

And that was it – one bottle of blackstrap and one bottle of guava berry rum purchased as souvenirs, and then we were whisked back to Boston, arriving as readily identifiable tourists in flip flops and with slightly toasted skin. We returned solar charged, wondering how long we could hold onto the warmth before it ran out of juice and if it could last until it finally would get warm in Maine. At least we timed our trip so that we returned after the end of daylight savings and also after the first crocus bloomed, daffodils were opening and buds had emerged on the forsythia bushes. This spring has been quite anomalous, in fact, and has come much earlier, so we were not thrust back into the wet, chilly muck that is usually mud season in Maine – and were grateful for it. Now, we watch daily the progression of new green shoots, surprised every day by previously unknown plants in the yard, this being our first spring on Federal St. I will close with a favorite quote of my alma mater’s namesake, John Burroughs, “Nature is always new in the spring and lucky are we if it finds new also.”

On Staying Put, with Help from Eliot and Einstein

We have lived in Brunswick now for four months and it is the first place I’ve lived, since leaving 6325 Waterman Ave, where I grew up, where I haven’t rushed to put up every picture and to have each piece of furniture come to its resting place. And, it feels good. There are rugs on the floors that are mismatched in both color and size. Upstairs, there is still a completely theme-less room with an odd assemblage of a leftover desk and file cabinets from my old office, my college shipping locker, and a Nordic track (Chad’s new vehicle to carry him through the dark, icy days of New England winter). And, there are largely unpacked boxes in the basement, attic and garage (ah, the joys of extra space), and that’s okay because we are pacing ourselves. It’s as if we bought a house for our future selves and moved in early, so we aren’t in any rush because we have a couple of bonus, free years just to enjoy it. Maybe it is that the project possibilities are too numerous to tackle them all immediately, so we are prevented from trying. But, I think it has something to do with a soft, descending sense of permanency that has gently dampened the oft-frenetic move-in phase much like the thick blanket of white snow nestled around our house. For the first time in going on seven years of marriage, we have hopes of staying in one spot for longer than our current year and a half record.

I have no complaints about the number of dwellings (this is our 6th) that we have inhabited thus far, moving up and down the coast of Maine, across the country to San Diego, across the Atlantic to the Mediterranean, and back again. They have all been wonderful places to live. And, while you may think that being back in Maine in January would be a disappointment after sunny bougainvillea-filled Mediterranean climes, we actually like it better now because we learned that, while the grass really is greener there, we prefer the conifers. Also, in reality, January in San Diego is rainy and cool, and Sardinia is even more so but with the added brutal Maestrale wind.

To Eliot, as in T.S. – “We shall not cease from exploration/And the end of all our exploring/ Will be to arrive where we started/ And know the place for the first time...” (The Four Quartets). While Maine isn’t actually home to either of us individually, i.e., we are not “Mainers” and never will be since we weren’t born here, it is our home as a pair, as this is where we met. I should mention that when I say we arrived where we started, I mean that we now live a block and a half from Bowdoin, where we both went to school, a few blocks more to the parking lot where we first met, and across the street from Chad’s Senior year apartment where he wooed me with wonderful home-cooked meals and serenaded me on guitar. We walk our dog, Manny, past my freshman dorm nearly every morning and by the chapel where I played my Senior year piano concert. While this all may seem a little too familiar, there has been enough time and experience between it’s really not strange. Even Chad’s job here connects us back to our first meeting, as the company he now works for, Apogee, runs outdoor trips for students, much like those we led when we first met. Although Brunswick is obviously familiar, I now feel like I know it for the first time, as Eliot wrote, because I have a context for it.

Now, for Einstein – I say returning “home”, but, as I said, we are not Mainers at all. So, home is a relative term. And, I am writing about a sense of permanency after a mere four months in one locale, where I really have spent more like two and a half of the last four months here, as much of it has been spent traveling (including this moment, as I am currently flying over New York). So, the staying put part is relative as well. Maybe I should call it nesting, instead of staying put. Some twelve years after finding an emotional nest in each other, we’re finally establishing a physical one – a jumping off point for adventures which we hope will continue no matter how nested we get here, and a place to return to from those adventures. Nevertheless, our house already feels like home. This was particularly true after returning from holiday travels on a half cross-country road trip with my mom and Manny. There is something about returning to a new place for the first time, which makes it finally feel like home, and the slower pace of driving across helped me to notice this. Part of the reason Chad and I had driven out to St. Louis was to drive was to bring Manny with us, but the other reason was to bring my mom and a few choice family items, which have been sitting in boxes in my room for several years, back to Maine. My mom described our trip as tracing my songline from home to Maine. Songlines, the title of a book by travel writer Bruce Chatwin, are Aboriginal dreaming tracks. They are paths across the land, which mark a route which is recorded in song, such that you can navigate across the land by repeating the words of the songs. I pictured not a song, necessarily, but more of an imaginary thread which I pulled across with me as we drove east, drawing a tighter, stronger connection between my two homes.

Enhancing this connection are the many parallels between our new house and my parents’ house in St. Louis. My parents bought their house just after my dad had started a new job, and they were a little nervous about buying a big house at that stage in life, just as we bought this house just after Chad started a new job and it is a little much for us at the moment. They moved in with no furniture and tackled projects slowly over time (some which are still in progress 35+ years later), just as we did and are. There are also uncanny physical coincidences like the carpeted red staircase with a landing midway up that has a large paned glass window, and our living rooms which are nearly identical in layout and both even share a red wall. We noticed several more of these similarities when my dad visited in the fall. Although, sadly for him, we weren’t quite as nested them and didn’t yet have a bed or heat.

Having my mom visit helped me to extend previously shallow roots a little deeper and broader. Making the most of my her expertise and interest, we spent much of her visit researching the history of our house, which we’d heard had been designed by the John Calvin Stevens (1855-1940), a fairly well known architect in New England. One tidbit of interesting coincidence is that John Calvin Stevens shares the same birthday, October, 8th, as my dad, who is also an architect. After moving in, a neighbor mentioned that our house had been designed by Stevens. A little research led us to a magazine article from 1991 in the Bowdoin alumni magazine, which we tracked down at the library. The article confirmed this, but we were still skeptical, so my mom and I continued to dig. Along the way, we discovered various pieces of Brunswick, Bowdoin, and literary history. We found old pictures of our street, Federal Street, with the house where Harriet Beecher Stowe lived while writing Uncle Tom’s Cabin, those where Nathaniel Hawthorne and Henry Wadsworth Longfellow lived as students at Bowdoin, and others belonging to prominent Bowdoin professors. We learned that William Albion Moody, the first owner of our house, was born in 1860 in Kennebunkport, Maine, where Chad’s family has roots, and where we were married. We found a picture of him as a small boy in the online Maine historical archives (mainememory.net). He was a Bowdoin Phi Beta Kappa graduate of 1882 and then a math professor at Bowdoin for 42 years. At a cocktail party at our neighbor’s house, we met a math professor who mentioned a sign above “Buck” Moody’s office which read, “Abandon hope, all ye who enter here” from Dante’s Inferno. So, my mom and I went on a hunt in the basements of both Adams Hall (famed for its storage of cadavers back when it housed the medical school) and Searles, but to no avail. Moody also served as acting President of the college for six months and was the treasurer of the Brunswick Public Library Association. He apparently loved to walk the woods around Bowdoin and to canoe. Moody bought the land from the Bryants next door in 1890 and lived in the house until he died. He lived the last fifteen years alone, after his wife, Jennie L, had passed away. Apparently, he slipped on the ice on Federal Street, broke his hip, and died while in the hospital in 1947 at age 87. He left $20K to Bowdoin anonymously upon his death.

After hunting in the archives of the local historical society, the special collections at Bowdoin’s library (where Chad worked as a student), the Brunswick town hall, and the Maine History Museum in Portland, turning up no record of Moody’s commission of Stevens, we decided to hunt down the author of the article from the Bowdoin alumni magazine. We managed to find out her phone number, email, and address (and we may have even driven by her house late one chilly evening on the way home from dinner). While all of this didn’t solve the puzzle, it did provide a neat way to connect to the history up here and we learned a lot of other interesting tidbits and met interesting people along the way. And, Julia and I do have a tea date next week. . . We also accumulated quite a pile of materials – photocopies, books, old maps and photographs, and my mom teased me that, soon, word was going to get out that I was the neighborhood expert and they would start adding to my collection, which would grow and grow and take over my nice, spacious historic house (a plight she is familiar with). Oh, how I never thought I’d have any interest in historical research after being inundated by it as a child, but now I do somehow. I have the urge to search for roots here in my new home, and Brunswick is a particularly rich place to connect to. I have lately found myself researching old stories in my family as well – recording stories of my grandparents and my parents. I have realized how much there is to be learned from the past and how good it feels to connect to it. It gives me a frame to weave myself into rather than starting from scratch.

So, I am hoping that we’ll stick around here, put down a few roots and weave ourselves in; and that we'll strike out on adventures more confidently from our newly rooted home base.

“I love my job” – a week in Puerto Rico

I wonder how many times Chad said this over the course of the week - it certainly beats sitting on the 9th floor of an office tower all day. We went down to Puerto Rico to scout a trip for Apogee Adventures, the company Chad now helps run, which takes junior high and high school students on cycling, hiking, and service trips around the US. Interested in expanding the service aspect of the trips, Chad concocted the idea of a trip to Puerto Rico and we got to be the lucky ones to scout it. On the day we left, it snowed in Boston, which made our Caribbean sojourn all the more sweet. We went from 30F to 30C in a matter of four hours.

I love how modern transportation can speed you forward or backward through the seasons - perhaps this is the secret to controlling time. Immediately upon stepping out into the soft, Caribbean air, we realized that we’d packed the wrong clothes, not believing that it could possibly be so warm. We drove past the crashing surf of Ocean Park to our guest house, “Coqui del Mar,” named after the state animal, the tree frog, whose enchantingly gentle chirps we heard out the gloriously fully rolled down windows of our rental car. After recently having watched an episode of Andrew Zimmern’s “Bizarre Foods” set in Puerto Rico, we were curious to try the local staple, “mofongo,” mashed plantains mixed with crispy bits of fried pork served in a heaping scoop. While we found the sought-after mofongo, it turned out to be quite dry and was served with “chicharones,” essentially just fried chicken. Later, when I had the leftovers from this quite heavy meal, I discovered that it was much improved with a squeeze of fresh orange juice. But, it seemed to be customary to serve dishes with no sauces and certainly nothing fresh, much to our dismay. We bought the oranges at a local grocery store to compensate for this.

For breakfast the next morning, we tried the traditional “mallorca.” a swirl of doughy bread covered in powdered sugar. After ordering ours plain, we looked around and realized we should have taken a lesson from the locals and had it toasted with ham and cheese. We did, however, greatly enjoy the espresso con leche, which was strong and sweet and revved us p for our long drive to the El Yunque Rainforest. Puerto Rico is a funny place where you feel almost like you’re in the US - the highway signs are all shaped the same and there are loads of American fast food chains lining the roads (more Burger Kings per mile than I’ve ever seen, and also an odd assortment of chains that have largely gone out of business in the continental US and seemed temporally out of place). But, everything is in Spanish. Spanish is just similar enough to Italian to get us into trouble but not similar enough to really be helpful, at least in speaking (understanding and reading, in particular, were actually easier for the similarities). We drove up into El Yunque through a viney, wet forest with wonderful chirping and tweeting sounds echoing through the trees, and had a fantastic meeting with the rangers, one of whom has a daughter who lives in Lincoln, Maine, of all places. They are very excited to have the Apogee students volunteer with them and were incredibly helpful in sketching out the details of a project for them. Eager to explore the rainforest, we headed off for a short hike to La Mina waterfall. Along the way, we saw delicately perched lizards, giant snails, and wild pink impatiens on the forest floor, before descending to the dramatic falls, the pool at the bottom of which was filled with gleeful swimmers. On the way out, we stopped at the visitor’s center, where we were surprised to find out that the park had been protected since the Spanish rule, for over 200 years, before becoming a national US park in the 1970s. It is now the only rainforest in the US National Park system.

In great need of both lunch and our first swim, we stopped at Loquillo Beach. Here, we had heard about the “chioscos,” a row of stalls on the beach which sell an array of local snack foods. We settled on one of the few open stands (as it was a Monday and most of them open only on the weekends) where I had a “bacalaito,” a fried salt cod fritter (though I struggled to find the fish among the batter), and Chad had a long, skinny taquito stuffed with shrimp. The highlight by far was the “coco frijo,” fresh, cold coconut, cut open right in front of us. We slurped it down, parched from the heat, and quickly ordered another. All told, we couldn’t complain – lunch was a mere $7 for the both of us, a welcome relief after last night’s dinner of overpriced fried chicken. And we were happy to have something fresh and local. We found out, to our surprise that coconuts were just about it. Not much is grown on the island so that 90% of the food consumed there is imported, which seems strange for a place where you would expect fruit to be dangling deliciously from every tree and for sale at every corner. And then . . . we submerged in the deliciously warm sea, gently easing into the water through a continuum of temperature that is rare and delicious in striking contrast to the frenetic, gutsy plunge into Maine’s waters, which are crisp even at their warmest point. The water was soft and salty, even a little cloudy in its viscous jade green color. We finally tore ourselves away from the beach in order to return to San Juan in time for a personal tour of the city by a friend of a friend, who we had fortunately been put in touch with before coming down. It’s amazing what a local can show you that make a place come alive and which you wouldn’t find on your own. We drove to a small stretch of beach called “Pinones” up the coast where palm-thatched beach shacks housed simple waterfront bars with small tables and stools set out under the shade of their porch where we sampled the cool, refreshing local beer, Medalles. Then, we took a drive through new San Juan into the fortressed city of Viejo San Juan, home of the oldest settlement in the US (founded by Juan Ponce de León in 1508, and now a UNESCO world heritage site), with its impressive 4-foot thick ramparts. After zipping along the cobble-stoned streets, which were fairly quiet as there were no cruise ships in town that night, our gracious tour guide asked us if we were in the mood for some good, simple Puerto Rican food. We certainly were, not having eaten much we’d enjoyed since our arrival. He took us to a place called “Bebo’s,” something akin to the “Denny’s” of Puerto Rico - a little short on atmosphere, but with a great array of local specialties. We started out with pig stomach soup (mondongo) which was actually very good, and brought back memories of eating pig stomach in Sardinia). Chad then had stewed goat, which was also delicious, and I took another stab at salt cod, this time sautéed, not fried, and served with scrambled egg and vegetables. It was delicious. Over dinner, we got the lowdown on the troubles within the island’s government and the high rate of poverty and unemployment, particularly since the economic collapse.

The next day, Chad was off to Cabo Rojo, on the southwest coast, to meet with the staff at the Wildlife Refuge there, in hopes of organizing another volunteer project. I stayed behind to catch up on some work done. Though I often gripe about the challenges and obligations of constant communication, this is one of the most magnificent benefits. My courtyard “office” was just fine and my lunch break walk to the beach wasn’t bad either. I finished up in time for an afternoon walk, or trek, as it turned out, from Ocean Park to Old San Juan. I walked from the new part of the city, peppered with high rise hotels, Chinese restaurants, and convenience stores, along a stretch of beach where surfers rode on sunset-colored waves into the fortress of the old city. Guarding the entrance to the city’s harbor is the Fort San Felipe del Morro which, by the time I got there, was illuminated under a starry sky. Finally, I reached the Plaza Colon, where I slaked my parched throat with a local cane soda while I waited for Chad to join me for dinner at the Café Puerto Rico. It’s amazing how the slower pace of walking allows you to notice things that are otherwise a blur out a car window such as the one I looked out of last night on our tour. We’d finally hit our stride with food after the first few flops of meals – Chad had an eggplant relleno stuffed with chicken, and I had shrimp simmered in garlic sauce accompanied by plantain fries (not to be confused with the sweeter, crisper fried plantains), which made us appreciate fries made from potatoes. And, we sampled the local rum in a mojito and a spiced rum punch. Puerto Rico is one of the major rum producers in the world. In fact, much of the island was once covered in sugar cane plantations. Now, the major producer is the Bacardi Distillery, which you can take tours of right from the cruise ship terminal.

The next morning, we headed to the town of Fajardo, on the east coast of the island, to head out for the island of Vieques, best known as a former bombing range for the US Navy. Since the Navy stopped their exercises there in 2003, most of the island has been designated as a nature preserve and the Navy is slowly disarming the area for recreational use. But, currently much of it is off-limits. On the boat trip out to Vieques, we passed several grounded boats which looked like they’d been there for quite awhile and weren’t going anywhere soon. In fact, many things on the island were that way and reminded us of places in Mexico where there were an amazing number of unfinished buildings that now housed trees and lizards. On the water, we watched diving pelicans and brightly colored frigate birds - and even a sea turtle, which poked its head up alongside the ferry. We passed Culebra, which has the only Marine Protected Area in Puerto Rico – surprising for the extent of the coral reef and the tourism there. On the other side of the island, there are apparently several large experimental aquaculture pens, which I knew about from my nerdy ocean science geek research, but we didn’t see these on our trip.

Upon arrival, we packed into a taxi from the town of Isabel II, where we landed, to Esperanza, on the opposite side of the island, accompanied by half a dozen other people in a stuffy van with no air conditioning. We drove past the Malecon, the beachside drag, up to the Alta Vista, a slightly shabby hotel run by one of the town’s many ex-pats. Once checked in there, we walked down to town for a quick sandwich at Bellybuttons café, decorated with innumerable pictures of the bellybuttons of previous clientele, before heading to Sun Bay for a swim, wanting to finally get in the Caribbean Sea (having been on the Atlantic side until now) and to check out a potential camping spot for Apogee. We returned for an afternoon meeting at the Historic Conservation Trust, where we hoped to arrange another volunteer project. The facility there is a magical place with a small museum and aquarium filled with myriad natural and cultural objects from the island. I could have stayed awhile looking at all the collections, but we wanted to get in an evening snorkel before it got dark. We swam out along the pier, getting a preview of the marvelous Caribbean creatures that lived there. Later, for dinner, we ventured down the road a ways to try to find the “Mexi-Rican” restaurant we’d heard about, but were soon in the pitch black with no likely candidate in sight, and decided instead to return to town to Duffy’s, just about the only game in town. Chad tried the conch chowder and an avocado salad, and I sampled crab cakes – both accompanied by more tropical punches (mine made from Passoa, a passion fruit liquor), and a lime, coconut drink for desert. While at the bar, we met Abe, the owner of one of the companies on the island who gave tours of the biolumiscent bay. He looked like a true pirate with a black beard, beady eyes, and a bandana tied around his hair. When we mentioned we were looking for a company to take a dozen students to the bay, he offered us a free tour the next night – another perk of scouting.

The next morning, we enjoyed breakfast on the roof of our hotel, looking out over the island, which had a decidedly more country feel than the mainland and seemed more authentically Caribbean. Eager to get into the water and to do some exploring, we rented a kayak, yet again using our scouting skills to garner a good rate for the day. We paddled out from the Malecon past what the locals called “the island,” edged with rugged cliffs which plunge down into the warm waters, to Mezza Luna Bay for some snorkeling and a picnic on the beach. Anticipating that the reef might be sorry shape, I was surprised to see such healthy corals, polyps waving in the water next to purple and yellow sea fans and vase sponges with a spectacular array of fish from tiny bright blue spotted fish to elegant yellow pipe fish hovering next to spiral Christmas tree worms. Spiny lobsters hid out under brain corals and glass shrimp took cover in soft, iridescent anemones, neighbored by giant, spiky black sea urchins. Over an hour later, finally made aware of the time by growing hunger, we headed in to the beach. The temperature was heavenly. We stopped two more times to snorkel on the way back, passing by another turtle periscoping its neck above the surface, which was scattered by silvery jumping fish, and herons flying overhead.
Many hours later, we returned to the Alta Vista for cocktails on the roof deck at sunset- rum and Coke we’d bought from the local store and key limes I’d sneakily acquired from a tree in one of the yards along the road. Then, we were off for our tour of Bio Bay. The beginning of the tour was literally a little rough, bumping down a rugged road in the dark in the back of a truck we weren’t sure was ever going to arrive to pick us up in the first place. But, once out there, it was one of the coolest sights we’ve ever seen. I had seen bioluminescence before – in Maine and even in Australia, but this was a different deal. The bay here has one of the highest concentrations of the dinoflagellates in the world. These are the tiny plankton that flash their lights when disturbed. The bay here is exceptionally salty and is surrounded by a barrier of mangroves, which provide nutrients for the plankton and make the water rich and silty. We paddled out into the center of the bay and then hopped out of our boats for a snorkel. It was like swimming through a star tunnel – like you were Superman flying through space, sparkles streaming along your body as you slowly swam through the water. Quick repeated movements created cloudy blue flashes of light. We had mixed feelings about being able to so intimately experience this, as we were one of close to a hundred swimmers in the bay that night alone. At the end of the day, we calculated we’d been under the water for over four hours and paddled at least as many – the mark of a good day. For this reason, we have few pictures from Vieques.

On our last day in Puerto Rico, we woke up early to get in one more snorkel around the pier, this time in daylight. There were dozens of silver needle fish shining in the morning sun and arrays of jacks mixed with tiny colorful fish hanging out in the trash reefs underneath the pier. Once back on the mainland, we heard about a giant oil tank fire just outside of San Juan and immediately saw this along our drive. It was quite dramatic, the black plume rising above the city. Then, after an impressive line-up of a taxi, a boat, a car, a plane and a bus, we arrived back in New Castle just after midnight, limp from a long day of travel. Just to properly welcome us back from the tropics, the weather gods sent along a fall thunderstorm. Though it was chilly, the rain slicked the newly-turned leaves and blackened the tree trunks, making the colors brightly shine against the gray sky.

Several weeks later now, the fall season is beginning to give way to more wintry weather, with most of the leaves having dropped (many into our yard, much to the pain of Chad’s now-aching limbs) and the potted impatiens on our deck, cousins of the wild variety that grow on the rainforest floor in El Yunque, are now but shriveled stalks. While we had a very successful scouting trip and are hoping to fill Apogee’s first Caribbean service trip this coming summer, there just might be a need to nail down critical details come February, when we’re buried in snow up here.

The Great Western Excursion - CO to CA

I am writing so far after this trip that I am now forced to rely on scrawled notes taken during and shortly thereafter, which tell a slightly different story, but an adventure worth recording nonetheless.

Sometime back in late August, we left a gorgeous summer in Maine after the annual Little/Royce family visit and headed West for two weddings tied together by a week of travel. We started out in Denver and had a couple of days to play with before I had to report for bridesmaidsly duties and a college reunion of sorts at the Powderhorn Resort, near Grand Junction, for wedding number one - Meredith and Brett. Leaving the airport, we sang loudly to “Rocky Mountain High” as we sped onwards towards Breckenridge, our first night’s destination. Breckenridge is a charming ski town which Chad remembered from childhood ski trips, but it was my first visit. The town was filled with brightly colored flowers against the crisp blue sky and chilly mountain air. We stayed at a small B&B on the river, which was housed in an old barn and retained some of the rustic details – we stayed in “stall” number 4. After dinner, and a soak in the riverside hot tub, we stumbled our way to bed, feeling the effects of the reduced oxygen at 9,000 feet.

In the morning, we headed to Vail to visit Chad’s cousin and her boyfriend. I was curious to finally see the infamous mountain where my sister had broken her leg in her early post-collegiate days. We had a beautiful walk along the stream through town, though we were struck by the number of dead pine trees along the way, which had recently been devastated by the pine bark beetle. After a few hours’ drive, we descended into a faded, speckled landscape to the Powerderhorn ski resort. We met up with old friends and had a quick rehearsal in the hot afternoon sun before heading to the rehearsal dinner at a house in the nearby hills. The expansive sunset views from there were fantastic, as was the barbeque and the chance to catch up with old friends.

The next day, the girls were busy with wedding preparations, so the boys went off on a Frisbee golf adventure, which took them all through the mountains around the resort. Alice and I managed to get in an early morning hike up the mountain before the events began, and returned to watch marmots playing on the lawn as we breakfasted on the deck. We spent the rest of the day learning to make bouquets (on-the-job training) and teasing Meredith as we tried out various contraptions in her hair. The boys returned just in time to help decorate the hillside for the ceremony. It was a beautiful sight of Mer and all went smoothly, including the incorporation of a few other critters - Bonnie, the dog, as ring-bearer and a pesky chipmunk that was determined to be in our pictures. Afterwards, we feasted, gave and listened to wonderful toasts, and danced up a storm until the wee hours. It was a grand party!

In the morning, we rounded up the crew and headed up to Grand Mesa for a hike amidst the many crystal clear lakes. The contrast with the dusty landscape below was astounding. After a cozy lunch at a lakeside lodge, which looked strangely familiar, we were off to Grand Junction to drop Rob off at the airport. I remembered arriving there 16 years ago for my Outward Bound trip in the San Juan mountains and I also realized that the lodge where we had lunch on the Mesa seemed familiar because I had visited it with my parents after my trip. From there, we headed to Fruita to stay with Mer and Brett for a few days, arriving just in time to accompany them on an evening walk in the McInnis Canyons with their crew of dogs. Along the way, we spotted a brightly colored collared lizard as well as a jack rabbit, much to the dogs’ delight.

We left Mer and Brett early the next morning with Alice to venture to Arches National Park. This was one of the strangest landscapes I’ve encountered – whimsical formations and colors like intense sunsets. Unfortunately, the contrast of colors was somewhat obscured due to recent wildfires, so we missed the stark reds against blues for our photographs. I read a brochure about the park in an attempt to understand the geology of how these arches were formed, coming away with a story that included an ancient ocean, wind, and lots of erosion over a long, long time. This is why I studied biology and not geology. I wondered whether Maine’s lush coastal ‘scape would someday look like this and if humans would be around to see it. We hiked the Devil’s Garden loop, passing by an array of arches along the way - Sand Dune , Broken, Skyline , Pine Tree, Tunnel, Private, Navajo, Partition, Landscape, and Double OArches, cluminating with Dark Angel monument at the end of the loop - and returned to meet up with Heather and Brenden for a picnic lunch. Due to lack of a better place and there being no shade in sight anywhere, we spread out our lunch on the sidewalk, and then walked out to the famous Delicate Arch, where Brenden practiced his echoing skills off the canyon walls. We returned to Fruita for our last night with Mer and Brett before they headed off for their honeymoon birding extravaganza in Australia.

We had not yet visited the Colorado National Monument, which was just about out Mer and Brett’s backyard, so we spent out last morning there exploring there with Alice before she had to fly home. The ridge we chose for our hike supposedly had expansive views all the way out to the San Juans, but we felt more like we were in the Smokey Mountains than in Colorado, due to the bluish haze that covered everything and obscured our views. After many miles of hiking, we emerged back on the park road, where we had the best views of the day. By then, though, we were a little weary of walking, so I tried my hand at hitchhiking and made friends with a very nice couple who drove me back to the visitor’s center to retrieve our car.

We said goodbye to Alice and were off on the next leg, heading across Highway 40 towards Steamboat Springs. We had chosen a scenic set of roads, which neither of us had been on before, and it was absolutely worth the extra time. Both the natural and cultural scenery were fascinating – driving through coal country past rickety old mines and miners’ shacks and new power plants, and then spotting an array of sheep, cows, llama, white-tail deer, elk, magpies, and antelope along the roadside. We noticed, in the small towns we passed through, that the common art form was sculpture - mostly twisted, angular metal pieces, which matched the strength and carved nature of the land in much the same way that watercolor seems to be the perfect medium for the gentle landscape of a place like Door County, Wisconsin, where I visited this summer with my family.

In Steamboat Springs, we stayed at a small inn at the edge of town. In the morning, the owners cooked up a delicious breakfast in their country kitchen and told us about the construction of their inn from lodgepole pines, which had been killed by the bark beetle. They pointed out the blue streaks in the wood, which were the result of a blue fungus that grows in the tiny tubes that the pine beetles bore inside the tree trunks. Apparently, there is a nearby peak called Mount Baldy, which is no longer bald, but must have been denuded by the beetle many years ago when it took its name. Who knows what the forests around here will look like 20 years from now. They also told us about the fantastic hot springs, but we tried not to listen too closely, as we didn’t have enough time to visit them before heading to our next destination, Rocky Mountain National Park, a first for both of us. Along the road, hawks and eagles soared overhead and we passed pelicans floating on Grand Lake, another reminder of an ancient inland sea. Once in the park, we climbed up and up though Aspens turning from green to gold, to reach the Alpine meadow, where bull elk and big horn sheep dotted the rugged slope and lakes lay nestled beneath jagged peaks. A little way down the trail we had chosen for our day’s hike, we smelled smoke and noticed a nearby controlled burn. We thought we’d finally gotten away from the fires, but here we were, in them again. We passed the firemen keeping watch, leaning against a log with their bright orange water packs at their feet, the spicey scents of the fire burning our nostrils. At the top of the trail, we had a lovely view down over a valley with a small winding, silvery stream, and big magpies picturesquely sitting in a dead tree, watching with us. To complete the natural experience, we came upon a mule deer on our way out, who was so unphased by our presence that we questioned whether he was put their by the park service for the tourists .

Next destination - Boulder, Colorado. This is where Chad got his collegiate start and where I had never been. We stayed at the Colorado Chatauqua, which is a kind of community education center that was founded in 1898 as a summer retreat for training Sunday school teachers and which evolved to include other summer educational, cultural, and recreational programs. There were many of these centers around the coutnry, but only a few survive now, including this one. The complext contains a cluster of cabins with a main dining lodge and function hall for gatherings, and it is now open to the public, though some of the cottages are privately owned. We had a fantastic dinner that night on the porch of the restaurant (a memorable burger for me, which is saying a lot), and followed it with a moonlit walk beneath the iconic Flatiron mountains - flashes of light from nearby thunderstorms illuminating their faces.

In the morning, we hiked up the hillside to the amphitheater, a rocky outcropping used by climbers, which was a little steeper than we’d anticipated, given our sore legs from the many miles hiked in the previous days. And, in the afternoon, we toured the UC Boulder campus, walking past Chad’s freshman dorm, and picnicking by the apartment where he lived David one summer. Then, we were off to Denver to return our trusty, now dusty, rental car to the airport and to conclude the Colorado segment of our trip.

Part two – San Francisco, California
We flew into San Francisco over a strange brightly colored quilt of oranges, reds and greens just outside the bay. We later found out that these are salt ponds, which are part of a large estuarine restoration project. That evening, we made our way into the city and enjoyed a delicious dinner at La Mediterrinee, just down the hill from Jan’s house, followed by a stop at a neighborhood favorite, BiRite Creamery, for ice cream.

The next day was a work day for Jan, so we set out on our own to explore the city. We took the trolley to the beach along Judah, past the house where I stayed one summer in college, walked past the edge of Golden Gate Park, where I had interned at the California Academy of Sciences, by the Cliff House, and out to Lands End along the coastal trail. There were beautiful flowers and wild fennel and mulberries along the way. At the precipice at Point Lobos, we found one of the most amazing picnic spots we’ve ever been to - complete with dolphins and sea lions playing, pelicans diving and striking views of the Golden Gate bridge . We actually walked right up to the base of the bridge, where we tried waiting for a bus, but eventually gave up and continued on foot. We kept walking and walking, all in pursuit of a Ghiradelli’s chocolate soda. When we finally arrived, our legs about to give out and our throats parched, it was all worth it. Then, we took a bus all the way back and watched the fog roll in and the sunset colors filter through it after a remarkably clear day. The evening concluded with a great dinner party at Jan’s house.

The next morning, hoping for an equally sunny day, we drove out to Muir Beach with Jan and her boyfriend, Peter. Trail PIC Although we were socked in with fog, the hike was lovely and filled with an array of wildflowers, which Chad, the nature photographer, captured on film. Today, the ending point of our hike, rather than a chocolate soda, was a small English pub on the other side of the beach. We arrived chilled and quite hungry only to find a sign stating that they were closed for an event! But, Peter did some sleuthing and, it turned out, we were just early enough to sneak in before the party for some hot soup and cold beer. Part way back, we made a quick change in a roadside gas station to get spiffed up for the rehearsal dinner for wedding number two – Jake and Kate. A colorful garden, views of nearby Mt. Tamalpais, and copious margaritas accompanied the fiesta-themed gala that evening.

Sunday, we decided, was our day of rest, after serious walking every day of our trip thus far. We packed a picnic, a big blanket, books, and a Frisbee, and headed to Golden Gate Park, where we lazed in the grass in the sunshine for a few hours before cleaning up for the wedding. The festivities were at the Foreign Cinema in the Mission neighborhood – movies were shown on the wall in the outdoor courtyard where we dined on fantastic food and reunited with friends from Overland summers past, where we had met Jake.

That brings us to the last day of this excursion, which we spent in Point Reyes, where I hadn’t been since I was maybe 7 or 8 years old. We hiked out to a cliff above the beachside lagoon and looked down upon sharks and stingrays swimming through the clear water, then followed the path back along a windy crest trail where hawks played above us in the stiff winds and elk ambled in the brush. That night, Jan and Peter introduced us to Burmese food for our last meal together, including a salad made of green tea leaves, beer flavored with ginger and lemon, and a “fresh young coconut” drink served in a whole shell.

And, then, after our epic journey filled with myriad friends and places, we flew all night back to the east coast, through DC, and on up to Portland, Maine. We arrived back at 5 Sheridan bleary eyed to the disarray of our half-moved house, trying to process all that we had experienced before moving on to moving to our new house in Brunswick. Now, over a month after returning, I have finally managed to get it all down. I often wish I could hit the pause button and just stop to absorb the wonderful nuggets of trips like these, but then again, the point of recording things is to reread and recreate pieces of the experience over and over, sapping a little more nutrition from them each time. And, more importantly, to share the experiences with other people, as they never seem complete without including the thoughts and insights that come from friends and family. On that note, we are officially moved in, finally purchased a guest bed and are open for visitors. So, we hope to see you soon.