Eating a sandwich in the Sandwich Range Wilderness

Would be what I did today. 11.9 miles of hiking, all by myself, as in me, my legs, my backpack, and my girlie pink underpants. I did two mountains, wearing a pair of hiking boots half a size to small. Know what that last bit gets you? Blisters the size of diaphragms on the backs of your ankles. Painful, nasty blisters. Still it was a good hike. Climbed Whiteface and Passaconaway and definitely reached my peak heart rate several times over, which is something I don't know I've done in a while. Here's how you know you're at peak: You can't breathe anymore. I had sort of a wheezy feeling in my chest and my heart was thumpa thumpa thumping. I kinda liked it, though. It felt like I was flushing my system out.

Anyhoo, I saw some forest that had never been logged, and a swell grasshopper that was the same color as the rock ledges I was scrambling up. I took a picture of him where I pointed him out with my finger. He sat really still for it. Same went for the big 'ole toad I spotted, trying his best to blend into the underbrush. I got pretty close and photographed him, too. I decided not to snap any of the paunchy middle-aged men I saw soloing, or the flock of wild turkeys I saw crossing the street in Center Sandwich, a town filled with not only the Sandwich Range Wilderness but also many, many beautiful white farmhouses and wee capes and red barns and everywhere green. God did it make me want to leave the city. I have this dream of being able to live in a place like that, having a garden, being near the trees, having a nice big lawn with soft grass and clover and a store where you can get a good cup of coffee and an oatmeal scotchie, which they have, and a historical society, which they have as well.

As for the sandwich sandwich I had for lunch, it was almond butter and damson plum jam on multi-grain, and it was delicious.