Swell Saturday

Saturday found me driving to NH, where I got a lovely Roger Tory Peterson bird guide from the fifties for a dollar. Later, OSB and I hiked to the top of Monadnock up a semi-secret side trail that I'll never reveal, tapped our toes on the elevation plaque for the second time in a month, then made our way to a more private outcropping where we ate apples, bread, and cheese that we tore off in great hunks, followed by chocolate for dessert. We got home, tossed the kayaks in the back of her husband's truck, grabbed her older daughter, and headed to Harrisville Pond. Which was spectacular. Calm water, blue skies, slowly setting sun. After we brought the boats in OSB and I brought her two girls to the town beach; I swam. I tried out all the old strokes - crawl, back crawl, backstroke, sidestroke, breaststroke - just because - then settled on floating on my back for awhile, until it was time to head home for dinner. Once the girls were in bed, OSB and I spied on the contra dance that was happening in the mill across the street.

I felt really lucky that I have the space in my life for experiences like that. And friends who want to share them with me. OSB and I are especially well-matched when it comes to hiking; I think it's because we're both more than a little bit Polish. Our people have been hauling ass up and down mountains and up again for generations. She and I go pretty much the same pace, with one or the other occasionally pushing ahead. Except for on the way down, where she's more like Dr. Moo, who just wants to get to the bottom. Whereas I am just like I was on the way up, randomly stopping to check out a mushroom or a tree or a bug or a leaf or a flower or whatever else catches my fancy, and cooing over it.

The next morning, before I left, OSB's older girl made a caterpillar friend; she named him Pillary.