Sounds of the Night

 

Sitting on the front porch with my head tipped up towards the sky, I breathe in the cool air. The sun has set and the sky has darkened. After a warm day filled with chores it feels good to sit and relax, to look up at the bright orange star Arcturus and a few stars of the Big Dipper’s handle. The trees are silhouetted by the brightness of the dark sky, a bit of an oxymoron but yet still true here in my suburban neighborhood. My chair is positioned so that it blocks the bright light on my neighbor's front porch but still my yard is illuminated by its glare.

    I had made the mistake of looking over at it when I came outside and I still am seeing a dark blob as I look up at the sky, it's getting better, and I figured in a few minutes my eyesight will be back to normal. Slowly the dark patch shrunk, and more stars appeared.

    A train had just passed below the house. The heavy sounds of the engines preceded the loud, piercing blare of its whistle. Passing behind hills and around the curves of the valley, the noise of the engines was soon lost with only the clanking and squealing of the cars behind. Soon that was also lost as the train moved north. Quiet, if you want to call it that, had returned.

    Fireflies flickered in the evening’s darkness and a few more stars appeared.

    Cars can be heard on the highway, muffled by the distance yet magnified by the silence. Tires whining and building in volume denote trucks, and like the train, are soon lost as they follow the roadway. Above, an airplane splits the darkness of the sky with its flashing lights and a little after, splits the quiet with the noise of its jets.

    A bright spot appears in the western sky, slowly drifting towards the end of the Dipper’s handle. It is the Chinese space station, Taingong. Approximately 250 miles above me it passes without a sound. I turn to watch it drift into the east and am hit once again by my neighbor’s light. Blinded I get up and move to a shadowed spot where I can see the station as it moves past Vega and then through Cygnus. It slips behind the trees and is lost to me. Mentally I wave good-bye to the six astronauts on board, “Until the next time!”

    Sitting back in my chair I look up at the stars again. Nothing is moving but yet, everything above is in motion. Their distance hides the movements from my mere mortal eyes. Watching further, fireflies flicker, adding some perceptible motion to the canvas above me.

    I sit and remember other times I’ve sat under the night sky. The sounds came back; crickets and cicadas in the spring, deer creeping past and snorting when they see me, the howls of coyotes off in the distance, their pups yipping along with their parents. The sounds of a near-by stream as it gurgles in the darkness, a few yards from my tent, soothing me before I bed down. The sound of the snow softly falling on a cold winter night, accompanied by the crunching of each footstep I take. These are some of the many sounds that make you feel one with nature.

    The noise of the cars and trucks on the road has faded into the background, for the most part un-noticed now. The cool air feels good against my bare arms. Somewhere behind me an airplane’s engines announces its presence; I don’t bother turning around to look. Arcturus has slowly drifted closer to the dark tops of the trees and when I look back again, it has dropped behind them, hiding from my gaze. A car door slams and a horn toots as the car doors lock. I can hear my bed calling to me, quietly but yet still noticeably. I ignore it and continue looking up, thinking about the day gone by and about the new day ahead. The night here is far from quiet, but at the same time, it can be so soothing and peaceful!

One Step at a Time

 Out on a drive, visiting some of my favorite photo haunts, I naturally ended up taking a “few” photographs. Looking at them later I saw that a good many of them where of the same subject.

    The haunts I spoke of are places I visit whenever I am in the neighborhood. They are places that have grabbed my attention in the past, something there has stuck in my memory. Mostly, they are pictures that I want to take. It seems simple enough, go and line up the camera and snap the picture… Unfortunately, the many pictures I’ve taken in these places haven’t yet matched what I had envisioned.

    When looking at a scene, I often pre-visualize what I think the picture should look like. Sadly, the pictures in my head and the one on my computer screen or on the negatives are often different. The lighting may be off, the picture may have been taken too far away or too close or maybe the shot isn’t focused as well as it could’ve been. It can be tough meeting the expectations of my mind!

    While looking through the day’s pictures I noticed a trend. There were a lot of pictures of steps.

    Steps have always interested me as subjects for pictures. They take us places and often we pass them by, never finding out where they might lead. The steps can be opportunities; they can raise us up and let us see things we wouldn’t have otherwise. 

    Steps can be just short moves, a course of action that will take us elsewhere. Sometimes they are clear and obvious while at other times, they can be difficult to see and tough to traverse. Taking these steps can sometimes be rough, working our way through weeds and brush that has covered the treads.

    There are many steps we take every day, all through our lives. From getting up in the morning to dragging our sorry butts back again at the end of the day. These are just the physical steps we take, think of all the mental steps and challenges we take on a daily basis. Do we go up the steps or down, or do we just avoid them and tackle other problems, other steps? There are times you don’t know where they will take you and other times, the steps can save you!

    Steps or stairs, we find them everywhere. In our childhood they keep us away from places we want to go. Over time, we learn to overcome these obstacles and work our way, step by step, up and into the future of our lives.

    Back in the past, we crawled up the steps, each step another accomplishment. Bringing with it the pleasure of slipping back down again on our rumps, each tread accompanied with laughter.

    Little did we realize that we would be climbing stairs for the rest of our lives. Some would be a simple inch or two high while others would seem impossible to overcome. These would be the challenges of life, the desire to always achieve something higher.

    As we climb these stairs we occasionally stumble and that’s to be expected, it’s nothing to worry about, it’s all part of the process. We learn from these trips, slips and loss of balance.

    We start on these stairs when we are fresh from the womb. Learning to feed, learning who our families are and learning who loves us and sadly, who might harm us. There are millions upon millions of steps in the staircase which will lead us in the end, to our demise.

    Every morning when we wake up, we face the stairs again. Hopefully we can look at each step we take as a new height, a new accomplishment, a new personal best. By finding something exciting about each stair, every new height, we can fly up the steps.

    Pictures of steps remind me of the many opportunities I’ve passed by. They are a visualization of the tough, difficult journeys and goals I’ve strived for. They also remind me of all the successful attempts I managed to achieve. The pictures remind me to keep going up... one step at a time!

Stay Cool

 The temperature was 89° and it was still more than an hour before noon. I had a book waiting to be picked up at my local library and so, I decided to go over, get my book and soak up some of their air conditioning. On the way, I stopped for a while at one of my favorite spots, Pine Creek.

    There is a section along Bryant Road that has no businesses on it and only one house, almost hidden from sight. It passes a wide field and a section of Pine creek. Depending on the time of year, at times more of the stream is visible than others. The road has an almost roller coaster aspect to it and one spot has a bump that can almost get you airborne. A small swamp sits close by, separated from the stream by a barely used set of railroad tracks. Sometimes it is filled with water and at other times, thick mud. Flowers, shrubs and trees litter it and often herons can be seen sitting in the trees above it waiting for their food to make themselves known.

    Today, with over an hour before noon, I had the place to myself. An occasional car would slip by but mostly, it was only me and the sounds of the water in the stream. I had parked in the shade of a small group of saplings. The stream was calm and images of the hillside behind it were visible on its surface. Further downstream, a row of rocks broke up these images as the water flowed around them, the sounds coming back and providing a soothing backdrop to the hot morning.

    Birds were chirping and insects were exploring the flowers on the weeds edging the water. The sunlight coming through the leaves danced on my lap as I listened to the quiet noises of nature. Watching the stream my eyes got heavy and I soon realized I wasn’t watching anything, I was daydreaming, just enjoying sitting beside the stream and listening.

    Getting out of the car I took a short walk down to where the hillside provided a wide band of shade. The shadows crossed the stream and covered a small beach at a curve in the water. Birds flew back and forth landing on the logs on the far side. The stream beckoned me towards it, tempting as it was, I didn’t want to get my shoes and pants wet.

    I have seen herons here many times and deer frequently gather by the stream. Neither were visible today as I walked along the side. There were no fishermen here either; it was as if I was out in the wilds rather than a few hundred yards from the neighborhood on the top of the hill, located in the outskirts of Pittsburgh.

    Walking into the swamp, I visited there for a short time, the edges of it were soft and my footsteps sank in as I walked. The recent rains had filled it, creating a small lake. The next couple days of high temperatures will do their best to evaporate it once again. The cycle continues. Out of my sight, I could hear a bullfrog croaking. I looked in the trees to see if there were any predators near-by, if there were, I didn’t see them.

    Going back to the car, I watched a doe cross the road and pause to look at me before slipping into the brush and disappearing. Across the field, a hawk slipped of a branch and glided silently overhead.

    My spirits renewed, I started the car and headed over to the library and their “canned” air. Leaving this little bit of nature, I can only hope that it will remain here for years to come. I know many others stop here, to fish, take pictures and to hike. Sadly, there are also those who use spots such as these to drop their trash, lawn clippings and garbage. Luckily, these things happen rarely but they drive a nail through my heart when I see them. The words that come to my mind and flow out of my mouth will remain un-printed here.

    We all need spots of quiet, places to relax, unwind and be cool. This is one of mine; I only hope it remains!

It Started with a Motorcycle Ride

 It was a simple day in May, the weather forecast predicted sunshine, it had all the possibilities of being a beautiful day. I decided that this would be a perfect time to call in sick. I called a good friend and persuaded her to come along with me. Things looked excellent for a ride in the country.

    The day was just as I hoped, sunshine, a beautiful woman hanging onto me, with the wind in our faces. We headed south towards Greene County but in reality, we were going where ever the bike led us.

    I had a Kawasaki KZ400, a 2 cylinder motorcycle. It was brown and shiny, powerful enough to carry a passenger and to handle the highways. It was the first vehicle I ever bought new. It was reliable and treated me well.

    The day passed quickly, to this day I can still remember going past Canonsburg and the Meadows on route 79, and driving along curvy two lane roads past farms and meadows. Yelling at cows we passed and laughing at whatever tickled our fancies.

    All the wonders of the day quickly slipped behind me when I came back home.

    Getting off my bike, a neighbor came across the street enquiring about how I was doing. Curious about his concern I was surprised to hear that my father had been taken by ambulance to the hospital. This hadn’t been the first time this had happened but his tone implied more. Going into the house, my mother informed me that my Dad had passed on earlier in the afternoon.

    I had been on the road, enjoying the sounds and feelings of a motorcycle between my legs. We hadn’t given any thoughts to anything that might be happening back at home, we were out enjoying the day and life. There was no reason for us to worry; there was no difference between that morning and the morning that preceded it. We hadn’t mentioned to anyone where we were going. My mother had presumed that I had gone to work. When she called, they had no idea where I was.

    This was in 1976, long before cell phones and instant and constant communication. I came home to a world that had changed without my even knowing it.

    My father and I weren’t close in those days. There weren’t any serious problems between us other than a boy/man who was growing up and rebelling against the knowledge my father was trying to share with me. I was experiencing new things on my own, the opportunities seemed endless. Perhaps the idea that he was so close to the end of his life while I was so close to the beginning of mine might have played into it.

    Death was no stranger to me; my parents were a lot older than my friend’s moms and dads. My parents’ siblings were older than them and more than a few of their families had passed on. Funerals weren’t unknown to me as a child.

    The families lived far away and so we didn’t visit much. My cousins were older than me and so I didn’t have anyone my age to hang out with during visits. Funerals were boring, sitting in a room with a group of adults I barely knew. It seemed to take us forever to get to the funeral homes, all the while dressed in my uncomfortable “Sunday clothes”.

    Our motorcycle ride in the country that day has stuck with me for decades, almost five of them now. I have held a feeling of guilt ever since that day. There were things I could have done differently. I could have told my mother where I was going, I could have said a proper good-bye to my dad rather than just running out the door like so many times before. I might have been able to be there and help comfort my mother instead of causing her more worry. These and so many other thoughts are something I have to carry with me, this is how it happened and now it’s my burden.

    The saying goes, “You don’t realize what you have until it’s gone”. This is so true. Over the years it becomes more and more evident to so many of us!

Though gone nearly 50 years, my father still lives with me. I see him every spring when the flowers he planted in the yard start to sprout. Looking up at the night sky he is peering over my shoulder, lining up a shot with my camera, he shares the viewfinder. Opening a book to read, it is his example I follow. He taught me so much through example, I learned without even realizing it.

    I remember one time when I attempted to shave his face for him. Infirm, sitting upright in bed with a basin of warm water on his lap, I sat beside him and maneuvered around his unfamiliar face with my un-experienced hands, trying to remove the grey stubble from his cheeks without cutting him. I barely knew how to shave myself let alone anyone else. I didn’t want to cut him because of the blood thinners he was taking. I was afraid both of slipping and of being so close to him. It wasn’t something I wanted to do. I felt as if I was invading his space. I didn’t feel close enough to him to do this personal grooming.

    It was the ignorance of youth. I didn’t realize how important it was or even, how important he was! It is a shame I’ve carried for so long.

My dad, brother Ralph and myself

    If only I had that chance again, to spread shaving cream onto his face, to carefully guide that double edged razor across his cheeks, if only…I’d jump at the chance!

    Instead, I love and remember him fondly and wish I had been wiser in my youth. I imagine this is something many of us wish for, we all learn from our mistakes. Some of them are so much tougher than others.

Alleys

When going through towns many people tend to ignore the backsides of the buildings and stick mostly to the main streets, while I often find myself slipping back into the alleys behind.

    The main street through most towns and villages shows the best side of the community. The stores are painted nicely, the sidewalks are clean and there usually isn’t much litter along the curbs. The streets are well lit. The views are beckoning you in, inviting you to stop and stay for a while.

    This isn’t always the case for the alleys. Collections of trash cans and dumpsters intrude into narrow roadways. Unwanted furniture and electronics sit beside the cans with scraps of paper and bits of food scattered around. Occasionally the smells of the alleys can get a bit overwhelming. Rodents can sometimes be seen but most often they hide from us, the intruders.

    The road surfaces are filled with potholes, asphalt is broken and missing in places, bricks or cobblestone can be seen under the blacktop, evidence of the town’s past. So much of the alleys are reminders of the past. Loading docks and heavy doors line the alley along with stairways leading up to the floors above or to apartments and offices higher up. In older industrial areas, cranes hang out over the roadway to help in loading or unloading trucks. Ghost signs sit fading away on the walls.

    These back roads are often used as galleries for artist wannabes. Occasionally there are masterpieces hidden in the graffiti, artwork painted on the walls that few ever see. Sometimes they share the walls with ghost signs, they are both remnants of someone or something that was here before. Sadly, I feel that most of the graffiti is from people who have a desire to be remembered. Don't we all? It is amazing the efforts they must take to put some of these pieces onto the buildings.

    What was once the main road through town may have become one of these alleys. Now they are no longer seen since the town has expanded. Streams or rivers can be hiding behind the buildings on main street. Railroad tracks that once fed the businesses can be rusting away beside these dark streets, while in other places, trains speed past, no longer even slowing down.

    Alleys are like regular streets but they can also show the darker side of a town or city. There are some people who desire to stay out of sight, unnoticed, and prefer the less traveled roads. People with poor morals or bad intentions may decide to call these places their own. The chance for crime rises as we leave people’s sight and enter into the darkness. Common sense is important when visiting these or any unfamiliar site.

    Like the main streets, the alleyways of a town can show visitors a lot about the community. They aren’t always pretty and inviting but, in some ways, that is exactly what adds to the appeal of visiting them.

    We all have alleys of our own, hidden behind the façade we show to our friends, family and even ourselves. Our minds are filled with alleyways. Don’t be afraid to visit those alleys and if needed, do some cleaning. There are times that it can take some effort to brighten them up but it’s always worthwhile. Let the good and artistic things stay but clean up the garbage. We all know that once you allow trash to remain un-cleaned, the vermin moves in and none of us want that!

100000 Miles and Then Some

 

It wasn’t the first time that Frank and I started a trip in the rain. We never let a few raindrops keep us from having a good time. Frank had arrived early, and we were on the road by 5:30. The rain continued to come and go as we drove north.

    We stopped for a coffee in downtown Butler but were over an hour early. The shop hadn’t opened yet. We continued on to Sheetz. Their coffee is always hot and delicious. They have nice clean bathrooms also, something I always remember when I’m on the road!

    As is always the case, along with photography, geocaching was included on the itinerary. We found just over half of the ones we searched for, not our best day but we weren’t complaining.  The rain tapered off when we were outside of the car searching; still I was happy that I had worn my wide brimmed hat.

    While none of the caches were difficult, they often brought us to some beautiful areas. We visited a few streams, the water on the grass and fresh growth made everything thing look bright and vibrant. The reflections in some of the streams and the sounds of the water flowing over the stones in them gave me a feeling of freedom. All my worries and cares drifted away with the water. Some of the fields were covered with yellow flowers giving them a yellow tinted blanket. Purple and white flowers lined the roads, the rain glistening on them; it was great day to be out.

    Freedom Falls on Shull Run could be heard from where we parked the car. The trees overhead helped keep some of the rain off of us but my coat was drenched by the time we returned to the car. Besides the falls, we also made a quick visit to the old iron furnace stack located just downstream.

    The rain added to the flow coming over the falls. At its base the water was clear showing the depths of the pool below. During other visits we have seen swimmers here and chances are that this coming Monday, Memorial Day, there will be some here enjoying both the cool water and the sounds it makes as it rushes over the edge.

    We stopped and watched heavy equipment working in a pit on the side of the road. Deep in the ground they looked like Tonka toys from where we stood.

    We drove through lots of small communities filled with small houses. In many of them we saw the older houses on the fringes, sometimes overgrown and even forgotten. I wonder what happened to the people who lived there, did they move, was it health problems or maybe they have passed away. Some are extreme with vines growing up their sides, the decorative landscaping of the front yards overgrown and trying their best to hide the house from view, toys and tools rusting away in the yards. In some cases the houses are barely standing. A few years from now, they will be lying on the ground, gone from both sight and memory.

    Our trip took us through the town of Franklin, the county seat of Franklin County. It is a beautiful town with a nice collection of restaurants and shops. A stop was made at the Iron Furnace Coffee shop, it seemed appropriate.  I couldn’t pass up getting one of their tee-shirts. Celebrating two of my interests, coffee and iron furnaces, it was great. All it needed was a mention of books on it and I’d be over the edge.

    Heading south on rt.8, we stopped to look at a heron rookery. Turkey buzzards were flying around the area and we could see herons standing on their nests watching them, perhaps guarding their offspring.

    A mile further and we pulled over to the side of the road. This would be our last planned stop, the Victory Iron Furnace. We loaded up with our camera gear and dropped down into the woods. We had to crawl over a deer fence but there were several spots where it had collapsed, making it easier for us. Working our way down the steep hillside into the valley we encountered a few downed trees which blocked our passage. Other than these detours, getting to the stream at the bottom was fairly easy. The stream, Victory Run, was our next obstacle. Last time I was here it was shallow enough that I could hop from rock to rock to get across. The recent rain had swollen it. 

    Did I mention that a little rain never held us back? The water was only a little over my knees!

    The furnace is only visible when you near it. The flat area in front of the stack, where the casting house used to stand, is filled with trees, weeds and jagger bushes, effectively hiding it from sight.

    This iron furnace was only in operation for about 7 years.  Built in 1843, the Victory Furnace was built up against a high hillside. Many furnaces were built like this to ease putting the various materials that make iron into the top of the furnace.

     I found a piece of slag on the ground near-by. Slag is a byproduct of the iron making process. Impurities float to the top of the molten iron. It is removed from the furnace before the iron is cast. Slag can be found near any old furnace. The piece I found was probably over 175 years old. Bits of un-burnt charcoal and wood can be seen in it.

    As with most of Pennsylvania’s iron furnaces, almost everything that once stood here is gone. A flat area on the hillside above the furnace was where the charcoal house once stood and the level remains of a road can be seen in places, now traversable only by foot.

    The trip across the stream and up the hillside to the car was uneventful though we were both happy to be back.

    Almost 20 miles further down rt.8 we came to a spot I had been looking forward to all day. My odometer turned over to 100000 miles! I don’t know the reason why but I always enjoy watching and noting things such as this. I can remember as a kid watching my watch as the date changed. It doesn’t always change right at midnight! I guess it is a human condition, a variation of birthdays and New Years Eve parties. I had to stop and take a picture!

    We arrived back at my house 9 hours after we left. Both of us felt pretty good after that amount of time in the car. I’m looking forward to an even longer trip soon across the state!

    Heavy thunderstorms descended on my house about an hour after we got home. With news reports about heavy rain and a tornado in some of the areas we had traveled through, it seems that once again we had timed things just right! I have to add, it sure felt good getting out of my wet clothes and into a hot shower!

Weeding out the New (?) Stuff

While organizing my shelves, I came across some books whose time had finally come to be removed. I always find this a difficult thing to do but as more books come in, sadly some have to go. In the collection about machine shops and machining, I realized that some of these books were never going to be used by me again. I realized that some of the newer books could be used by someone still working in the trade. Much as I hated to, I weeded out the newer books and set them aside for resale.

    Some of the books on these shelves I find extremely interesting. Many of them were printed in and around the early 1900’s. I find the subject matter in these books fascinating having worked as a machinist for so many years., A few of the book covers are embossed, with the lettering raised up in nice old-style fonts and a couple books have gilded edges. They knew how to print nice books back then. Some of these books are like artwork!

    One small book, a mere 3 ½” x 5 ½”, printed in 1924 is filled with lots of line drawings, charts and tables. Hard bound, it was made to be kept in a workers tool box for quick referencing. It was distributed by International Correspondence Schools of Scranton, Pennsylvania as a text book. In the back are the notes of the man who owned it, George K, they tell the dates when he left from one section of the shop for another, moving up the ladder. He started the course on Dec.3^rd, 1929 and by 1932 had worked his way into the shaper and planer department. Filled full of machinery instructions, the final 10 pages of this book deals with the subject of first aid, you never know what might happen in a machine shop!

    I am infatuated with books such as these. It is always a trip back into history when I read them. The equipment shown in the books, often drawn, is equipment that is never seen in shops anymore.  I find it amazing to think about all the things built with these tools; airplanes, trains, dams and ocean liners, built with equipment run by overhead belt drives. The computers of those days were slide rules. Types of machinery like these are still being used but the machines shown in these books are extremely out dated.

          Back in the day when I was working and was the only machinist in our shop, I purchased some books to be used for reference. They sat on a shelf beside my desk right outside the machine shop. Sadly, even though the books were there for everyone who used the shop, I was the only one that opened them.

    I have always thought that to improve your job performance, knowledge of how your tools and equipment runs is important. Knowing how to calculate feeds and speeds should be more than just guesswork. Keeping track of the directions the industry is going can also help your performance. Machine shop trade magazines were also set on the shelves for people to read. You can guess who the only reader of them was…

    When visiting the cubicles of other employees I almost always scanned their bookshelves. I’d often borrow some of their books and I’d like to think that they were glad to see that someone else was interested in them! It is amazing the various topics you can find on people's shelves.

    Sadly, even back then, people didn’t seem to read that much. Fellow workers would joke about the “library” sitting beside my desk. It didn’t bother me though; I knew where to go to get the answers to the questions they brought me! I would tell them that they could get better answers from the library than on their phones but unfortunately, that didn't always hold true.

    I find that it is good to have the knowledge of how to solve a problem. Finding an answer on-line is fast but knowing the reason why that is the answer is important also. Using your brain to solve a problem is good exercise. Like jogging or weightlifting, mental exercise strengthens you also. It builds up your thought process and the ability to sift through possibilities and scenarios, helping you to find answers quicker.

    Punching some buttons on your phone can quickly find the information you need but does it strengthen your mind? In today's modern world where quick responses are mandatory, our computers and phones can supply these things within seconds. What I wonder is, what is happening to the strength of our minds as we become more and more dependent on this technical wizardry? We need to exercise more, both physically and mentally!

    I am now going to attempt to sell these newer books, hopefully to another person like me, one who enjoys having the answers close at hand…in a book. I've already found a man who is interested in a couple of them.  As for the other older machinery books I have, I'll keep on paging through them, enjoying the machines and reliving the past.

Dodging Raindrops

 Sitting at home and waiting for body parts to heal is never fun. In fact it can be down-right boring.  Ann Marie and I are both favoring different parts of our bodies right now, trying our best not to antagonize anything and make it worse.

    We decided to break things up a bit and take a small road trip. We’d do a couple geocaches, stop for a cup of coffee at a favorite coffee shop and then head home. We wouldn’t go far and we’d limit our activities. Tuesday looked like the day for it, our schedules were both clear.

    On the road, we passed the new location of our favorite farm store. Pulling in we found out that it was their second day open. (Their official opening will be on Wednesday) Harvest Valley Farms is where we go for fresh veggies and fruits. They also carry meats from local butchers and best of all, their fresh baked pies and baked goods are delicious! Their new location has a large area for plants, along with a greenhouse. They had herbs, flowers and tomatoes to name just a few. The humid smell of the plants growing in the greenhouse started us thinking about our own gardens, bringing back the urge to dig our hands into the soil.

    We did some geocaches located on some back roads we hadn’t been on before. One of the caches we found was my 2500^th find! The best cache we did was inside a small local “free” library. The cache itself was a hollowed out book. How cool! A couple of them were beside a small stream, running fast with dirty brown water from the recent rains. We were dodging rain during the whole trip, dark clouds and rain one minute and then sunshine and brilliant colors the next.

    We stopped for coffee and spent some time watching the customers come and go. It was a never-ending parade of people. There were different styles of dress, different types of drinks and snacks and also, different speeds. Some were in and out in a minute or two while others, in a more leisurely mood, stopped to talk with friends. Some came in to work. Laptops and paperwork were set up on their tables. The smell of fresh coffee hung heavy in the air mixing nicely with an undercurrent of conversation. It is a very comfortable place, and we never tire of it. The time always passes quickly.

    We did a one more cache after we left. Having not planned on doing it, I never wrote down the co-ordinates or entered them in the GPS. I knew where it was located and since we were only a “few” miles away, we went over to see if we could find it. From reading the cache description, I knew it was hanging on a gate. The problem was finding the gate; it was lying in the woods, not far from the gateposts. After 3 or 4 minutes, we had found it! I always get a kick out of finding a cache without using the GPS. Some caches are extremely obvious hides and are easy to find while others require a bit of searching. This was one of the latter.

    We also made a quick stop at the Winfield Furnace involving another “short” detour but well worth it. The rain we had been driving in and out of had started up again. The furnace and the pathway leading to it were surrounded with flowering trees and their scent was overpowering. If only it could be bottled! It was heady and made me forget about the rain. I didn’t care that my camera and shoes were getting wet. The combination of rain and flowers carried me away. These smells are the things that dreams are made of, the smells I look forward to each year, the smells of springtime.

    It was only 5 miles away home when we ran into our first road block. We had passed hundreds of uprooted trees, remnants of last Tuesdays storms. Huge trunks lay on their sides and wide lateral roots stood high on edge, chain sawed ends faced roadways and driveways, unruly piles of limbs sat adjacent to the pavement, all of them cleared from the roads to allow passage. We were almost most home when we finally got caught, a ¼ mile from the last turn and we came across a wooden horse with a “road closed” sign on it. Tire tracks in the edges of the yards showed that we weren’t the first to have to turn around. A detour of about a mile and we were back on our route.

    We were both glad to be home. We both handled the drive with only minimal discomfort. The wonderful smells of the flowers, shrubs and trees made the ride enjoyable and the colors of the new foliage, dampened by the rain and lit by the sun peeking through dark clouds gave each turn in the road another view of Mother Nature’s handiwork! It turned out to be a great day for a ride, our boredom was quickly forgotten.