Throw in some running, swimming, hiking and fireworks and your looking at a muddy girls July 4th weekend!!!
Happy 4th yall...
Nature/Outdoors
07/06/2014
04/14/2014
An open letter to Fleet Feet
April 14, 2014
Fleet Feet Corporate Headquarters
406 East Main Street
P. O. Box 1269
Carrboro, NC 27510
Dear Fleet Feet,
Both I and my family have been running with your Fleet Feet Winston Salem store for about 5 years and cannot brag enough about their dedication, humor, commitment and caring attitude that they choose to help the many runners in Winston Salem with. They do this year in, year out through good weather and bad and they are all loved for it by our running community.
Recently, at the inaugural Rock N Roll ½ marathon in Raleigh, NC as I was waiting towards the back of the seventh corral for the start of the race one of your Raleigh mentors patted me on the back and introduced herself, she asked how I was doing and then let me know that if I needed anything during the race she would be happy to help. I started running happy in the knowledge that support was not far away. During the race, when faced with yet another upward rise in the pavement I made the decision to walk and there the same mentor invited me to join her group and to finish the race by running in with them.
I wanted to write while this event was still fresh with me and thank not only the Raleigh Fleet Feet Store, for their proffered help, but also to thank you, as a corporate office. In our current competitive climate it would be very easy for you to have made the decision to pit store against store and glorify in fast speeds, winners pools, group achievements and give recognition for the biggest, fastest and shiniest bling accumulation. Instead, you have managed to foster a community of support with the love of running at its heart, one that pulls together when the going gets tough and accepts that although individuals take ownership of their own achievements, it is by sticking together and caring for one another that we will pull through and be ready to face new race challenges. I have tears in my eyes and no way of showing the strength of my feelings, apart for this letter, for how much this means to me.
From the bottom of my heart I thank you for choosing nurture over nature; for I think the easy and natural inclination would have been pursuing the competitive track.
Sincerely,
Hannah McSawley
A Winston-Salem Fleet Feet Runner
04/04/2014
Notes on a Passing Season
I have managed to carve out an hour of solitude in which to write, and as I sit here with a mug of tea I am reminded of E. B. White (Charlottes Web and many, many more short stories) who would sit in his cliff top stone cabin and tap away at an old Olivetti typewriter recording his thoughts and stories in perfect solitude.
I have neither a stone cabin or solitude, my eyes can see only woodland and greenery as long as I strategically place the computer screen before the house across the street, and my solitude is about to be broken by smallish feet, still sandy from the beach we played at yesterday, begrudgingly leaving it as the sun sunk, and arriving home too late to shower before nodding off in-between friendly sheets.
Mr. White recorded his activities daily, from the running of his fish farm to the naming of his many chickens, ruminations on the progression of WWII and concerns/updates on the measles (the measles are taking tea in the nursery this afternoon, the measles are feeling well enough to run outside in the sunshine this morning), and is the very epitome of what I would like to think Muddy Girls was going to be… way back when, before I decided that 2 children were not enough and took on a few more!
And so, after a week’s vacation I find myself with a stolen hour before the children wake up (and I know it won’t be long… I can hear beds creaking) traveling back in time through pixilated moments captured in digital glory with the thought of finally having a moment to download and post them to Muddy Girls, and I am whisked away to the start of winter, to ice encrusted twigs and snow covered hills and the giggling over Nanny Joy’s silver tea tray flying over moon-lit midnight snow.
Next are a set of photos capturing a white pine tree which has in turn captured and splintered our fence. Lying down on its side, how it missed the prettiest dogwood tree in the yard and the compost bin I do not know. Brought down in a rage if spring time fury it lays awaiting patiently its fate as James wields the chainsaw. In one, Maggie earnestly measures herself up for a stump to sit on, and the next shows Emma breaking out in a sweat rescuing a table and rolling it over to the sitting room, canopied by blossoming cherry trees. Moss has been used to cover oozing sap which they swear is enough of a barrier, although my weeping washing machine begs to differ as it curses through load after load of sticky denim.
A row of glass jars, sunlight glinting – so the photographs reflect, have been lovingly placed over spring’s newest addition to the garden. Persuaded on a sunny day early in the season to go to the garden center we came back with broccoli and strawberries for Maggie’s piece of garden where she planted with great abandon, dirt trapped under finger nails. Her smile of contentment was in contrast to the panicked consternation just a few days later when we ran out ahead of yet another ice storm to cover the baby leaves and protect them with a couple of mason jars and one big cookie jar for the strawberry plant (let me tell you, she has great plans for those strawberries!).
Just as we had twigs captured in ice, a little further on are imagines of budding plants, struggling to move the clock further into spring. New green tips pushing their way through dark moist soil, dark fringed tips lifting leaves to escape the confines of winters sleep. These plants are making a superhero’s effort to demand sunshine, and I can’t help but feel their desire and agree with their plans this year.
And then we come to bear feet and granules of sand, not trying to push the metaphoric aspects of sand slipping through the glass grain by grain, again, I can’t help but reflect that spring this year seems to have been a tad slower than most to warm our hearts. Images of sand drifting through fingers only remind me of that fact that almost, almost it is here.
Brightly colored kites take to the air, made brighter by the cloudless blue skies, a heart shaped stone captured wet and shiny. Handstands by the water and dolphin sighting all have made it into the time traveling capsule, along with a boat trip, bouncing over the waves as we fly along side pelicans and glimpse red beaked oyster pickers.
The last images are the more surprising ones, for they are of five baby possums, just three months old that have been rescued from their dead mother. Don’t ask me how my oldest daughter does it, but we were out shopping and she just happened to start up a conversation with a store owner who worked as an animal rescue shelter, last week she had a red tailed hawk in the store recovering from a fright with a motor car, this week possums. The blind and naked bodies beg from me not a moment of maternal sympathy, but Emma, I think is just about to offer every single cent of her hard earned pocket money in order to pay for their keep. Having promised her we will visit the rescue center soon we move on.
And so, like E. B. White I find myself out of time. Two hungry children are hopeful in their anticipation of pancakes and strawberries, and so pancakes I will produce. I have at least whittled out the photographs I am going to post tomorrow, but today these letters typed on an electric keyboard must suffice. Hopefully I have at least been able to offer you a glimpse into the last three; maybe it has been four, months. Time traveling is quite a pleasing way to traverse moments, hopping from one memory to another, choosing which deserve to be reflected upon and which are to discard.
02/02/2014
Questioning life...
**Disclaimer... all photographs were taken on a cell phone, in between conference topics, while I was trying to avoid being seen because I had slipped off my heels to enjoying the feel of Floridian grass and earth between my toes!**
If you do not question what you see around you, how will you know what possibilities are waiting for you?
I sat down next to a suit and asked "what are they?" and he shrugged
The only interest he was showing was in checking peoples name badges to make sure they were of superior enough standing to be seen talking with them.
The drivers all knew what they were though... and assured me that I needed to try one...
And so it was, on the third day after the rain had dried up that I took a walk and came across several gardeners whose job was to cull the coconuts from the trees before they fell off and knocked someone out. Actually, I supposed technically they came across me as I had slipped off my heels, had left the beaten path, and just happened to have a green pod in my hands when they came back after their lunch break! I was shamelessly wondering if there was anyway I could stash it in my back pocket until I got home so that James could open it up, when they gardener offered to lop off the top for me. He wielded a machete that Rambo would have been proud of he handed it back to me, and I do have to stress that yes, the water dripped down my chin, and yes I did have to go to the restroom and wash up as soon as I was done, however, the sun-warmed coconut was indescribable. It didn't even need an umbrella, although the straw would have been useful! (and maybe a shot of vodka). It truly was amazing, sweet, refreshing and simple at the same time.
And I realized that I felt nothing but sympathy for the suit. The moment we lose our childlike zest for life, we are done living. Like a child who questions everything we need to sustain our curiosity... it needs chocolate cake, lots of chocolate cake! Take a look around you and pretend you are a guest in your own life. Actually look, look at everything, all too often we miss the small gifts of gold because we get lost in the bigger picture. Look at the trees, the people, the life that is happening around you. Be a traveler on your own journey - one that will never end, it has no destination, it is just about which station you choose to pull into next. You, and only you have the power to choose what you see, and what you do.
There is one other side of the coin here; All that you do affects others... At the end of conference banquet I sat down and my neighbor grinned. She had watched me walk over the thick green carpet, she had watched me examining the coconuts and talking to the gardeners, she had held her breath when they topped it, and did not dare to let it out until I had taken my first sip. And she thanked me for being willing to question life, to try new things and for inspiring her to become excited about her own world.
So, enthusiasm and curiosity, or lackluster same ole same ole... what would you choose?
01/11/2014
Making John Waple Proud!
Way back when, when James was just a wee nipper of a lad and a member of the Third Thetford Venture Scout Unit he would participate in the annual Christmas hike. It was by its own description rather cold brass monkeys weather, but was good for agitating the soul, blowing out the cobwebs and getting everyone moving. By tradition it was held in the first few days after Christmas, and is not to be confused with the annual spring camping trip, where both eggs and washing up liquid froze.
The purpose of this entry, though, is not to dwell in yesteryear's memories, but to create our own adventures, and with that thought we bundled up and headed out.
We hare been hearing from several separate people of late about the Basin Creek Trail (gorgeous views of Stone Mountain Rock, here in NC and the waterfall - you must try it). Yes it was cold (actually fridgid). Yes one of the girls was totally washed in anguish at going in in the cold (and you can probably guess which one). Yes, we took to the trail with our teeth gritted, determined that we were going to enjoy this hike (because sometimes you just have to have the courage of your convictions and get out there). Could I say that by the time we got there everyone was happy? No, not really... but eventually, eventually there was a five minute break where I think a grin was cracked!
One of the small and insignificant problems with the Basin Creek Trail is finding the trail head. We knew that it would be about a mile and a half down an access road (a very pleasant walk in itself) and we had planned to turn around at three miles no matter how far we had gotten...
Why do we go out in the cold? for the same reason we head out in the heat... why would you miss opportunities to be out on a sunny day, to be fascinated by ice and miss the worlds longest ice slide. No, she still was determined not to enjoy herself, but I feel that it was lacking in its initial intensity by this time!
How can you fail to not be fascinated by iceicles taller than you are? and how would you know about them unless you went out to find them? How would you know how heavy they felt unless you held one? you just do not learn this stuff by sitting at home and letting it come to you through a television producers decision.
But this, ladies and gentlemen, was our downfall, possibly not quite at this very moment but a moment very like it. A glorious trail with glorious scenery and with a glorious streak of ice running along it the entire way was not only fun but addictive. No amount of 'use a stick to poke it, not your feet' or 'if you get your feet wet this is going to be a long hike' were sufficient to get the message across. (I do think sabotage played a wee small part... I WILL NOT have fun, therefore I need to make sure I don't!) And feet, okay... just one foot, accidentally on purpose, pushed its way into a too-thin ice pool and there we were... with wet feet (foot). Did we stop? hell no! too many warnings had been given at this point!
Emma did find a glade of creeping cedar, sheltered from the wind and with a sunny spot to keep us semi-warm while we ate. you can not hear it, but the creek gently gurgled along just to the side, and best of all was the guilt-free Christmas chocolate binge that you can only every eat with the glorious satisfaction of knowing that it will be worked off within moments. Not only was it a guilt-free Christmas chocolate binge, but it was a guilt-free ENGLISH Christmas smarties chocolate binge.
Continuing on our way we passed the one and a half mile mark with no trail head found... and a reminder broadcast every minute from the owner of a soggy foot that it was indeed very soggy, until we hit a snag... a very wet snag:
The trail head for the Basin Creek trail is just on the other side of this stream? lake? river? and its 2 miles into the hike people, 2 miles not one and a half!
There were two ways of crossing - by rocks, strategically placed, or tree and rope bridge.
And you can tell that we are growing up (finally) and getting a little wiser (I did say a little) because we totally made the correct grown-up decision:
The decision not to cross.
John Waple would have been proud! the children, well take a look - Emma is showing us just how easy, simple, dry, and 'doable' crossing would be - and in typical fashion pulling the cords of her boundaries as far as possible. Maggie's realization of what this meant needs NO interpretation - it was the happiest she had been since eating a whole tube of smarties in one sitting! We had no spare clothes, no change of shoes, if someone fell in (and trust me - there is ALWAYS someone who will fall in) it would have been a terribly cold 2 mile hike back to the car, so at this point we turned around.
We headed home.
We all gave piggy backs.
How is it that hikes are always shorter on the way home than they are on the way in? It defies the laws of physics... some day I am going to write to Steven Hawkings and ask him about that!
We were not discouraged... actually it has become a trail to finish. It might take many years of gaining a few more 1/2 miles with each outing, we may have to get the children used to carrying clothing as well as their own foood, we may have to buy foot warmers... but we WILL get to the end of this trail one day... and then we shall start on all the others that run out of this same access road - and there are many!
but for today we all tumbled back into the car, turned up the heat and defrosted while we drove through Stone Mountain Park. We rumbled past the deer as we headed towards a few mugs of steaming hot chocolate.
But we will be back - it has been placed on our calendar in INK no less.
01/08/2014
01/07/2014
A Thanksgiving Not Complete - part 2
Anyone know what stickbombs are? nor did we until this weekend...
Put together they hold until you lift a finger and then explode... check them out online...
01/06/2014
A Thanksgiving Not Complete...part 1
And leaping ahead to Thanksgiving because, well, that's the way life rolls sometimes, here are the photos of life, love and happiness with plenty of candles and wine, because, well, that's the way life rolls sometimes! Its funny how families come together isn't it? There is so much life that goes into living that we tend to look past the small individuals that make up family. Whilst lighting the candles and eating the turkey sometimes it is easy to gloss over the missing contingent. It seems easy to celebrate the lighting of a hand-hawn candelabra, its golden glow reflecting the love we all have for each other, to hug and to break bread together... but it is harder to put into words (because us Brits are supposed to cope without a blink of an eyelid) that there was a missing piece of the puzzle this year. It just didn't seem like we had enough people... yes, I suppose many would say that 12 was rather enough thank you very much, but it truly wasn't - not really. We were missing the Tennessee grouping of four... much loved, we missed their laughter and their enthusiasm for life. We missed their adventurism and their curly heads. We missed what they bring to the table and what they take from us all... and Mother Nature was to blame.. her and I suppose and Old Father Time...
I shall leave you, over the next couple of days with photos of long walks, candlelight, family and love... but know that with all that we did, Nashville was really with us - just in our hearts and not in the photographs...
01/05/2014
Adding Sence and Sensibility to the weekends!
Quite frankly my little family seem to be breathing a sign of relief that since I have returned to work I am no longer expecting them to be in a high state of excitement the moment a weekend or holiday comes around, but am sensibly lighting the fire and picking up a book or two, or three!
We have been getting out and about, but in a much more dignified manner... my only problem these days is keeping up with posting it on this little blog of ours... which brings me to my new years resolutions: firstly to update last years posts that have been sitting on the camera card, and then secondly, to try and keep up with our outdoor excursions as we have them... here goes!
Last September we took a delightful jaunt on a new trail (for us) hiking up to the top of Pilot Mountain:
It was a big adventure for the girls seeings as it was the first 6.5 miler they had both completed. We followed the Grindstone Trail from the shade of Pilot Mountian up to the top - which ended up leading us through some pretty sorry woodlands. Just about a year ago Pilot Mountain State Park had a planned burn that had been gusted out of control and grown slightly larger than anticipated... a great deal larger.
As we hiked, the evidence of the fires was never far from us:
And my heart was saddened at the loss of such magnitude... but the further we walked the more we noticed that there was color that we were missing, life was being breathed back into the land, and Mother Nature really did look after her landscape
And we started looking for other colors, colors of the fall and signs of returning life
We did a bit of this:
And we dug around for these:
We looked up:
We glanced down:
and celebrated a fabulous fall day - full of life and color and the outdoors... and this was one trip where my muddy girls ended up with very little mud at all just soggy socks from creek trapsing! It was a good day.
08/23/2013
A New Hobbie
The Birds are flying fast around our bird feeders - in fear that their feathers are going to be plucked as they feed
At the Highland festival a week of two ago Emma found a booth that sold feather quills and ink. she gleefully bought one, watched the accomodating chap trip the feather and has now become something of a 'quill technician' herself.
Her friends are all receiving endearingly ink splattered missives, but she is having the best time ever!