Monday, July 30, 2012
Monday, July 23, 2012
Thursday, July 19, 2012
Wine in the Red Mountain
Cousins. They spent a week together and had a ball. If only we were closer together - they would be fast friends.
We visited Terra Blanca Winery, one of many wineries on Red Mountain in Eastern Washington. The grounds are gorgeous, the wine was lovely and we enjoyed the morning immensely.
If I'm ever back I'd definitely look into their vineyard hikes and their Friday night live music events.
We visited Terra Blanca Winery, one of many wineries on Red Mountain in Eastern Washington. The grounds are gorgeous, the wine was lovely and we enjoyed the morning immensely.
If I'm ever back I'd definitely look into their vineyard hikes and their Friday night live music events.
Tuesday, July 17, 2012
Monday, July 16, 2012
Monday, July 9, 2012
Desert Summer
We just got back from a week in Eastern Washington. The desert, for those of you who don't know the area. I'll post a few other pictures later but right now I'm posting our hike up Badger Mountain. This sums up the week's weather, which was perfect summer. Also, this is the second summer in a row that I've posted about the perfect summer weather over there; which is forcing me to revise my fear of hot desert weather, at least in small weekly doses...
Tuesday, July 3, 2012
Monday, July 2, 2012
Starry Skies
The stars in the Milky Way. When was the last time you saw them, really saw the glow, pinpricks, and twinkles fanning out over the black background that should be flat but has a depth that goes on and on?
The last time I lived anywhere without lights was in Maine, where the power lines ended at the bottom of the hill and we lived with solar, gas, and wood. But, there were a lot of trees that kept the sky small and tight.
So, when asked the question recently I quickly skipped back to 14,000 feet on Mt Kenya. I was 14 and climbing with my Dad and a large group of people. We were a ragtag bunch, our "gear" consisting of old tennis shoes, borrowed hiking boots, multiple layers of sweaters and sweatshirts and socks for mittens. We were living on the equator after all.
We'd climbed all day. Slowly trudging up the trail, past the plants that looked like muppets and periodically catching up to our guide and porters.
They ran ahead in their loafers carrying cardboard boxes of food on their heads in order to take smoke breaks while waiting for us to catch up. By the time we got to camp, a new one with one building framed without running water, electricity or insulation, we were tired, hungry and feeling the altitude. Headaches, nausea and vomiting in the nearest bush left us all miserable in varying degrees.
Eventually we shuffled into our tents where, sandwiched between our Dads, my best friend and I huddled under the space blanket for warmth and prayed that the mice sharing our tent wouldn't join us in our sleeping bag cocoons. A few hours later we crawled out to start our ascent to the summit, hoping to arrive before the clouds rolled in.
It was there, standing on cold bare rock in too thin air, that I saw the night sky as it was created to be seen. The stars provided the light, illuminating the outline of the cliff face that we were preparing to climb. Star upon star twinkled and glowed like individual jewels and behind them and around them a glittering dust hung, suspended in space. It was a display like I'd never seen before. Close enough to reach out and touch and so profoundly majestic that it took my breath away.
We climbed. The path we took, known only by the guide, was lit by the stars until they slowly faded as the sun moved and took over and shone over us at the top of the world.
The last time I lived anywhere without lights was in Maine, where the power lines ended at the bottom of the hill and we lived with solar, gas, and wood. But, there were a lot of trees that kept the sky small and tight.
So, when asked the question recently I quickly skipped back to 14,000 feet on Mt Kenya. I was 14 and climbing with my Dad and a large group of people. We were a ragtag bunch, our "gear" consisting of old tennis shoes, borrowed hiking boots, multiple layers of sweaters and sweatshirts and socks for mittens. We were living on the equator after all.
We'd climbed all day. Slowly trudging up the trail, past the plants that looked like muppets and periodically catching up to our guide and porters.
They ran ahead in their loafers carrying cardboard boxes of food on their heads in order to take smoke breaks while waiting for us to catch up. By the time we got to camp, a new one with one building framed without running water, electricity or insulation, we were tired, hungry and feeling the altitude. Headaches, nausea and vomiting in the nearest bush left us all miserable in varying degrees.
Eventually we shuffled into our tents where, sandwiched between our Dads, my best friend and I huddled under the space blanket for warmth and prayed that the mice sharing our tent wouldn't join us in our sleeping bag cocoons. A few hours later we crawled out to start our ascent to the summit, hoping to arrive before the clouds rolled in.
It was there, standing on cold bare rock in too thin air, that I saw the night sky as it was created to be seen. The stars provided the light, illuminating the outline of the cliff face that we were preparing to climb. Star upon star twinkled and glowed like individual jewels and behind them and around them a glittering dust hung, suspended in space. It was a display like I'd never seen before. Close enough to reach out and touch and so profoundly majestic that it took my breath away.
We climbed. The path we took, known only by the guide, was lit by the stars until they slowly faded as the sun moved and took over and shone over us at the top of the world.
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