Christmas Tree Hunting

It's a yearly tradition.  Dig up a saw from the dregs of the garage, load up the dogs in the truck, and head out in search of the perfect Christmas tree.  The road this year was a solid sheet of ice, so we parked as soon as we could find a good spot to turn around.  Off we went into the woods.

Carl has experience in the tree business so he has a more discerning palate when it comes to finding the perfect one.  We followed game trails up one ridge, tromped through snowbanks down another, hiked across meadows to check out a tree only to discover it was bald or dying on the other side.  

 The dogs provided moral support for the search.

 On the last leg of the circle back to the truck we found one that looked good.  Just to be sure, we walked around it and then back and forth a couple times.  Yup, at'll do.

 Since Carl is still in recovery from his shoulder surgery, I was in charge of the felling operation.  Thank goodness I had so much supervision or I'd still be out there hacking away.

 Success!  Thus began the triumphant hike back to the truck, tree in hand.

 You can't help but smile when you're out here.

 The final gauntlet to the truck required us to traverse the Snowy Cutbank of Extreme Danger...

 ...and cross the Icy Road of Certain Doom.  The dogs were, once again, extremely helpful.

 Back home we got the tree inside, upright, and even decorated.  It was fun pulling out all the ornaments and going through the memories; there were things remembered from our childhoods, ornaments we'd bought while together, and others that were a total mystery to both of us.

 Happy holidays!

Sacre Bleu!

It was dark when I arrived in Paris. Since I hadn't had time to plot my escape from the airport, I opted to bite the bullet and take a taxi to my hotel. After waiting in line in the plastic-enclosed walkway, I was ushered up to a small black sedan. Out creaked the oldest taxi driver in all of Paris. He stood about as high as my shoulder and wasn't a day under 86. Dubiously, I showed him the address, and after several reassuring hand gestures I threw my bag in the trunk and got in. 

The traffic was horrendous and as we waded through the red tail lights I could hear the driver swearing furiously under his breath. Once he realized I spoke some French he launched into a full-blown diatribe about Parisian drivers. I nodded along and then we sank into silence. About 30 minutes into the drive he eased over to an off ramp in order to park and retrieve the atlas from the trunk. Apparently he had never been to that hotel before, let alone that part of town. After one look at the microscopic font and the thickness of his glasses, I grabbed the map, found the correct page, and turned it back over to my fearless driver. 

Reassured that we were headed in the right direction, he found an exit of the right name, then a boulevard that was in the ball park. After we a stopped to check a road sign, we hailed a local taxi and affirmed the correct alley was just around the corner. We both threw up our hands in triumph at the sight of the hotel's illuminated sign. There was much mutual congratulating as we unloaded my bag and bade each other good night and safe travels. 

The next morning I found my way to the train station and onto the correct train. 2 hours later I disembarked at the quiet little station of Montbard, and was met by a gentleman from the barge, waiting to whisk me away to my family. They were all waiting either on the barge or the lock it was passing through, aunts and uncles and mother and grandparents waving and hallooing like I wouldn't recognize them otherwise.  The last time I'd seen them all was at a Mariners game in Seattle, and now here they all were in the French countryside. Let the wild rumpus begn. 

A Greek State of Mind

It's amazing how fast a week goes by. Even though the pace of life is generally slower in the Greek islands, somehow time just flies.

Another trip has come and gone. At the beginning of the trip you meet a group of people who are complete strangers and by the end you know all about their children, how they react to stress, and what makes them happy. You all share this intense experience, and then it's done. For the most part people go their separate ways and it all fades into memories and photo albums. The ephemeral quality of this community doesn't make it any less real or valuable, it just leaves you slightly breathless and disoriented. It takes me a couple days to find my feet again. 

A week ago we were hiking down the Samaria Gorge and I had the pleasant experience of finishing the hike in full daylight, a first for me. Everyone was feeling strong and energized, so I got to fall back and take in the scenery, including the rabbits and quails tucked into backyards on the way into Agia Roumeli.  We saw plenty of kri-kri, and made sure not to feed them. 

Another day brought us back to Loutro, one of my favorite places. Conditions were absolutely beautiful for paddling and we made it to the port town of Sfakia for lunch.  In Loutro there are several restaurants lined up along the shore that all serve grilled meats. They have several spits turning at all times, rounds of pork, whole chickens, and goats with the heads still attached. The aroma is mouthwatering and wafts across the water at night. 

We had good weather all the way to Plakias, and then things changed. The wind came up, clouds rolled in, and the second to last morning was blustery indeed. The paddlers experienced just how fast things can build on the Libyan Sea. Everyone arrived at our stop in Palm Beach in one piece, but that was the last paddling of the trip. The sea was a mess of whitecaps with winds howling in from the north and rain squalls blowing through. Our last night in Gallini was punctuated by torrential rain showers and brilliant rainbows, as was the next morning. It was a beautiful way to say goodbye to Crete. 

It's hard to say goodbye to Crete, with its lovely people, amazing scenery, and incredible food. I'll be going back every chance I get.