A Tiny, Feral Spirit of the Woods

Before I get into the adventure that inspired the title of today’s post, I need to take a moment to wish Hubby a very Happy Anniversary. It’s our 25th, so it’s kind of a big deal.

Quick backstory: We met on a blind date, got engaged approximately 3 months later, and got married 10 months after we met. What can I say? When you know, you know.

Now…on to our tale of a recent adventure.

It was a chilly Friday…the Friday after Thanksgiving to be exact. We weren’t out snagging all the Black Friday deals. Been there, done that. Once was enough. We were out on the trail, knocking off some of the southern miles of the North Country Trail that we hadn’t been able to get to this summer due to an abundant tick population.

By abundant, I mean ABUNDANT. I’m talking so many ticks that we were stopping every mile or so to lift our shirts and drop our pants to check for the little buggers. And we were finding plenty. So we gave up. We finished up our 100 miles for the year checking off miles to the north and miles in Pennsylvania and vowed to get back south once the ticks were off doing whatever it is ticks do in the winter. (Which is hanging out under leaves, apparently.)

With a dusting of snow on the ground and temps hovering in the low 30s, we drove southwest to the Baldwin (Michigan) area. As we stepped down the trail, to the beat of the occasional percussive retort of hunters’ rifles, I couldn’t help but look down repeatedly to confirm that we weren’t picking up ticks. (We picked off so many this summer that I seem to have acquired a bit of tick trauma.)

Having studied the map briefly before leaving home, I knew we would be traveling through a swampy area–the Sterling Marsh, to be specific. Trail conditions through marshes or swamps can vary wildly. Some areas have the occasional board tossed across the mushy ground. Once in a while, we’ve found ourselves creeping along a strategically placed log. And, now and then, we’ve been forced to get our shoes a little wet and muddy.

But here, in the Sterling Marsh, we found swampy trail perfection. The Spirt of the Woods Chapter of volunteers really knew what they were doing. There were thirteen numbered boardwalks, one of which was probably a 1/4-mile long.

Boardwalks happen to be one of our favorite things to encounter when hiking. (Along with moss-covered anything, pine needle-strewn paths, gnarly roots, snakes, deer…well, pretty much anything other than ticks.) We like to play a “Who can guess the number of boardwalks/bridges?” game whenever we’re hiking.

You’re probably wondering where the tiny, feral Spirit of the Woods comes into all of this. Here you go. Check out these photos:

We’ve done a lot of hiking. We live in the woods. We know animal footprints. But these? We’ve never seen anything like them before. They looked like tiny, child footprints. Occasionally, we could make out the shape of toes. I kid you not. But what would a child, barefoot no less, be doing out on a trail all alone? It’s a mystery to us, and, thus, the tiny, feral Spirit of the Woods was born.

As for books…here are two to which I recently listened:

I’m Sorry…Love, Your Husband by Clint Edwards–I follow Clint’s No Idea What I’m Doing: A Daddy Blog Facebook page and have had a lot of laughs at the stories he shares there. I appreciate how he works to destigmatize mental illness.

High Achiever: The Incredible True Story of One Addict’s Double Life by Tiffany Jenkin–I also follow Tiffany on Facebook. She also works to destigmatize mental illness. This was a tough one to listen to because it’s difficult to imagine her as the person she used to be when you’ve seen the person she is now.

Nevy’s Puppy Problem

I’ve always thought that our “little” dog, the youngest dog of our pair of pooches, needed a puppy. You see, Nevy has always been full of energy. Too much energy, if you ask his housemate, Luna. He’s five and still gets the zoomies. Luna is, and here is where I feel a pang deep in my heart, going to be 10 in a few short months. She’s a senior according to the vet, but I stubbornly refuse to accept that she’s a day past middle age. She has, though, slowed down a bit. She can’t hike as far as Nevy can, and if she could roll her eyes when he starts doing his zooming around the couch and barking at her schtick, I’m sure she would. Thus, I thought Nevy needed a puppy. A friend. Someone to play with, whose energy level matched his.

Turns out, I was wrong.

Here’s how I came to that conclusion:

Our daughter and her boyfriend recently adopted this adorable black German Shepherd puppy:

He came for Thanksgiving. His energy was at “Get into EVERY SINGLE THING” level, which included Luna’s space, Nevy’s face, and their food bowls. Luna was, aside from when food was involved, strangely tolerant. She let him nip at her neck hairs and chase her from rooms. Nevy, though, didn’t seem to have any idea how to act. He lurked nearby. He stared. Then, finally, they started playing. There was just one problem. Nevy had met his match, and it quickly became apparent that his energy level was no match for the puppy’s. At that point, after being bested in a game of Chase Each Other, Nevy morphed into a grouchy old man who would have shouted at the puppy to get off his lawn (or, in this case, his carpet) if he’d been able to actually talk. I can’t wait to see how Christmas goes.

As for books, here are three more:

If I Never Met You by Mhairi McFarlane – I enjoyed this one, reading through it quickly, which is always a sign of a good book. If you’re looking for a “fake romance turns real” romance, this is a good one.

Girl, Alone by Blake Pierce – Hubby and I listened to this one. I wasn’t a fan, yet we’re listening to the second book in the series right now. (But only because our other books weren’t available.) I don’t care for the main characters, and I can’t stand the narrator. She read the book so slowly, I had to increase the speed. (I don’t like the narrator for the second one, either.) Obviously, this is not the author’s fault.

Book Lovers by Emily Henry – This was a good one. The plot moved nicely. The characters were likable. I read over half of this book while prepping for a colonoscopy. Was that TMI? I’m sorry. It made having to be up pretty much the entire night not a drag.

Quick PSA: The recommended age for first colonoscopies went from 50 to 45 in 2018. Please don’t put this off. I’m one of the unlucky folks who, thanks to a history of colon cancer on both sides of my family and my ability to grow a polyp every five years, had to start at 40 and go every five years. They are, other than the untasty beverage I had to drink both times so far and the lack of sleep the night before, not a big deal.

An Abominable Snowperson and Three Abominable Books

It’s been nearly a month since my last post.

My only excuse–the holiday season.

It’s not that we haven’t been having adventures. We have. It’s not that I haven’t been reading books. I have. It’s that I’ve also been cooking for Thanksgiving, hosting Thanksgiving, ordering Christmas presents, tracking Christmas presents (Why are so many stuck in Rossford, OH? And why are they there, hours away from here, when they were just 45 minutes away a few days ago?), sewing stockings for new family members, and wrapping the few presents that have miraculously arrived somewhat close to on-time. I feel like I’ve been herding cats for the past few weeks and, as someone who once had four cats, I know exactly what herding cats is like. (There was also a colonoscopy thrown into the mix for a little extra added…um…excitement?)

The drama of Christmas packages continued today when I noted that an Amazon package containing a flannel hoodie our son asked for was listed as delivered to our front door. I knew right away that was a lie. It may be at a front door, but it’s not at our front door. No dogs barked like the world was coming to an end this morning, there were no tire tracks in the driveway other than the ones that should be there, and there were no footprints on the sidewalk other than mine. Yes, I went into CSI mode as I investigated the claim. I went so far as to drive slowly by the neighbor’s house to see if I could see a package on his porch. Unfortunately, my distance vision isn’t that great. I could, I suppose, traipse up his driveway for a closer look, but, knowing my luck of the last few days, he’d arrive home and catch me porch-pirating my own package from his porch whilst wearing my finest (most hideous) bright orange and white leggings. Hubby suggested I let the little dog loose outside (a joke, I think) as he’d run right over there, thus giving me an excuse to lurk, but he’d probably choose, for the first time ever, to run in the opposite direction. I suppose we’re just going to have to wait and see if that package ever turns up.

As for our recent adventures…

About three weeks ago, we were…I guess you could say…”blessed” with a little over a half-foot of snow. It was the perfect amount for a snowshoe adventure in our neighborhood and to the nearby ponds on state land.

The temps were cold. The wind was blowing. I cringed as freezing snowflakes, their points needle-sharp, whipped against the one tiny patch of exposed skin on my face. By the time we returned home, I felt like the Abominable Snowman and kind of looked like one too. The scenery–two near-frozen ponds and pines and ground draped in pristine white–and the crisp, refreshing air made the misery of the cold worthwhile and the large bowls of chili and the roaring fire in the fireplace waiting for us at home more appreciated.

As for books…

I’ve read so many recently, so I’m going to split them up over the next few posts. Here I offer you the most abominable of the bunch.

The Paris Apartment by Lucy Foley–This wasn’t my favorite book by this author. It maybe shouldn’t get an “Abominable” rating, but here it is anyway. I struggled to get into the story, and I didn’t really like any of the characters. I preferred The Guest List and The Hunting Party, two books by this author that Hubby and I listened to, over The Paris Apartment, even though both of those stories were basically the same just with different characters and different settings.

Still The Mind by Alan Watts – This book was supposed to be an introduction to meditation. The text, I’ll admit, did a very good job of putting me into a meditative state. There were some interesting, thought-provoking bits, but mainly it was so…I guess…deep, that it was kind of, dare I say, boring. I’m a pretty intelligent person…if I do say so myself (ha, ha)…but I was lost a lot as I read this book.

And, finally, Love on the Brain by Ali Hazelwood. I wanted to like this book. I really did. I liked her previous novel, The Love Hypothesis. But I hated this book with a raging passion. I could probably write an entire post on all the reasons why I didn’t like this book. The question right now, though, is how to say this without sounding like a jerk. I don’t think I can. So, here goes:

Do modern authors have a checklist of all the things they need to include or think they need to include in a book in order to find an agent and get published? If so, Hazelwood ticked all the boxes. Let’s see…we had climate issues, JK Rowling hate (This is the second book I’ve read with Rowling hate in it recently.), misogyny complaints, pronouns, gender pay gap complaints, mentions of privilege, veganism (Our daughter is mostly vegan, so I’ve got no problem with vegan diets. But seriously, this came up way too much. No one cares what the characters are eating. As the one vegan was eating Lean Cuisine, I’m going to assume veganism was not a health choice.), Wicca, and a dig at Fox News. Did she miss anything? How was there any room left for the plot? When you’ve got all that in one place, you know someone’s pushing a whole host of agendas. It was all too much. One or two of those things = interesting character. All of the things = super unlikable main character and feeling like you’re being lectured. (Well, the author is a professor, so I guess lecturing is one of her skills.) I honestly don’t care what a person’s politics, preferences, or proclivities are. I live my life in a way that my politics are the least interesting thing about me. Maybe we should all do the same. It would certainly make romance novels fun again. Which is why we read them. Or at least that’s why I read them. Maybe others like theirs with a side of political-preachyness. To each their own. I prefer to get my political-preachyness from Twitter.