A Saunter Through The Woods

Naturalist John Muir hated the word hike. He famously said “I don’t like either the word [hike] or the thing. People ought to saunter in the mountains—not hike!”

He believed that nature shouldn’t be treated as something needing conquering or to be endured. Instead he thought it should be experienced and approached reverently. Nature and the mountains in particular were a Holy Land to him and walking through them should be peaceful.

It should be a saunter.

And that’s exactly what I did today. I sauntered through Lake Katherine State Nature Preserve, stopping to admire tree bark, to watch squirrels scurry up their trees, and to admire tiny little wildflowers no bigger than the nail bed of a toddler’s pinky finger.

I ran my hand across many kinds of moss and admired the texture of rock walls that were here long before humans and will hopefully withstand us for many generations to come.

It was wonderful.

And despite going slow, I still worked in some nice cardio on the long uphill stretches. Here in Ohio, we tend to avoid the switchbacks seen in western outdoor spaces and send hikers straight up steep hills.

It will strengthen the heart, knees and lungs!

My hiking companions all seem happy going at their own pace so that makes it easier for those who need or wish to keep their own pace.

Since it was warm and humid I was quite happy going a little slower. All the same, it was a good day for a saunter and a good day to be outdoors.

I hope you made it out for a saunter too!

Silent Sunday: Lake Hope

Silent Sunday: Look Up

Cloud At Twilight

Twilight was upon us and the western sky was crowded with enormous, fluffy clouds but this one was hanging out all alone. It was doing its own thing apart from the crowd.

I admired this cloud for its beauty and for its independent nature. No one was telling it what to do.

Silly, I know. But tell me something. If you aren’t admiring the clouds on a pretty fall evening, what are you doing with your life?

Have a great Thursday, friends. When in doubt, stop and look up!

Silent Sunday

Fall At Spring Grove

Birdsong.

A slight breeze in the pines.

Two squirrels scurrying up a tree. 

These are the things I noticed first. Then I realized I could actually hear some street noises but the sounds of nature were so distracting, the city traffic took a back seat.

I was at Spring Grove Cemetery and Arboretum, one of the nation’s most extraordinary final resting places in the nation.

It was mid October but the trees were still mostly green around Cincinnati. It was a cool morning that felt like fall and the occasional small pop of color helped to make it feel more authentically fall even if the color wasn’t that much. 

We walked part of the cemetery’s historic section twice last week, admiring the scenery and scrambling from one extraordinary headstone to even more magnificent ones. We read names and dates and tried to decipher the meanings of the iconography. I was reminded of a book on cemetery iconography that I should have bought.

There’s so much to see here. Some of the mausoleums are getting much needed TLC including the Dexter. This one is the crown jewel of Spring Grove and was probably the Bentley of mausoleums when it was built.

Scaffolding and caution tape distract from nature’s gifts but warmed my cynical heart because construction means that someone is caring for this  historic structure. 

Sea captains, infants, politicians and women who are known mostly as the wife of some man, all receive equal treatment here. Death knows no bounds and no mercy to young or old. All are gone from this earth but each have something to remind everyone else that they once lived.

And in the end, isn’t that what we all want? We just want to make sure that we will be remembered for having lived and that those we care about won’t be forgotten either. 

Spring Grove. If you’ve never been there, you won’t understand the magnitude and the significance of this incredible place. If you have been, you understand why I like to return and why I wish to see it in every season.