We Thought He Was Bigger

There was some sun yesterday but not much of it. Rain, or the threat of it, was always close by. That’s two and a half weeks of dreariness. So you can imagine the excitement when Atticus and I awoke this morning to blue skies and the puffiest white clouds I’ve ever seen!

We were out the door by 6:00 a.m. and on our hilly 6.6 mile loop. We walked by the Wentworth Golf Club before it woke up, crossed over the Wildcat River on the Stone Bridge, turned left at the post office and walked uphill on Black Mountain Road for a bit more than a mile and a half. Gosh, this uphill sends knives in my low back ever since my falls on Madison, it so steep!

Once we crested the hill at the Christmas Farm Inn my lungs and heart relaxed and the knives came out of my back. The road leveled for a bit and the cool air, so reminiscent of autumn in New England, refreshed us. There are some beautiful homes and stunning views on this road, then a large farm and open fields with North and South Doublehead Mountain ever watchful. We kept walking until we reached the base of Black Mountain. There we turned left onto an Moody Farm Road and blessedly the uphill part our journey was mostly done.

The great thing about walking these country lanes so early in the morning is that we can walk in the middle of the road and if traffic is coming we can hear it approaching in the distance. After a mile or so that road ended and we turned left on Carter Notch Road, following the Wildcat River and the pastoral beauty of back road beauty. When we came to the stately spread of the Eagle Mountain House, one of the biggest inns here, we started to encounter a few people.

The Eagle Mountain House has its own golf course, just across the street. The scenery is beautiful, but it’s clear the course is nowhere near as nice as the Wentworth’s. Just down the street on the right that is the smaller but quaint Carter Notch Inn. Once beyond this we were home free. We walked downhill next to the cascading Jackson Falls while looking up at the prominence of North Moat off in the distance. After the falls we walked by a few folks out on the porch of the Wentworth Inn (the town’s second biggest inn), the antique library and the old white church.

We stopped, as we do most every morning, at the J-Town Deli. I got the paper and I also got an iced coffee and we ordered a sesame bagel to share. (I do miss Abraham’s Bagels in Newburyport. There’s nothing quite like it up here. Perhaps there’s nothing quite like Abraham’s anywhere other than on Liberty Street in Newburyport.) John and Genn have owned the J-Town Deli for the last four years and they are a friendly couple who makes everyone feel welcome. That includes Atticus, who more often than not is offered a dog biscuit.

We sat at one of the outside tables and a caravan of hikers who stayed in one of the local inns soon arrived. When they were coming out, one of the women stopped and asked if she could pet Atticus.

“Atticus, go say hello,” I told him. While he was bouncing over to say hello, she got an excited look on her face.

“Oh my God, is that THE Atticus? The mountain climber?”
“Yes.”

“We were talking about him at dinner last night.” She paused. A surprised look came on her face. “We thought he’d be much bigger.”

“Nope. What you see is what you get.”

She told the other members of her party who it was she was petting and before too long a digital camera appeared and photos were snapped. At the end the woman asked if she could pose with Atticus. But when she got to close to him he pulled away from her. When she promised to keep her hands to herself he returned as sat next to her and more photos were taken.

Then it was back home to write – first a couple of letters, then a new chapter. This is a good life. All we’re missing the one we both love. When she’s home again, we’ll be a family.

(Photo of Wentworth Golf Club and the small covered bridge is taken from Jackson Chamber website.)

The Cost of Celebrity? No Sunglasses for the Little Guy

Over the past two weeks I received emails from readers wondering just what did happen on the Pine Link Trail. Folks were kind to be concerned about us and I was inconsiderate in not posting a quick follow-up to my original post. Once again, I want to thank those who contacted me. But there’s one I wanted to address and I asked the author of it if I could publish it on the blog.

John Sobetzer was kind enough to give the go ahead. John hikes with his young miniature schnauzer, Pepper. They’ve already done the 48 4,000-footers together and they continue to hike, as you will see in his email.

We first met John and Pepper on the Southern Presidentials last year and we had a nice chat. Occasionally we touch base by email and I’m sure when our hiking schedule picks up in the late summer, there’s a good chance we’ll run into them again.

Unfortunately, as John points out, there are some out there who think Atticus is still blind. I’m not sure why this is as most have kept up with his trials and tribulations and the successful cataract surgery. Either way, it’s not the first time I’ve heard this rumor about Atticus so this is as good a time as any to repeat that the cataract surgery he had two years ago was very successful. He sees just fine now.

Perhaps it’s the price of celebrity. At least now I know when he hits the big time when ‘Following Atticus’ is published and we’re on tour, I’ll have to tell him he’s not allowed to wear sunglasses so many of today’s stars don. People wouldn’t think he was cool, they’d just think he was blind.

Hi Tom:

I'm waiting in suspense to hear what it was that was more than you and Atticus bargained for. Don't wait until the fall season to end the cliff hanger.

I say this because I got a huge scare while hiking the Hancocks last Saturday. I didn't run into anyone until I was hiking down from the last peak and then several groups in a row saw Pepper, and then asked me if I knew Atticus. I said I had the distinct honor or seeing him and you last year and we talked briefly about him. But the last guy looked at me and said he had hiked with you and then added when referring to Atticus: "You know he's blind. It's so sad."

Argh. I couldn't believe it. Not again. My heart sank.

I thought about your web page and feared that is what you were referring to. But then my mind started to work and I pressed him on when he had last seen you, hoping it had been prior to the time when Atticus had been so sick. As he tried to remember I cut in and said: "Is this something that just happened in the past couple of weeks or is it from a while ago?" He said the latter and a wave of relief came over
me.

After we finished our discussion I gave Pepper some extra attention and the two of us bounded down the trail, suddenly happy once again.

Atticus' story touches all dog lovers and your web page shares it. But it is an ongoing adventure and these cliffhangers can be scary.

John Sobetzer & Pepper

The Importance of Being Ernest

If there's been an advantage to this rainy weather, it’s that I’ve been able to concentrate on finishing my book proposal. It’s good to finally have it in the hands of my agent. He’ll read it over, proof it, polish it, and suggest some edits. Hopefully we’ll then be able to turn it around quickly and get it the hands of the publishers for a book deal.

It has been a long, strange journey. When I signed with a different agent last year I didn’t know what I was getting into. In the process of working with her I lost my writing voice. I even stopped writing letters to friends and family. She's not a bad agent. Not by any means. She works for a very successful agency and has found six figure advances for several first time authors. There was just something about our union that didn’t click. In the process of trying to please her, I lost my center and I felt like I couldn’t put a sentence together without her permission. Something that had always been effortless to me had become seemingly impossible to do. I couldn't write to save my life. Or at least I believed I couldn't.

I did something very bold for an unknown writer in a world where most new writers can't find an agent – I broke the union. A few months ago I signed with Brian DeFiore, the head of DeFiore and Company, another New York City literary agency. Brian has an entirely different way about him. He has an ease to him and he’s been patient in waiting for me to find what I lost. I look forward to what he has to say about the proposal, which I think has probably taken me longer to put together than the book will take to write.

When I published The Undertoad, I never had trouble with a deadline. Every two weeks I sat down and wrote and I did it with confidence. That’s saying something since the majority of my columns were hard hitting and I faced my critics (and the people I wrote about) whenever I walked into city hall, down the street or through the produce section of the grocery store. I can’t really explain what happened when working with that first agent. We don’t always remember how we got lost, we just know we’re lost. The important thing is to get ‘un-lost’.

Joseph Campbell touched on writer’s block in Reflections on the Art of Living, A Joseph Campbell Companion (edited by Diane Osbon after Campbell’s death):

“Friedrich Schiller, a German poet in Goethe’s time, wrote an interesting letter to a young writer who had writer’s block – the refusal of the call in a writer. Schiller said in the letter, ‘Your problem is that you bring in the critical factor before the lyric factor has had a chance o express itself.’”

He added:

“When I’m writing, I think of the whole academic world: I know how they think about this material, and it is not the same way that I think about it. I just have to say, ‘Let the guillotine come down. You are still going to have this message.’ I always feel as if I am going through the Clashing Rocks, and they are just about to close, but I manage to get through before I let that thought overcome me. It’s a very strange process: actually holding that door open and getting the sentences out. Do not think about the negative side. There will be negatives that are going to come down, but you have to hold the door open if you are going to do anything that has not been done before. You have to suspend all criticism to do your work. In writing, you have to do this all the time in order to get the sentence out. Suspending criticism is killing the dragon Thou Shalt. Kill him.”

It’s as though Campbell was writing about me. I knew what I had to do and it seemed so very simple. It wasn’t. It wasn’t until the last 48 hours that things really clicked and I felt like myself again.

One thing that helped is the book I’m reading, Rief Larson’s The Selected Stories of T. S. Spivet. Larson breaths life into Tecumseh Sparrow Spivet, a 12-year old cartographer, with his unique style of writing. It’s not like Larson and I have a similar style, it’s just that Larson’s writing is different enough that it made me stretch my mind and doing so reminded me it was okay to have a different voice. That former agent, for all her skill, seemed to say the opposite with every edit she made. It took me a while to figure out her message but she, like many, is successful, but she’s driven by fear and what may go wrong. I’m not.

Whenever we talked or emailed I felt like I was ducking, looking out for some oncoming train or something that was about to fall out of the sky.

Fear is in the head and I don’t write with my head. I never have. It’s like that quote by Saint Exupery. “And now here is my secret, a very simple secret; it is only with the heart that one can see rightly, what is essential is invisible to the eye.” I write with my heart.

This is one of the reasons I’ve struggled with my book proposal. It has everything to do with the head and nothing to do with the heart. It’s writing for acceptance, trying to get publishers to like you and offer you a contract. And so I’m glad it is mostly behind me and I can go back to writing the way I have always written – with my heart.

Last night, after I finished another chapter in the intriguing tale of Tecumseh Sparrow Spivet, I turned out the light and rolled over on my side, my nose just inches away from the window screen. The night air was clean and fresh and I filled my lungs with each breath. Then, like a little boy, I lay there with Atticus; our noses pushed to the screen, and watched fireflies doing their mating dance.

I slept well and woke up this morning thinking about poor Ernest Hemingway, who killed himself on this date in 1961. I love Heminway, not his writing, but his own story. It’s fascinates me. I also thought about all the pretenders who have tried to mimic his writing style. All they ever got was lost.

My getting lost and then found is a reminder to simply be myself. As if needed any more reminding I found it a couple of hours ago while reading Adam Kilgore’s piece in Boston.com about yesterday’s Sox victory over the Orioles. He was writing about rookie pitcher Daniel Bard’s performance: “Bard is at best when he is easy in his delivery, trusting himself and knowing his stuff is good enough. He threw that way today, and it showed in his slider.”

Trouble on Mount Madison

My apologies for not following up the last post in a timely manner. All is well with Atticus and me, so please do not worry. I thank those of you who have written in to make sure we are okay. I’ve been preoccupied with the book and finishing up the proposal for my agent.

On our hike up the Pine Link Trail, I did encounter more than I was ready for. It was an off day and I struggled from the beginning of the hike. We got an early start to beat the heat, but not as early as I would have liked. In the first half mile I felt dehydrated and the thick foliage of the forest seemed to hold the heat and humidity in. My head grew hot, my ears were burning and I drank as much as I could. I kept waiting to hit stride and find a rhythm but that wasn't happening. Some hikes start out a bit rough, but your body catches up with you. But that would not happen as we climbed up the trail on this day.

I knew I was in trouble when we got to the second outlook and looked up at the summit of Madison. It was only a mile and a half away but it looked more like it was 15 miles away. When your head plays tricks on you like this it is a sign of fatigue. And yet we continued on.

Atticus was doing well and showing none of the signs of wear and tear I was so the problem wasn’t so much with the day or the trail but with me. This surprised me since up to this point in the season I’ve been hiking much faster than I was last year. I’ve literally been flying over the mountains compared to previous years - something I attribute to the herbs I've been taking. But on the Pine Link Trail I suffered more than I ever have in any spring or summer hike.

When we merged with the Howker Trail we sat in the shade for a bit and ate something. Atticus kept looking at me with a cocked head. This is atypical of him, so I suppose I should have taken it as a sign that I wasn’t looking all that good but I was feeling well enough to trudge on. And that's exactly what this hike turned into - a trudge.

Meanwhile the black flies and the mosquitoes had made a meal out of me that day. They were as bad as I’ve ever experienced them. The black flies were in my eyes, nose, ears and mouth. I had placed my bandanna under my sunglasses so it would shield my mouth and nose but they still found the openings. Even bug juice would not keep them off my arms or legs. At one point I looked down at my legs and saw a lot of blood. I was not cut, it was simply from all the bugs I had killed.

The further we went the more breaks I had to take. It felt like I was spending more time hanging over my trekking poles than I was walking. Eventually we made it over treeline and the sun was beating down on us. Off in the distance rescue helicopters played their haunting song looking for the 70-year old hiker they would never find. I hate this sound, it's like a banshee song and I think the worst whenever I hear it.

We rock hopped above treeline and after a short while I took a nasty fall. My head and neck snapped backwards and I hit a rock. I sat and took inventory. The summit was not too far away but I was getting a little weak. My goal was to make the summit of Madison, continue down to the hut and then rest there and drink as much water as I could before our return trip. However, I fell a second time, this time landing on my back. I didn’t dare move for fear that I’d done some damage. Atticus was soon upon me, looking down at me and I could see visions of him circling me like you’d see in cartoons. This was not good. I waited and slowly moved each body part to make sure I was doing okay.

The two falls were uncharacteristic for me and a sign of my dehydration. Then when I checked the color of my urine I knew I was battling dehydration. It should have been clear but it was almost brown. Not a good sign.

We were less than half a mile from the summit when I decided that while I may be able to make the summit, I wasn’t so sure I’d be able to get back down again. It was decision time.

For the first time ever in a non-winter hike, I turned back shy of the summit.

The return trip took forever. I stumbled continuously but never fell. But poor Atticus, with each stumble I took, his head would snap around and he’d come running back as if he was going to catch me before I tumbled once again. Good dog.

The Pine Link Trail has some very steep sections and I struggled with them. There were many times when I just had to sit down and let my head stop spinning. At one point I even lay down and closed my eyes and fell asleep. I awoke with a start - Atticus was tucked up beside me with his head on my chest.

I am happy to report that while the hike down was painfully slow, we eventually made it back to the house (only a 14 mile ride) just fine. I climbed into a cold shower and then went to bed where I slept like a drunkard.

It took a few days for me to find my center again and we haven’t hiked since, although that has more to do with the rainy weather and concentrating on the book than anything else at this point. We’ve been doing some longer road walks on the back streets of Jackson and I’m happy to report that other than a few back spasms, I’m fine. The climb up the Carter Notch Road is a steep one and the loop we’ve been doing is actually tougher than some of the mountain hikes we’ve done.

I cannot say for sure what did me in that day, but it just goes to show you that even when you are feeling strong and fast, bad things can happen on a mountain. In the end, a hiker is responsible for getting himself to safety and that’s what I did. As the great climber Ed Viesturs has simply but elegantly stated, “Getting to the top is optional, but getting back down is mandatory.” This is not just true for the likes of Everest; it’s also true for a mountain like Madison.

We will be returning to the trails as soon as the weather improves.

Yesterday on the Pine Link Trail...

we encountered more than I bargained for. Story to come.

Fat Man Gets Ready To Roll

You've no doubt heard of the Old Man of the Mountains. Well, meet Dave Olson, self-proclaimed "Fat Man of the Mountains."

This weekend, Dave, the editor of the Salem (MA) Evening News, starts his quest to hike all 48 of the 4,000-footers in the 90 days of summer. He’s using it as a fundraiser for Kestrel Educational Adventures.* He'll be joined on many of his hikes by his teenage son, Luke, a budding photographer.

Atticus and I first ran into Dave and Luke last summer on the Champney Falls Trail on the way up Mount Chocorua. They were a pleasure to talk with and the father and son bond between them was enjoyable to see. (Actually they appeared more like friends than family.) I enjoyed the brief interaction we had with them on the trail, and then later again on the summit.

When I discovered Dave’s blog this spring, I had no trouble remembering them. Soon after seeing it we ran into them again on South Moat.

Knowing what I went through four years ago when first hiking the 48 in 11 weeks, I can relate to the quest Dave is about to embark on. I’m hoping it is as rewarding for him as it was for me. It’s one thing to hike 48 peaks; it’s something entirely different to force them all into a short time period like the 90 days of summer. The intensity of the schedule makes it all the more intoxicating and it is hard not to become obsessed.

I have an idea of what Dave is about to go through. I was the editor of my own paper when I did it and working in the news business has a tendency to give you a bird’s eye view of the shortcomings of the human race. Throughout my quest that dissolved. I began thinking less about man’s shortcomings and more about the promise of Nature. I thought less about what was wrong with the world and more about what was right with it. It wasn’t eye-opening, it was soul awakening.

One of my favorite books is Sam Keen’s Hymns to an Unknown God. In it Sam talks about how as a minister and as a therapist he realized the people he was counseling were all looking for the same thing. They wanted something greater than themselves to surrender to and be part of. I found it four years ago when I came north and surrendered to the mountains. You see, we don’t conquer a mountain when we climb it. It’s the other way around. It conquers us. Once you’ve experienced a peak, it never leaves you. Surrender to the intensity of a summer of peakbagging and it becomes life altering.

I look forward to following Dave’s quest and perhaps Atticus and I will even get to join him on a hike or two this summer. We shall see. If you wish to follow along check out his website and get ready to root on the Fat Man of the Mountains.

*Through its classroom, outdoors and after-school work, Kestrel Educational Adventures connects hundreds of kids across the North Shore to the natural world around them, encourages thinking about nature as a part of normal life rather than an exotic destination, and nurtures the next generation of outdoors stewards.

A Doggone Good Idea

John Muir: "When one tugs at a single thing in nature; he finds it attached to the rest of the world."

I never understood the ramifications of stopping to help an old, fat toad across the road last Saturday. The experience was nearly an afterthought when I wrote about it, thinking after a few days that it was a cute story. However, the response has been surprising to me. Bryan Flagg, my editor at the Northcountry News read the post and requested to use it as my next hiking column in the bi-weekly paper. Then my favorite White Mountain writer took the time to send me an email telling me how much his dreary Tuesday was warmed by the story on my blog. But that’s only one email. I’ve received more responses to the toad in the road story than anything I’ve posted in a very long time. Interesting.

This morning Ellen Snyder wrote about it on her wonderful blog ‘Spicebush Log' and has sent more readers over to my site to check it out.

I also posted the story, again, as an afterthought, on Views from the Top, the popular hiking website, and the response has been equally surprising. I thought a few people might get a kick out of it, but I’ve received several emails in response to it, as well as some comments on the board itself. Thom Davis, a Professor of Geology and a respected member of the hiking community, responded to the post and sent along an interesting read about how toads are now endangered. You can read to it here. (Thank you, Thom.)

The conclusion to the article:

"Over the past 30 years, globally averaged air and sea-surface temperatures have risen sharply, and there is growing certainty that human activities are responsible," said Alan Pounds of the Monteverde Cloud Forest Preserve in Costa Rica. In a commentary accompanying the Nature article, Pounds expressed concern that dramatically higher toad mortality could be "a warning of environmental changes that may have increasingly unfavorable consequences for plant and animal communities, and for humankind."

"Today, there is little doubt that both phenomena -- amphibian declines and global warming -- are real," Pounds said (Alan Pounds, Nature, 5 Apr).

In the last 10 years, ultraviolet light, habitat destruction and other factors have killed off 20 species of amphibians, considered a barometer of the environment because of their vulnerability.

Other studies have linked climate change to fluctuations in American songbird and European butterfly populations (Biemer, Philadelphia Inquirer).

"We must start looking at the big picture," said Blaustein (UPI/ENN).

Who knew?

And all of this because I saw a toad stuck in the road and thought he (still not sure what the sex was, I never looked and never asked) was about to get flattened. It just goes to show you that when such a story resonates as much as this one does there is truth to William Blake’s “Auguries of Innocence”. John Muir backed him up when he wrote: "When one tugs at a single thing in nature; he finds it attached to the rest of the world."

I would be remiss to not include something from my brother David, who read my account on the blog. When I was rescuing a toad, he tried to stop traffic on busier Route 109 in Medway, Massachusetts to help a snapping turtle get across the street. A snapping turtle! He was lucky he didn’t get bit because the snapper, like Grandpa Toad, didn’t want his help. Unfortunately for David, those driving by at the time were not in very kind with one fellow shouting from a passing car, “Are you stooopid?!”

By the way, he ended up picking up the turtle and getting it to the other side of the street. I guess the Ryans have found our calling. We are now the rescuers of all things amphibian.

Auguries of Innocence on the Kancamagus Highway

You never know when you’ll have a wildlife sighting on the Kancamagus Highway. Often you will see cars pulled over to the side of the road and there’s a good chance they are moose-watching, or maybe they’ve seen a bear.

On Saturday, having climbed Chocorua, we were headed home late in the morning. We were following a line of bikers playing ‘follow the leader’. The lead biker swerved left, the others swerved left. He’d stand up on his bike, the others would stand. He’d weave back and forth as if following the twists and turns of a rope and the others would follow suit. I then saw each of them take aim at small lump in the road and swerve towards it – the game, I imagined - was to get as close to it as possible without hitting it. One after another these weekend warriors dive-bombed the little lump and just missed it.

I also missed it and when I passed I realized the ‘lump’ was a very large toad sitting about a quarter of the way across the road. A funny thing happens when you spend so many quiet miles alone in the woods, sweating, swearing and praying your way up mountains, the only company being a little dog and your own hoary breath – you start to see things differently. These moments are the best of my life. I’m never closer to my own true self than in those moments. Loving words as I do, familiar and often-read phrases or lines from great minds often visit me in these walking meditations.

I tell you that so you will understand why at that moment, fresh off a mountain, still sweating and a little bit sore, after passing that toad in the road my mind turned to those words that begin William Blake’s “Auguries of Innocence”. (Don’t you just love that title?)

“To see a world in a grain of sand,
And heaven in a wild flower,
Hold infinity in the palm of your hand,
And eternity in an hour.”

Yes, I know a warty old toad is not exactly a wild flower, but nevertheless, a quarter of a mile down the road I made a sharp u-turn and returned to see how he was doing. He hadn’t budged. The close calls had either frozen him in place or else they weren’t about to deter him from resting where and when he wanted to, even if it meant he was about to be as flat as a mitten and left for the crows.

I pulled off the side of the road. When I got out of the car, Atticus wanted to follow so I let him sit on the side of the road.

I’ll be the first to tell you I have no idea what goes through the mind of a toad. I’m not so arrogant as to think very little does, and when I came eye to eye with this particular old fellow I could have sworn there was plenty going through his mind. He looked at me suspiciously – so much so that I did my best to look gentle and benevolent and not to give him the wrong idea. He did have his pride after all, and he had already made it a quarter of the way across the road. Who was I to think he wouldn’t make it the rest of the way just fine?

Long ago, I sometimes made a practice, after having been freshly cashed up on pay day, of stopping at an Army surplus store and buying as many wool blankets as I could afford. The next morning I’d get up early and make a pile of ham and cheese sandwiches. Then I’d head into Boston Common, or Washington Park when I lived in Albany, where I knew some of the homeless by name, and I’d deliver them lunch and a blanket in the colder weather. However, there were some folks who, just like that old toad, had plenty pride even if they weren’t in the best place in their lives. They figured they’d gotten by just fine so far without me around and took the threat of my charity as an affront. After seeing me pass out blankets and sandwiches to others they would sneer at me when I approached. I respected their pride. Instead of offering them help, I’d take a folded blanket and lay it on the ground near the closest trash can. I’d then place the wrapped sandwich on top of it and leave it there.

I was careful not to look back but when I’d return some 10 minutes later, they’d have the blanket and the sandwich, having ‘found’ it on their own.

That’s what it was like when I approached that toad in the road. He didn’t want my help. However, it was clear he needed it. And this was a little different than dealing with a homeless man in Boston Common. After all we really didn’t have that much time. I gave some thought to picking him up (he was so big he would have filled the palm of my hand) but that look in his eye said, “Back off, pal!” Meanwhile Atticus was cocking his head on the far side of the road, watching us intently.

I got behind Grandpa Toad and reached down to nudge his bottom but just before I touched him he hopped and flopped down in a new spot a few inches further across the road. I reached again, he hopped again. Each time I’d get close to touching him this old fellow would flop down heavily a few inches further along the pavement and look a bit bothered by my encroachment on his space.

We were about halfway across the road when a car came around the bend and was heading for us while another couple of cars were coming in the other direction. I made like the police officer in Make Way for Ducklings and stood up and put out both of my hands telling the cars to stop. Imagine if you will what must have been going through these folks' heads: in front of them a prideful fat toad was being urged across the Kancamagus Highway by a fellow who was doing his best to allow Grandpa to move at somewhat of his own pace, all the while a little floppy-eared black and white dog was sitting on the side of the road studying both man and the toad.

Once the cars stopped I resumed reaching gently behind the toad and he resumed moving just before I made contact with him. Eventually, with more cars now stopped watching this spectacle, we made it to the other side. But even when we made it off the pavement and were on the shoulder of the road none of those cars moved. They sat and watched as if they were watching a moose. One car pulled over and a fellow got out.

“That’s the biggest toad I’ve ever seen!”

Then a mini van pulled off the side of the road and a family of four got out and took a look at Grandpa Toad. All the while I urged the old guy further off the road and towards the deep grass. The shade of the trees was maybe 10 yards ahead and another 10 yards beyond that was the river.

None of the cars on the road had moved yet, they were all watching. More cars pulled over.

The grass was high and the going was slow until a couple of kids got the idea of helping him by ‘breaking trail’. They were gentle in approaching and standing in front of Grandpa and then stepping on the high grass to mat it down. Their parents then helped. The first fellow who pulled over joined in, too. And the next thing you know there were seven or eight people stepping on the grass trying to make a path for this toad to the shade of the trees while others were watching as if this was the most important thing in their lives.

I continued to urge the old fellow along from behind and before too long we reached the soft, shaded ground and this group of strangers who pulled off the road to help a fat toad gave out a little cheer and congratulated one another as if they had done something majestic. Although none of us exchanged names, I will long remember their faces: the genuine pleasure, the living in the moment of this simplest of little things.

It just goes to show you how powerful Nature is. Sure she can threaten us with hurricanes and tornadoes; bake us in her high heat; freeze us on mountaintops with wind chills far below zero; and drown us in her floods. She can also get us to take a moment to stop what we're doing and actually care if a toad makes it safely to where he’s going. It can even make friends out of strangers, if even only for a few minutes on the side of a road in the middle of the mountains.

(If you are interested, William Blakes entire "Auguries of Innocence" can be found here.)