Want To Hike With Tom & Atticus?

Here's your chance to follow Atticus to an autumn view similar to this one.

Our favorite thing to do is to find a mountain without anyone else on it.  It's our preferred method of hiking - if we want to be around people we can head to Starbucks.  Over the past eight years the vast majority of our hikes have been just Atticus and me.  As a writer I like the solitude.  As a man I enjoy the peace, tranquility, and spirituality found on a quiet peak.  As an individual Atticus does well with crowds but he'd rather be away from them.  And Atticus is definitely not a "let's hang out with other dogs" kind - especially on mountains. He enjoys a brief hello, but that's about it - and because of that I can count the number of times we've hiked with other dogs on one hand.

However, one of us is about to change, while the other stays in his comfort zone when we invite twelve people to join us on a hike on Saturday, October 5, 2013.  (Rain date October 6.) We'll be inviting six individuals and three couples to climb a mountain with us. (Unfortunately for those who want your dogs to meet Atticus, no dogs will be allowed.  He just wouldn't enjoy it and it's too unpredictable to subject him to that for several hours on the trails.   Since Atticus will be going through chemo treatments, it's just one more reason I will make sure he's comfortable and not harried by other friendly but enthusiastic dogs.  Sorry about this.) 

For those who are used to hiking, it will be a moderate trek of four to six miles, but it won't be easy.  You'll feel it and you'll most likely be stiff and aching afterward.  Some will probably even feel it the next day.  Because of that we're asking only those who actually think they can handle a tough workout to consider joining us.  And for those who say the White Mountains are nothing compared to the Rockies, which are 10,000 feet higher, don't be so quick to judge.  The elevation gain is often the same and these trails are pretty rugged and tougher than in most other places in the country.  In short, while the hike will not be a 23 mile Bonds traverse in winter conditions, it will be tough.  Please keep that in mind.

I have several peaks in mind for the hike but will keep them to myself right now. The only people who will know which hike we'll be doing are those who are selected to join us and even then they won't be informed until the very end.  That will give us a modicum of privacy.

Each of the mountains being considered all have stunning views and since it will be the first week of October our stunning fall foliage will be something to behold.
 
Here's what you will be responsible for if you are chosen: transportation to the White Mountains and to a morning meeting spot where we will all have breakfast; your own lodging and meals; your hiking gear (we'll give you a list of what to bring); your own well being, even though we will be with you it will be up to you to hold yourself responsible and you'll be asked to sign a waiver.  Depending how people feel after the hike, we may even all get together for dinner as well.  What we are supplying is the hike and a walk up the mountain with us.  All else falls on you. 

Will won't be joining us since it will be a rough trail and there are only a few his Will Wagon can go up.  However, you'll get to meet him in the morning before the hike.

I know the invitations will be made over the next couple of weeks and thankfully that's out of my hands.  But here's what you can do, if you are interested in joining us, send an email to atticusmfinch@gmail.com with the subject line "Oct. 6 Hike".  Also...pay attention to the Facebook page where Christina (and Mike) will come up with some ideas. 

I suppose the only thing left to discuss is my motive.  Why hike with a dozen other people when we crave the solitude of the mountains?  Consider it a thank you for all the good energy, support, and kindness you've sent our way.  We can't bring thousands up a mountain with us, but we can bring a dozen who represent the more than 15,000 on our Facebook page. 

Oh, and one last thing: make sure you have a good camera.  You'll love it views, the colors, and something tells me the company of what promises to be a good and interesting group of people.     

Backyard Simplicity.

It's a simply soulful afternoon here in Jackson. Atticus is sleeping under a shade tree. I'm reading and listening to music. Will is spending time in his garden.  Life is grand.

Wildflower Will.

"Welcome to my little patch of garden."

For one mostly blind old dog, bliss is found somewhere
between the wildflowers and the pumpkin patch.

Will watching over the pumpkins.

His squinty-tough guy pose. (The sun was bright and in his eyes.)

Cosmos and other wildflowers.

Where we do our best thinking, reading, writing...or nothing at all.

“A quiet secluded life in the country, with the possibility of being useful to people to whom it is easy to do good, and who are not accustomed to have it done to them; then work which one hopes may be of some use; then rest, nature, books, music, love for one's neighbor — such is my idea of happiness.”  ~ Leo Tolstoy

Chaos & order.

Kate Ebner's Interview with Tom Ryan On Her Show "Visionary Leader, Extraordinary Life"

Yesterday we appeared on Kate Ebner's "Visionary Leader, Extraordinary Life" and enjoyed every minute of it.  You can listen to it or download it for free at the link provided below.

I can't say enough about Kate Ebner's ability to host her show.  she is a gifted conversationalist and made it easy to chat with her even though we were hundreds of miles away from one another and I think it comes off in the comfort of our conversation.

Here's what Kate has to say about the interview:
Many dream of undertaking a quest into nature, but few actually pursue this idea. Middle-aged, overweight and acrophobic, newspaperman Tom Ryan and his miniature schnauzer, Atticus M. Finch, were an unlikely pair of mountaineers, but, as a tribute to a friend who died of cancer, they began a journey of endurance and self-discovery together. Tom followed his dog up the highest peaks of New Hampshire’s White Mountains in the icy dead of winter, and they went on to attempt the 48 peaks of the White Mountains twice in one winter while raising money for charity. Since the publication of the book Following Atticus in 2011, thousands have been touched by Tom and Atticus’ story of friendship, perseverance, love and self-discovery. At the heart of this story is an extraordinary relationship that leads to personal transformation.

You can access it by clicking here.   Enjoy, everyone.

Where The Tall Grass Begins

The backyard is now but a starting point for Will.

We have the simplest backyard.  It’s not too big, nor is it too small.  It’s mostly covered in grass but it's not an overly-manicured suburban lawn.  I even welcome the bright-faced dandelions that look up at the sun and I don't sweat the bare spots.  On the right and left boundary there are trees that obscure the houses on either side of us that rarely have anyone in them.  One of the houses is vacant and up for sale; the other is a vacation home and it’s either owned by someone very old (who rarely gets to the mountains any longer) or someone who is married to his or her job (and doesn’t have time to waste on vacations).  There are trees in the back, too, with a path that leads down to the Ellis River. The bears often use it to access the property.  But the trees in the back, unlike those that shade the sides, are set back from the lawn by a healthy tangle of thigh-high grass and wildflowers. 

The middle of the yard rises into a small hump and that’s exactly what it looks like, but to Will it’s more of a hill than a hump – a hill he couldn’t climb when he first arrived. However, more than a year later he can now slowly negotiate it.

There is one old and tired tree right behind the house.  It’s not very healthy.  It’s the last to show green leaves each spring and the first to lose them in early autumn.  There is also a thirty foot by five foot garden bed surrounded by roughhewn two by fours and railroad ties.  I’m not much of a gardener but this year I’ve planted wildflowers and pumpkins.  The green chutes are climbing higher each week and the pumpkin vines continue to sprawl out.  Both give me a surprising amount of satisfaction.  Although one of my friends tells me that the local wildlife will most likely eat the pumpkins before I do. 

“That’s fine with me,” I say.  I like eating pumpkins but I didn’t plant them for that reason.  I just wanted to see them grow and bring a bit of orange to the autumn.  “If the raccoons decide they’d make a fine meal, they are welcome to them.  After all, this is their yard, too.”

 

In the back corner of the lawn, just before where the high grass and wildflowers rise up like a tiny jungle, sits two Adirondack chairs.  They make a fine place to sit and read a book or write letters or cards to friends or to listen to music while taking inventory of the puffy white vacationland clouds drifting happily by against a backdrop of a postcard blue sky.

The back lawn is also where Will likes to play.  He gives chase to me when I mow the lawn.  Alas, those hips are of little use to him and while his heart and front legs are willing, the rear legs and years of confinement don’t back him up.  Still he kicks up like a bucking bronco, his front legs jutting out, his head juking this way and that as tries to run after me and catch my feet.  He follows for five or six drunken strides like a slow-motion inchworm who has swallowed a Slinky but reality wins out and he gives up and waits for me and the mower to return again.  When we do the game begins anew.  He is happiest helping me mow the lawn like this.

What makes our yard special is the fact that is our yard – that and the way animals come and go.  It’s also a place where dreams a are born.  I sit in one of the two Adirondacks under the shade and let my mind wander and goals are set based on these fanciful reveries. I do this while Will circles about and Atticus either sits on the other chair, or on the grass next to me, pondering just as lightly as I do.

There are days though when Will doesn’t circle as much as he used to.  Lately I get the idea that I’m not the only one who sets sail to aspirations in our private corner of the world where birds sing and breezes blow.  I’ve noticed that Will has taken to walking up to the wall of high grass and tilting his head back as if to see what is beyond it.  In this way he’s not unlike me.  He’s got his dreams, too – perhaps.

So much takes place in this lovely tiny patch of green grass hidden from the road by the house, halfway between North Conway’s outlet stores and Mount Washington.   But as small as it is, there’s a big world beckoning beyond it all.  Something tells me Atticus understands this and that’s why other than watching the parade of wildlife, he isn’t all that impressed sitting back there.  But Will is another story.  To Will this used to be his entire world in those first few months – but that was before he set sail for his new world and tasted a bit of adventure. 

I like that Will seems to be wondering what’s beyond the places he cannot see – not that he can see what’s in front of him all that well as it is.  But he knows darn well the high grass and wildflowers are there and while last summer he used to just sniff at the small petals with his head down, this summer he sets his sights on grander things in the great beyond.

When I see Will doing this I smile and think about how I first thought about getting him up a mountain.  There were a few self-proclaimed experts who chimed in that I should just let him be.  “Old dogs are meant to sleep and just relax for the rest of their days,” they said.  “To do more than that is cruel and selfish on your part.”  One went so far as to call me abusive. 

Oh, how I love experts. 

Fortunately for me I find little use in them and have learned to ignore the most sanctimonious of them (no matter their field of expertise) while embracing possibilities.  I always figured Will would eventually let us know what he was comfortable with and he has – and continues to. 

Well, last October we finally got Will up a mountain by way of his Will Wagon.  We chose Pine Mountain because of the long dirt road and the short rooty and rocky climb to the top once on the trail. We pushed, we pulled, we carried, we lugged that cart to the summit and it seems he just adored his time up there with us.  He was clearly comfortable that day but the real proof came about after his ride to the mountaintop. 

In the immediate days that followed he was different.  He was closer to us, friendlier, more tuned in to what was going on around him.  He wanted to be included more often.  His adventure seemed to impact everything about him and changed what had been merely existing to living.

When I look at Will in the backyard now I’m fascinated by his newfound curiosity.  He is a young soul in an old body who is pulled to the edge of the familiar – where the high grass begins – and he stands and looks out with those cloudy eyes for several minutes. 

Yesterday I was thinking of Will and the way he stands there and about how like the most adventurous of us, he wants more from life.  He refuses to be what experts told him to be. 

Will won’t get up many more mountains here.  The trails are far too rugged for his Will Wagon and he doesn’t like sitting in a backpack.  Yet we’ll get him out and about still just as we’ve done over the past year – beyond the high edge of the high grass where predictability ends and adventure awaits. 

Such is life in our little backyard where hummingbirds flutter, butterflies dance, chipmunks scurry, crows caw, foxes slink, bears saunter, Atticus sits, Will wonders, and I dream. 

It’s part of a good life.

 

Out beyond the tall grass a new world awaits.

 

Atticus (& Tom) On New Hampshire Public Television's "Windows to the Wild"

Atticus watching Willem, Phil, and Steve film the introduction of
the "Windows to the Wild" episode we were on with them.

The ninety-minute long "Adventures with Willem" from New Hampshire Public Television is now on-line and you can watch it here.  It's a compilation of segments from many of Willem Lange's adventures from his show "Windows to the Wild".  The entire ninety minutes is a joy but for those who like watching Atticus where he is happiest, there are two segments in the program with Atticus (and me) in it.  The first starts at 44:26 and runs through minute 52:00. 

While Atticus cannot speak, I will speak for both of us by saying how much we appreciate Willem's kind words in the last two minutes of that first stretch. 

A little later in the show one of the producers of "Windows to the Wild", Phil Vaughn, is interviewed and we are included in this segment as well.  It's only a three minute piece and it runs from 55:00 through 58:00. 

You can see it on-line by  clicking here. 

If you are interested in watching the entire original episode we were on, which first aired on March 29, 2013, you can watch it by clicking here.  It's about 26:00 long.

We so enjoyed our time with Willem and Phil and Steve, the other producer, that we're planning to head out with them again, most likely in late August.  And this time around we'll do our best to take Will up a mountain with us and it will air on a future "Windows to the Wild". 

"The World Loves You, Will!" (Even A Grouchy, Old Bear, It Seems)

Will’s leading a blessed last chapter.  Better yet, make that: he’s leading several blessed chapters since coming to live with us.

I’ve told Will’s story many times here but I’ll offer up a quick refresher for new readers.  At fifteen he was dropped off at a kill shelter in New Jersey by the only family he ever knew and was saved from certain death by the good people at New Jersey Schnauzer Rescue.  He then came to us arthritic, deaf, mostly-blind, neglected, and aggressive.  Atticus and I simply opened up our place to give him a place to die, but nearly fourteen months later he’s thriving.

Yes, thriving – even though he can’t walk very far because of his hips, nor can he see much more than shapes and shadows, and he’s still deaf.  He has, however, stopped snarling and biting, and he actually smiles.  He likes to play, be held, and he now often falls asleep cradled like a baby in my arms.  He participates with us, follows me from room to room, and is thrilled to be part of our little family.  

Atticus, who will never completely embrace anyone other than me, remains distant but protective of Will.  On a few occasions when Will has been coughing or choking on something Atticus approaches quite casually and nudged him with his nose and the coughing or choking stopped.  When a young bear appeared on the edge of our yard recently, Atticus just as calmly walked toward Will, who was unaware of the bear, and sat between them facing the bear.  When we are out and about and Will is walking in an unfamiliar field or on a beach, Atticus sits and serves as an anchor to the perpetually circling Will, who knows to return to Atti from time to time.  That’s about it: no cuddling, nuzzling, kissing, or playing takes place between the two of them – no matter how much others want to believe that’s the case.  But that’s enough for me.  It’s simply Atticus being Atticus. 

Will with flowers sent to him from Pennsylvania.

Atticus simply doesn’t chum up with other dogs or animals. He’s patient with them, respectful of them, he even seems to be calming to them, but he doesn’t play with them.  

There is something special about the serenity emanating from Atticus that fascinates me.  Children who have always been afraid of other dogs – even to the point where therapy was needed – have approached Atticus, sat next to him, and run their hands over his soft hair.  He’s been approached by chipmunks, squirrels, voles, birds, fox, moose, and bear.  And when Will had daily temper tantrums during those first few months he always went after me and never Atticus.  He’d whirl around in seemingly uncontrolled rage, see Atticus sitting looking at him, and he’d immediately turn back to me with his aggression. 

I’m not smart enough to explain what affect Atticus has on other animals but it appears this charm may have extended to Will.  This morning we were outside, Will circling in the center of the yard while I carried Atticus and his injured paw down the stairs to the edge of the property under the trees where he likes to be – far enough away so that Will won’t bother him.

I saw some movement out of the corner of my eye that was not Will’s light body, but a big, bulky, dark mass right beside Will.  It was Butkus, the old grouch of a bear who visited our yard quite often a few years ago but we’d since lost track of.  He’s returned this summer and we’ve seen him three times over the past two weeks.  I looked up and Butkus was within ten feet of Will and side-by-side, and he seemed to have paused in his lumbering gait to watch Will.  Then, just as I readied to charge at Butkus with arms waving and my voice raised something made me stop and watch.  I’m not sure what it was.  Perhaps it was the way Butkus was looking at Will.  Within a few seconds the old bear simply walked on by and entered the trees and disappeared.  So curious.  So wonderful. 

Yes, I’m well aware that bears are wild, unpredictable, and can be troublesome and that Butkus doesn't want to be friends.  I’m also aware that more often than not our local bears are more afraid of us than we are of them and they’ll avoid dogs at all costs.  I also know they seem to be drawn to Atticus and on more than one occasion a bear has sat looking at Atticus as Atticus sat looking back.  I also know that a mother bear and her two cubs have now been in our yard four times over the last several weeks.  The first time at a distance and in the trees leading down to the Ellis River behind the house.  On two other occasions the mother and her curious cubs have walked to the edge of the yard as I laughed while playing with Will while Atticus observed.  They watched for a bit and then returned the way they came. 

Their last visit wasn’t much different than what we experienced with Butkus this morning.  Atticus and I were sitting in the Adirondack chairs in the back corner of the yard while I played with Will who was laying on his back on my thighs.  From that back corner right behind us the mother and her cubs emerged within a few feet, the mother keeping herself between us and the cubs, they all looked at us, and then made their way across the yard.  Beforeleaving the yard the mother bear stopped and looked back at us for a few seconds, and then she was gone.

These wondrous things are happening at a time when folks from twelve different states and two foreign countries have sent flowers to Will, a dog they’ve never met, because they’ve been captured by his story and have given their hearts to him.  Why send him flowers?  Because I noticed last summer that Will enjoys smelling flowers and I’ve bought them for him every week since.  However, it wasn’t until recently that I shared this on our Facebook page.  Since that post our local florist Carrie Scribner, owner of Dutch Bloemen Winkel, and 1-800-Flowers have been dropping off flowers at our place for Will from friends he’s never met. 

Atticus has always been special, but it’s been a pleasure to watch Will develop over the past year and start to shine in his own way.  He’s recaptured his flagging spirit, polished up that dented soul, and he’s enjoying his life – no matter how much is left of it.  It’s all more than I ever expected or could have hoped for. 

"The world loves you, Will!" ~ Donna Haas

What do I attribute his resurrection to?  There are lots of things the logical mind can grasp: better food, medication, daily care, an improved overall quality of life.  But then there’s the intangibles, those little mysterious miracles that give us reason to sit back and wonder. There’s the presence of soulful Atticus and all those prayers and good wishes coming to Will from thousands of people who follow his happy story on our Facebook page.  

Will’s story stands in stark contrast to the dark, hopeless, and heartbreaking stories the media feeds us each day.  There’s so much darkness out there we’ve become numb to most tragedy.  Every now and again though, we are fortunate to get a glimpse of something sweet and special, even if it is something as small as the magical journey of one little broken dog from tragedy to redemption. 

I believe in happy endings.  I also believe in the power of love (when one is brave enough to leave the past where it belongs and let love in) and I believe in the osmotic power of prayer and friendship, even when it comes from afar.

When flowers come for Will they often come with notes.  The other day Donna Haas sent flowers from Pennsylvania by way of Carrie Scribner’s flower shop.  Her note seems to sum up much of Will’s happy resurrection: “The world loves you, Will! Enjoy the flowers.  Sending you lots of love.”

One of my favorite quotes from Einstein is: “The most beautiful thing we can experience is the mysterious. It is the source of all true art and science. He to whom the emotion is a stranger, who can no longer pause to wonder and stand wrapped in awe, is as good as dead —his eyes are closed.”

Does the compassion and patience of Atticus, the overwhelming support of strangers from around the world . . . and even what appeared to be a bit of kindness from a grumpy old bear contribute to the now-special life of Will?  I can’t say for sure, but I’d like to believe that’s the case.  I chalk it up to Einstein’s description of the mysterious for that gives me hope for this world we live in.

Butkus, after passing by Will this morning and passing into the trees.

Following Atticus Has Meant Learning Compassion

I changed something in my life this week.  It wasn’t an earthshattering alteration, but I feel good about it nonetheless.  Writing about it here and now is the only reason anyone (other than my close friends) will know there’s something different. 

Last year I decided to switch to a plant-based diet because I didn’t want to eat animals or animal products anymore.  I did well and was quite happy with my new way of eating and I only deviated on a handful of occasions while out with a friend eating cheese on my pizza or when I faulted and didn’t realize there was butter or milk or eggs in something I ate.  But that didn’t matter too much to me since I’m not about beating myself up about any of this. 

You see, I wasn’t out to change the world, simply to change myself. I stopped eating animals because I didn’t want them to have to suffer for my desires. 

Interestingly enough, when some friends learned of my vegan diet they were immediately threatened by my choice.  Perhaps they thought that I would then become an angry apostle of veganism and they actually became angry with me.  But that wasn’t my intent.  I don’t really care what anyone else eats.  That’s their business, just as what I eat is my business.  Besides, who was I to criticize them after spending half a century devouring McDonalds, Burger King, KFC, and Pizza Hut as if my life depended on it?

Recently, however, I feel as though I’d not gone as far as I could.  The more I look into how animals needlessly suffer for us, the more I realized there were further steps I could be taking.  My clothes for instance.  I bought a new pair of Keen sandals this past year but there are animal products in them.  I could have just has easily have gone with some vegan sandals but I’ve always bought Keens. It was a matter of habit and convenience.  And my bathroom cabinets – they were filled with the usual toothpastes, shaving creams, soaps, shampoos, antiperspirants, etc.  So this past week I decided that I would go the next step and from now on I would only buy cruelty-free clothing and my toiletries and household cleaning products are now all cruelty-free. 

What is cruelty-free?  Wikipedia (talk about convenience) defines cruelty-free as: “Cruelty-free is a term often used by animal rights activists to describe a product or activity which does not require death or harm to animals. This includes products which have been tested on animals, since these tests are often extremely painful and lead to the suffering and untimely death of hundreds of thousands of animals every year.”

So why am I telling you about this if I’m not asking you to change?  I’m simply writing this as a public contract to myself, just as I have made much of my life public on our Facebook page, on our blog, or in our memoir. 

And what’s created this change in me from a fellow who loved his McDonalds, KFC, Burger King, and Ben & Jerry’s?  I can give you three reasons: Maxwell Garrison Gillis; Atticus Maxwell Finch; and William Lloyd Garrison.  Over the past thirteen years I have loved these three friends dearly and they’ve helped me to see things differently, just as I’ve helped them to live their lives differently had they not been with me.  Each has been a mutually beneficial partnership.

 

I’m no longer one of those people who says “My dog saved me”.  I just don’t believe that to be the case.  Not my case, anyway.  I’m now a person who believes that friendship transforms all of us and I prefer to think of the animals I’ve shared my life with as my friends.  I’ve changed because of them; just as they’ve changed because of me. 

Lord knows I wouldn’t want any of my friends, two-legged or four-legged, to have to suffer so that someone can wash their hair, brush their teeth, wear a leather belt, or have a meal.  And since I don’t think of dogs as that much different than us, and I don’t think of dogs all that different than pigs, cats, rats, monkeys, cows, bears, foxes, moose, eagles, hawks, and many other living creatures, I also see my own reflection in all of them as well.  I don’t believe in human slavery, therefore I don’t believe in animal slavery either.  I guess this is all part of my soul’s progression.  I’m becoming who I want to become.

Before you go thinking I’m too strident about all of this. I have to tell you that I’m not a fan of the vegan police – those holier than thou activists who seem to be angry about everything.  (They are all or nothing activists who even get angry at other vegans for not being “vegan enough”!)  Who I am a fan of is of compassionate people like Kathy Freston, Gene Baur, Lindsay Nixon, Rip Essyltyn, Dreena Burton and others in the vegan movement who use compassion and lead by example.

Recently I read somewhere that deciding to live cruelty-free is an easy thing to do.  It may be, but deciding to live that way and living that way are two different things.  The switch is not easy, not for most of us anyway.  I’ve had to break bad habits, give up things that have always been convenient, and I’ve had to start thinking in an entirely different way.  In her book, The Lean, Kathy Freston goes about helping people make the switch to healthier, vegan eating with a commonsense approach of doing something simple each day to make the step by step switch.  She teaches us to lean into the change.  That’s what I’ve done. 

Here’s what I like about my own progression to this new lifestyle.  I now feel more in tune with myself and with animals.  I don’t feel so hypocritical anymore – saying I love animals and ignoring what they had to go through to get to my plate and into my belly.  And more than anything I’m becoming more thoughtful.  I think about my place in the world and the choices I make and who they are impacting.  Life is a journey and this is where mine has taken me.  It’s not the way I planned or expected it, but it feels right. 

Joseph Campbell, the late mythologist, said, “We must be willing to let go of the life we planned so as to have the life that is waiting for us.” Following Atticus and his obvious compassion toward other animals (regardless of the species) has helped me understand compassion, while taking in unwanted and elderly Max and later Will has helped me exercise it as I never have.  And using the Golden Rule of treating them as I wish to be treated has helped me grow and transform in life.  Such is the gift of true friendship.  

 

(Following Atticus has lead to a more compassionate way of life for me.)

(Bringing in Will, an elderly special needs dog, has helped me exercise compassion.)

"The earth laughs in flowers." ~ Ralph Waldo Emerson

(Will enjoys flowers from Kathryn Payne, a woman
in Colorado Springs, Colorado he's never met.)

I believe in happy endings.  I just never expected one for Will after meeting him for the first time when he was transferred to us in a Connecticut parking lot by a good-hearted trio from the New Jersey Schnauzer Rescue thirteen months ago.

After the five hour drive back to Jackson I was utterly depressed and wondered how long I should keep him alive for.  That’s how hopeless he was, how much pain he was in, how angry this little dog was.  I remember thinking, “What have I gotten us into?”

When we stopped along the Kancamagus Highway and I went to get him out of the car to stretch his legs he whipped his head around and sunk his teeth into my thumb, punctured a tendon, and held on for all he was worth.  At that moment something funny happened to me.  Instead of jerking back or getting angry with him I suddenly put myself in his place as my blood trickled down his throat. 

Here was a fifteen year old dog with cataracts and very limited sight.  He was deaf, in pain, and just a week or so before he’d been deposited in a kill shelter by the only family he’d ever known.  I imagined how I would feel.  Abandoned in a strange setting, cold, alone, without those he’d known for all those years.  It had to be a shock to him.  I imagined he felt betrayed, frightened, angry – and utterly alone.  Then when a good-hearted soul from the shelter knew how desperate his plight was they called NJSR and Will at least got out of the shelter but in his head he didn’t know his life had been saved. I imagine all he knew is that he was being shuttled from person to person on his way to ending up here in Jackson and that had to feel demoralizing.  He had, after all, lost his home, even if it wasn’t much of one.  Imagine how discarded and defeated he had to feel – how utterly empty and alone.

In those first few days I talked to our vet and wondered how long I should keep him alive for because yes, he was alive, but not a life I’d want or any animal should have to endure.  But I also continued to put myself in his place, even when he bit me as often as he did. 

The first morning in Jackson he thrashed as I carried him outside to go to the bathroom, shivered in the cool May morning air, and tried to bite me again as I held up his weakened hips as he went to the bathroom.  When we made it back inside I put him down and he came after me.  Atticus wisely jumped up on the couch as Will snarled and flashed his teeth. 

I ended up sitting on the floor in front of the couch and let Will approach me.  I let him set the pace.  Eventually I was petting him and he lay down in front of me and fell asleep with his paw on my leg.  I remember thinking, “I get it, Will.  You want to be in charge.  You want things on your terms.”

One week turned into two and I still believed we were only giving him a place to die with dignity.  But for some reason I spent the money to get his rotten teeth cleaned and had one painful one removed.  And each day, as much as he was everything Atticus wasn’t (and I don’t mean that in a positive way) I did my best to imagine what it was like to be Will. 

One morning Atticus and I came home from a walk and I noticed that this little deaf dog was sleeping with his ear pressed up against the leg of the coffee table and I knew then was feeling the vibrations coming from the speakers on top of the table as music played.  From that moment on Will always had music to listen to – or to feel. 

Soon after that I noticed him lingering in the backyard, even though he couldn’t stand in one place for very long, sniffing the wild flowers.  He’d do this whenever I took him outside.  So one day I bought him flowers and left them by his bed when he was sleeping and he woke up to them and buried his face in them and went back to sleep.  When he eventually got up to get a drink he returned to his flowers and lay down next to them with his cloudy eyes and rested his head in them.

From that moment on Will not only had music, he also had flowers nearby. 

Will’s come a long way since those first weeks.  The death row dog with little reason to live has embraced life.  He’s become loving and seeks out love.  He’s even become a fine teacher. He has overcome several serious obstacles many I know fail to clear as he shows us it’s never too live, never too late to love, never too late to be loved, and never too late to trust. 

Each morning, after he eats his breakfast, he comes over to the couch where I’m sitting with Atticus and he nudges my foot with his nose and I reach my fingers out to him and the mouth that used to bite now gently licks my fingertips and I know what he wants.  I pick him up and cradle his body against my chest and turn sideways so he can look outside.  He likes that even though all he seems to see are shapes and shadows and movement.  He puts his head side by side with mine and leans against me as he gazes silently for several minutes.  Eventually his head sags, his breathing gets deeper, and I’ll hear a snore.  Soon his head is resting on my chest over my heart and he’s in a little ball in my arms sleeping soundly and, more importantly, safely. 

And the little dog who didn’t ever seem to know when Atticus and I were coming going – or care, now comes out of the bedroom within a minute of us returning home on those occasions we go out without him. I tell myself he feels the vibration of the door closing.  And when he sees me he tries to jump up to say hello but his hips are too weak from all that time he had been kept in a crate to keep him out of the way.  So he does a succession of happy little bunny hops and he whimpers an equally happy song as he excitedly comes to me to play.  And those eyes that can’t see much, they are still clouded with cataracts, but they now shine with love and belonging. 

Last week I told a story on Facebook about how I get flowers for Will every week and how when we go to Carrie Scribner’s wonderful flower shop here in Jackson, Dutch Bloemen Winkel, the ladies started asking if the flowers are for Will.  If they are they go with even more fragrant flowers.  (I love that they ask!)

That’s how far Will has come in his new life.  People care about him.   Carrie and her staff care what he likes. He’s often mentioned by Roy Prescott on WMWV’s morning radio show here in the Mount Washington Valley, and was even a guest on it.  And whenever we stop at For Your Paws Only to buy food, if he is not with us, Kendra or one of the others will ask, “How’s Will doing?”  And if he is with us they fawn over him as he walks around the store.  And people around town now greet him as they’ve always greeted Atticus when we walk the loop with Will in his wagon.  “Good afternoon, Atticus.  Good afternoon, Will.  Hey, Tom.” 

It is a life reclaimed and one worth living and with it come’s a lot of happiness and laughter in our little home.  But last week there were tears too – however, they were happy ones.

You see, when I wrote about Will’s love of flowers and my ritual of picking them up for him each week, some were left on my car with an unsigned note – “For Will.”  The next day another bunch appeared with another note.  This time they were left on our stairs and the note said, “For Will, we know he loves his flowers.”  Then there was a knock on the door and there was Carrie with a beautiful arrangement sent all the way for Will from a woman in Colorado Springs.  Kathryn Payne and her boyfriend, Bryan Dresser, a member of the Air Force, follow us on Facebook and have become big fans of Will and Bryan saw to it that Will received flowers from Kathryn with a note that read, “We love you Will!” 

When Bryan read of Carrie’s Dutch Bloemen Winkel he quickly called and placed the order for Will. When I read that card and sat down on the floor with Will as he sniffed those beautiful flowers, my eyes filled with tears that came straight from my heart.    

Even more flowers came in over the next few days, all for Will, all from people who read about his love of them.  I put them in a vase (or a mason jar, since I’ve run out of vases), and Will sits in front of them as best he can (he can’t sit for long with those long-neglected hips) and he smells them and something tells me he thinks he's found heaven!

To this day I continue to put myself in Will’s place (just as I’ve always done with Atticus) as I did that first day he bit me.  The difference is that I no longer think of him being angry, frightened, abandoned, betrayed, and utterly alone in this world.  What I think of is how joyful he is and how he celebrates the little things in life, and how a once unwanted dog has turned into a much loved soul and not just here in our little home, but from people all around the country and even the world.  Somehow I believe he feels it. 

I do believe in happy endings and Will is proof that they do exist.  For once there was a little dog who was left to die – instead he chose to live!   

(If anyone in this world was made to work with flowers it's Carrie Scribner.  She has a gift that's as natural as it is unexplainable and we highly recommend Dutch Bloemen Winkel. Her website is www.dutchbw.com and the number is (603) 383-9696. Check her out if you need flowers in the Mount Washington Valley.  We're thrilled to have her just down the street in our little village!)

Dreaming of Evans Notch

My broken foot - getting better by the week - still aches occasionally so I'm giving it a little longer rest before hitting the hiking trails.  Over the past six weeks Atticus has been more than a little patient with me and whenever I get frustrated about missing so much great hiking weather I remind myself (as I swat black flies on the back of my neck in the backyard) that in another two weeks we will be back on a mountaintop, my foot will be healed (or well enough to hike), and the thick of black fly season will be gone.

So today I'm sitting at my writing desk looking at a map, and daydreaming about some quiet time up high away from the constant roar of Bike Week just outside of my window.  The worn map traced by my fingers and smoothed by my hands has been folded and unfolded more times than I can remember.  And when I’m like this – away from the trails and looking forward to getting back out there – as I'm studying it, looking at the aging lines on the paper, I fantasize I that I am Long John Silver captivated by a map of Treasure Island, or Bilbo Baggins with a crinkled copy of the map to the Lonely Mountain and all the treasure hidden inside of it.

Maps have always had that effect on me.  They take me away from where I am and, at times, who I am.  They fertilize my imagination and open up entirely new worlds.  Anyone who hikes can tell you that a map in the hands of one without imagination is as flat as the world before Christopher Columbus came around.  But for those of us with adventure in our hearts, paper maps are three dimensional.  We look at where we will start from and where we are going to and then we remember every hike we've ever taken and how it's never quite that simple.  You don't simply go from Point A to Point B.  It's not about stopping and ending, it's about the journey that lies between the trailhead and the summit.  Hiking, I learned, is a lot like life.  We have our goals, start out with high hopes, but along the way the world meets us and challenges confront us.  Keep the goal in mind and understand the tests we'll undoubtedly face and we do fine, but step away from that reality and it's all so difficult.

So when I study a map, as I've been doing all morning with this crinkled copy of the Chatham Trails Association, Inc. Map of the Cold River Valley and Evans Notch, I keep space in my mind for the unimaginable.  After all, one never knows what's waiting for us out there.  There are the outward tests, and then those that sit within us.  Respecting those two allows us to understand that it's not just about starting, summiting, returning to the car, and getting something to eat afterward.  What awaits is the mystery of the forest, the sparkling and enchanting streams and rivers that can either charm us or sweep us away if we are not careful; rock slides; wind and rain; heat and snow; and the seeds of fear and thrill of the unknown.  It all adds up to the possibility of adventure whenever we leave home, leave the car, and enter the forest on a shady trail with only a backpack to carry everything we'll need.  What happens between leaving the known behind and returning to it is what makes hiking nearly mythical for us.

As I've elevated, iced, and wrapped my aching foot over the past month and a half my mind has drifted off to the trails and the golden, diffused light that pierces the wooded darkness in early morning, the magnificent blue ocean of sky filled with great billowing ships in the form of cumulous clouds, and that sense of working hard to get to such a heavenly place. 

In these tempting daydreams I’m drawn repeatedly to Evans Notch.  It is the forgotten notch or, for some, the unknown notch.  It exists on the border between New Hampshire and Maine and it's not easy to get to, especially for readers of the Northcountry News since it's far to the east and there is no direct route.  Being "forgotten" or "unknown" also means that nearly every time we've been there it's also been quiet and uncrowded.  On a stormy day it can feel desolate, but on a pitch-perfect June day it is heavenly, thanks to the peace that envelops you on any one of its peaks. 

Since none of the summits come close to four thousand foot high the peakbaggers often leave it alone and that only lends to its allure.  Add in views from the tops of mountains with names like Caribou, Blueberry, Speckled, the Baldfaces, and Eagle Crag and it even sounds like something from a different world.  And if you ever have stood on high on these peaks, walked along the open ledges, and taken in the view with nary another person around you come to understand that this is hiking at its purest.  No crowds.  Serene trails.  A good chance to see a moose or a bear.  And views – glorious, expansive, and stunning views.  Mount Washington and her neighbors in the Presidential Range can be seen in all their glory, but from this different vantage point they feel like a world away. 

To hike in Evans Notch feels like playing hooky.  It’s better than just going on a hike, it’s going on a hike far from the conga line of Franconia Ridge or the Crawford Path.  It’s a step back in time and into your unbridled imagination.  It’s the kind of hiking you first fell in love with when you daydreamed about getting away from it all.

So today, as I send this off to my dear editor, I think I may very well be crazy for sharing this special spot with others.  Then again, I know it will never be overly crowded and that’s part of what makes it so dear to me.  Perhaps we’ll see you there; most likely though, we won’t.   

 

Being Boston Strong, My History With The Boston Marathon

This weekend I turn 52-years old.  As a gift to myself I'm
returning to running for the first time in 22 years.

I'm at the tail end of a bad cold and the last thing I wanted to do was climb a mountain.  The first thing, and what I've mostly been doing, is rolling over and going back to sleep. 

Then Monday came.  Not just any Monday but Boston Marathon Monday.

It used to be my favorite day of the year.  As a kid we had it off from school and were charged with excitement because of the early morning reenactment in Lexington and Concord, the morning start of the Red Sox game, and, of course, the marathon itself.  Growing up in the suburbs of Boston only a couple of towns away from Hopkinton and having an older brother who was a great runner who ran in the race when only a teenager and being nurtured on the legends of Johnny Kelly, Tarzan Brown, Clarence DeMar, Johnny Kelly the Younger, Jock Semple, and Katherine Switzer, I couldn't help but be seduced by the drama of the day.  To me these people weren't mere mortals - they were gods capable of superhuman abilities. 

On one of those Patriots Days when I was young I was one of four friends relaxing in the shade on a neighbor's front porch listening to the race and we all made a pledge to run the marathon by the time we were twenty-five.  But those were the days before my legs went bad.  In junior high and high school I spent the better part of two and a half years on crutches.  Four full legs casts immobilized my left knee, one did the same to my right.  There were also two surgeries on the left knee to combat the problems in my legs and when the surgeries were completed the doctor was pleased. 

"You'll be fine.  You'll be able to walk without trouble but don't plan on being any kind of an athlete," he said.

I believed him.  For a while.  But as my teens turned to my early twenties I remembered that front porch pledge we four friends made and I tried running.  It wasn't easy.  As a matter of fact, back then it was always painful.  But I knew pain from those earlier years and I knew I could deal with it so I ran on.  Not far, just enough to say I was running.  Maybe four miles.  I never entered any races but always thought about one.  The one. 

Patriot's Day is the third Monday of every April.  The date floats.  As fate would have it my twenty-fifth birthday fell on the day of the marathon.  With a few months to go I upped my mileage.  Still not very far but I was still running.  Ten days before the race I ran the farthest I'd ever run - 11 miles.  Somehow after that I knew I could do it.  When the day came I lined up with the rest of the "bandits" (unofficial runners) in mass behind the numbered runners who had qualified.  Before even reaching Heartbreak Hill I wanted to stop.  I'd run fifteen miles and I'd had enough.  My head dropped, I put my hands on my hips, and admitted defeat.  Around then I felt a tug on my arm and a fellow said, "Come on, if I can do it, so can you."  I wanted to reach out and slap the man with the voice and tell him about my legs and their troubled past.  When I looked up he was standing next to me looking quite lean and fit and . . . with only one leg.  The other was a prosthetic.  His name was Pat Griskus and on that day he pulled me along with him and we ran several miles together.  Eventually I finished in just under four hours while Pat set a record that day for a runner with a prosthetic. 

I would run Boston for the next four years and graduate to Ironman Triathlons...three of them.  The first was on the Cape, the next two in Sunapee.  All the while I looked as out of place as I have on the mountains.  I was never chiseled and lean.  I had strong legs, a strong heart and lungs, but a double chin.  Those experiences in my late twenties would later fuel my belief in my endurance in these great mountains we hike in.  And once you run Boston it is always in you.  It's part of who you are and will always be.  It made me believe in myself. 

So on Wednesday, with the unthinkable actions of the previous Monday in my head and sunken heart, with the thought of three dead - one an eight year old boy, and legs amputated and other limbs lost, not to mention hopes and innocence lost, I decided that my cold would have to take a back seat while we sought our reality.  We didn't hike too high or too far.  Instead we worked slowly up a steep section that wears me out at my best and I stopped often, coughing and sneezing.  I ached a bit, wore my fatigue like a heavy coat, and took a seat more than I'd like to admit on the way up.  But there on that slow climb I sat sweating, catching my breath, watching spring fight through the last remnants of snow and ice, and heard the birds sing - and I could feel the mountain come to life and me with it.  

 

We climbed to some of our favorite ledges, I lay on my back looking up at the sky and when I was rested I sat up and took a seat next to Atticus who was looking out at distant mountains and down at a nearby lake.  I thought of the life we led back in Newburyport, a forty-minute ride from Boston...a life filled with chaos and the corruption I covered in my newspaper and what now in comparison looks to be a dizzying pace of life and I was thankful for these mountains of my childhood we rediscovered together.  Sitting up there surrounded by nature I said my prayers and everywhere I looked I saw God.

John Muir has a great quote that goes like this: “The gross heathenism of civilization has generally destroyed nature, and poetry, and all that is spiritual.”  I thought about those words and how crazy the world can be and how it seems as though it's getting crazier all the time.  I thought about those who would terrorize us, those who would destroy not just nature, but the nature within us and a totally different thought came to my mind.  When I remember that horrible day I will not remember one person's horrific deed, but the reactions of so many more.  I'll remember that some runners, having run twenty-six miles, decided there was something more important than rest and ran an additional two miles to Mass General Hospital to donate blood.  I'll remember the doctor who ran the marathon and then went to work and operated on some of the victims.  I'll remember the incredible humanity of the first responders who ran toward where the bombs were exploding to help others.  When I think of these things I understood that terrorists will never win - if we don't let them.  Humanity is too strong for that. 

And this is why I climb mountains.  It's for the perspective.  It's for the way it sets my mind straight and helps me see what's most important.  Most importantly nature and the mountains resets my soul.

Life is not about what some would take away; it's about what we put back into it.  it's about possibilities.  Whenever I get tired climbing a mountain I think about my first Boston Marathon and how an amputee stopped to help a full-bodied young man who was ready to give up.  That spirit has stayed with me and always tells me that anything is possible.  It's what makes me and so many others Boston Strong.