The Draft

When the thoughts of a "draft" come to mind, the mind often thinks of that old window where the seal is cracked. Perhaps you might think of the door that no longer tightly closes. For me, the word "draft" use to relate to the old farm house I lived in. The Lake Champlain Islands boasted a wonderland of rural pastures, rolling dirt roads, apple orchards, vineyards, and small town charm. The Champlain islands were also my home, and I resided in an 1890 farm house.

The islands are also home to "breezes", or in my language.. "wind gusts".

The Islands are situated in the middle of Lake Champlain. The waters to the right are towards the Vermont shores with phenomenal views of the Green Mountains. The waters to the left lapped up to Upper State New York shores. The little islands are nestled in the middle of two mountain ranges.. thus the "draft" that was felt while making breakfast in my kitchen, sitting in my living room, laying in bed... or just walking through the house....

"Draft" became a funny word that just meant "normalcy" while living in this beautiful old five bedroom farm house... It also meant... "Crap, here is another heating bill...".

As one who adores cycling, I have loved riding Vermont roads. The terrain is far from flat, and each turn provides a challenge. Over the last year and a half, I have had the joy of rekindling with my high school sweet heart. He is a six foot five mountain biker (gone road biker) from Colorado. He effortlessly pedals at high speeds, and "hill climbs" are far too easy. He resembles Kermit the frog from behind while cycling, (A hot Kermie).

Today, I had the joy of "drafting" Kermit, a new thing I have learned to not be afraid of while cycling. You know the feeling when your car gets in the "draft" of a tractor trailer truck? My little Toyota gets sucked right in...

Well, the same draft happens when a 120 pound woman on a carbon fiber bike rides behind a 205 pound man that is 6 foot five. I enjoy drafting, the feeling that my legs get when I fall behind at close proximity to his wheel and get sucked uphill.

Upon finishing a road ride today, we got off our bikes and he asked how I liked it.. to which I replied.. "drafts rock"...

I know longer live in that old 1890 farm house.. and I hope I never know the word "draft" on quite that same level... For now, I am pretty happy for the "draft" of My Kermie.

Need.

What do we really need?

After a recent and freakish snow storm, (Global warming, what??) We lost all power. When I say we lost all power, I mean no water, no heat, and no electricity. With two feet of fresh slushy wet snow outside and a "balmy" temperature of 32, I began wondering why I needed these "comforts"?

We had plenty of candles. My handsome love and I found body heat to keep us toasty warm in bed, and we purchased water at the store. A gym membership allowed us to shower, and pour flushing DOES work. My dog did not seem to mind... and the cat just enjoyed snuggling that much more...Bread does not spoil, nor does peanut butter.

Head lamps provided excellent indoor navigational abilities, and their was always lots to talk about. Upon the third day of waking with no power, I looked out the bed room window and exhaled. My breath felt chilled, and my arms and hands felt numb. Ten thousand Vermonters were experiencing the same thing. Then, I felt a thankful heart, that we had shelter.. a roof over our heads. We had peace. No bombs. No crying children. No gun fire. That morning we joined several other cold Vermonters at a local bakery. The tables were full of families eating warm meals, and drinking hot tea.. Everyone was a cold and dark shelter at night.. But everyone was still together.

Children were not crying, and mothers were not stressed. Although clothing was disheveled, and everyone look un-showered, smiles were present. What joy.

Then the lights went on.

Ode to Childhood.

The sway of the willow branches


The Great old willow tree swayed carelessly in the back yard of Aunt Thelma and Uncle Howards' House. I am sure that as a baby, I looked at the tree when my parents would walk me out back, but my first memories were as a little girl running barefoot in the shade of the giants' branches. Beside the tree was a little stream. In my mind, it was a fairy tale garden. I envisioned unicorns galloping through the yard, and I was princess Colleen, basking in the glory of the willows sweeping limbs. Year after year, I went back to visit my birth state of Pennsylvania where that beautiful tree was strongly rooted in Aunt Thelma and Uncle Howards' yard. As my Aunt and Uncle began to change through time, this beautiful willow remained steadfast. The limbs swayed through the various seasons in life, only to change by getting new leaves each season. Their gentle grace and beauty was under shadowed by their strong, and sprawling roots. It is rare that one sees a downed limb from a willow tree.

This willow tree was a grounding symbol for me, and one that I excitedly went to whenever I visited my family. I longed to adapt the traits of the willow, and learn to sway with the seasons of life, shed my leaves as needed, and embrace new growth. I longed to root my soul, and drink from the waters of knowledge. Now, as an adult... My favorite tree is still a willow. I often stop while cycling, or running and just simply watch them.

There is certainly the tie to innocence, childhood, family, and my beloved Aunt Thelma and Uncle Howard to the lure of the Willow Tree, but the meaning of the tree has taken on a life of its' own in my book of life.

I hope we all continue to sway through the seasons, grow fresh leaves, and nourish our roots with new experiences and knowledge in this life.
Slainte!