She Wanted an Adventure...

Phoebe has a hunger for new places and adventures. There's little she loves more than seeking those in the company of her little family (me and Liam). With Liam now employed full-time in graphic design in Marietta (yay!!), we'd had a hard time blocking out time for a good, strenuous family bike ride. And Phoebe's days at home are coming to an end; she's moving on to her next phase in work and life.

Saturday was the day--cool and partly cloudy. We were ready. The plan was to head east to Ellenboro, WV, and ride on the rail-to-trail to Cairo, a round trip of about 16 miles. We started late, because Liam was planning a late-night rendezvous with a friend in Maryland, and he'd be an hour along his way when we finished an evening ride. Well. 

Phoebe had never been on the North Bend trail, and what a delight it was to show her around. Liam and I were excited to see her through the three railroad tunnels, two of which are fairly short and moderately spooky; one of which is way too long and downright freaky.

There were so many wonderful vistas along the way--rock walls and shining creeks and steep slopes. Here's an inspired planting of Naked Ladies, an amaryllis that pops up in late July.

We had the trail practically to ourselves, as you can tell from this tunnel ride-through. Liam is a little too good at lunatic laughter! As a borderline claustrophobic, these sounds sum up how I feel about riding through pitch-dark tunnels. I'm OK as soon as I can see the light at the other end. Until then, I'm muttering and yodeling and just forcing myself forward into the unknown. 

We made it into Cairo around 7:20 pm, and couldn't resist poking around a bit, even though we still had 8 miles to ride back to the cars.

This completely untouched Italianate bank building now houses the "headquarters" of the North Bend Rails to Trails. 

This woozy shot shows the street outside, plus the perfect marble counters and teller cages, each with its own vintage typewriter! The bank operated until 1974, and is now a sort of standing museum of what it was like around the turn of the 20th century. 

Just look at that work station! Not a screen in sight. Oh man. It was enchanting, leaving noseprints on the windows of this elegantly narrow building. 

A peek around the corner of the bank building showed the Hughes River making its way through the community. No culverts for it! It looks a bit wild and floody to me, like it could make trouble if it wanted to. Cairo flooded a lot before the Hughes was dammed, creating North Bend's squiggly lake (one of my happy places for canoeing and birding). But the damage had been done, over and over and over, and Cairo now redefines "sleepy little town."

Another interior downtown. That's a sort of Mothman suit hanging on the left. There were masks, too. There's an interesting, funky energy about Cairo that I like.

I believe I saw Mr. Mullenix jingling his keys outside the meat market. The cartoon pharoahs got me!

A little street art. You're apt to find such things throughout this little town.

Too soon, we mounted our bikes and started the long ride back. This is the first of three tunnels we had to navigate to get back. We stopped to rest. The kids climbed up above the tunnel entrance (see them in the greenery?)

I took my pack off, leaned back on a bench, and gazed out at the dying light on Husher's Run.

Just the name, Husher's Run, slows my heart and gives me peace. It wouldn't have to be this beautiful.

Oh boy, was it getting dark! We pedaled as fast as we could, complaining about our sore butts--that part of a long bike ride I always conveniently forget until it happens. I was wearing my padded bike shorts, but they could only do so much for a fair-weather biker like me.

We rolled back into Ellenboro at 8:56 pm, as the sun painted the western sky an incredible coral color. What a feeling of accomplishment! 

We high-fived around the parking lot and I reached up to take my pack off to grab my car keys and...

I was not wearing a pack any more. And the car keys were in it, and I was sure it was lying on a bench, back at the picnic shelter by the first tunnel. 

Which meant that my car keys were five miles and two scary tunnels away, on an unlit bike trail in deep forest that is inaccessible by car. 

It took Phoebe approximately 40 seconds to assess the situation, take her bike back down off the rack, and announce that she was going to ride back to get that backpack. "What else are we going to do? Spend the night in the parking lot?"

She had 20% battery left on her ancient iPhone 10, 2018 vintage, that had been Bill's. She'd need its light for the tunnels, for sure, and to watch for the deadly bar gates that cross the path perhaps ten times along the way. They have reflectors on them, but without light to bounce off the reflectors, they're invisible in the dark. The first picture my mind conjured was Phoebe crashing, full speed, into a steel bar gate. It was not a good picture. Before I could object, she hugged me and then Liam, told him to hit the road and have fun, and she was gone, pedaling full-speed into inky darkness. 

It's hard to describe the anguish of seeing her take off, so resolute, so swift. My phone battery was dying, too. I borrowed a charger from Liam, who was already very late for his rendezvous, hugged him goodbye, and watched his taillights disappear, headed for Maryland. 

I walked over to a McDonald's, looking for an outside outlet, and found one, miraculously, at a nearby car wash. I plugged in my iPhone and commenced tracking my girl. Reception was terrible, but I found her little blue dot, inching deeper and deeper into the forest on that dark, dark trail. (I am in Ellenboro; she's at the square icon). 

The first thing I could think to do was call the Harrisville Police Department to ask if they by chance had a motorcycle that could navigate the bike trail, to escort Phoebe. They were as helpful as they could be, but they have no motorcycle, and they don't have keys to the bar gates so they could get a cruiser through. They promised to call North Bend State Park to see if they could get someone to meet Phoebe at the shelter. I told them to ask whoever might show up not to take the pack, because heaven knows what Phoebs would do if she got all the way to the shelter and didn't find the pack! 

After an eternity, which was about 25 minutes, I got a very brief call from Phoebe. "I got the pack. I'm starting back." She couldn't talk because each second she was using it, the battery on her phone was dwindling. She was at 10%. 

She rode as she'd never ridden in her life. Her FitBit clocked her heart rate. The blue and yellow is our ride together; the red and yellow is her nighttime rescue mission. 

Back at the car wash in Ellenboro, I watched her little gray dot get closer and closer to my blue dot.

I can't tell you what a comfort that was, as I fought to quell my primal panic at sending her into the dark. Here I have to give a shoutout to iPhones, because without them, none of this key recovery would have been possible. They have great flashlights, and the Find My function has saved my sanity more times than I care to admit. I'm grateful for that, and grateful that my kids don't mind my being connected and tracking them as they go on their way. At least, they haven't turned off the feature for me yet.

Almost an hour had elapsed. I headed back to the parking lot to keep watch over the car, realizing that someone could take my bike right off the back of my car if I didn't. A police SUV rolled up with a very nice young officer who had decided to make sure Phoebe made it back. Thank you so much, Harrisville Police Dept! He hung out with me until that blessed moment when her silhouette topped an overpass on the bike trail. I could see her, etched in black against the modestly lit Ellenboro skyline. I whooped in joy!

Here, she describes the ride. We thought she'd only have to ride through one tunnel. Nope. The gazebo where I'd left my pack was at the far end of the longest tunnel. In the end, she had to ride the two longest ones, including the freaky long one--and she had to do them both twice, in a ten-mile round trip! As she was describing the ordeal for me and the officer, her phone winked out, its job finally done. Had that happened on the trail, she'd have been forced to walk her bike, as she couldn't see her hand in front of her face. Imagine navigating the tunnels then.

This screenshot puts it all into perspective. At the right end is the parking lot in Ellenboro. At the left end is Cairo. The point in the middle is where Phoebe had to get my pack. So she rode 26 miles, 10 of them in the dark. This is not the first time, and won't be the last, that my kids humble, thrill and amaze me. More and more, they do things I know I couldn't.

We got home around 11:30 pm. I ran a hot Epsom bath for Phoebe; her hands were aching from holding the handlebars and the phone/flashlight so tightly. Well, her whole body was aching. She got her core temperature so high in the bath she couldn't go to sleep. Which is probably OK, for what was about to happen. Our night was about to get even weirder. I had fought myself to sleep around 12:30, and she was just turning off her light at 2:25 AM, when someone pounded hard on our front door. Silence. Then pounded again, nine times. Terrified, we both arrived at the front door together to find a police officer on the porch. You never, ever want to see that. He said he'd had a 911 hangup that traced to our address, for  William Thompson. Phoebe and I both gasped--had something happened to Liam? I thought fast. "What number did it come from?" 

The number he named had been Bill's old cellphone number. It wasn't Liam's. Phoebe called Liam just to make sure; he was fine (still up!) and as mystified as we were. We could only assume Bill's number had been reassigned by now, and whoever has it had made the call...but why does it still trace to our address?  Needless to say, neither of us slept much after that, much as we needed to. 

Well, Phoebe, you wanted an adventure. Be careful what you wish for!

I could not be prouder of you, my lion-hearted girl. I want you on my team come the Zombie Apocalypse!

 

All the Beautiful Creatures

Floating around North Bend, taking in the sights. Imagine having been born and raised on a chunk of basalt in the middle of the Atlantic. What you know is the sea, the forest in the highlands; how to pick up and carry a lost shearwater back to the ocean--these are just some of the things Oscar knows. And here he is, plunked down in the middle of a large freshwater lake in Ohio, with all the wildlife that goes with that--turtles and dragonflies and deer and woodpeckers (what are those?!) and herons and hawks. Oscar got very excited when he spotted a juvenile redtail, keening for its parents.

Aguila! Well, not quite. But pretty impressive, if a bit whiney.

A northern water snake made its leisurely way along the shore. There's a glint in the eye of those snakes that tells you not to mess with them. You do, they'll come after ya. Got a vengeful streak.

A green heron, looking like a Balinesian god, teed up on a stump.

 

I thought back to the July day in 2014 I had an audience with a little family at North Bend. Oh, what a day that was. Here's a freshly fledged babe peeking out at me, all toes and curiosity.

Today would be more for people shots.

The eastern pondhawk posed nicely.

As did the eastern amberwing. Halloween pennants are common here as well, but I didn't catch one on this trip.

 There isn't much that's fast enough to grab a dragonfly, but flycatchers like the eastern kingbird specialize in it.

 

I was thrilled to see this kingbird return with one for her orange-mawed babies.

 Kind of a scratchy crackly mouthful, I'd wager, but the nestling was up for it. Mmmrf!

After lunch, she settled down to shade her panting children from the midday sun. Thanks, Mama.

 Eastern kingbirds are so tuff they sometimes build their nests right out in the open, as here, relying on their watchful ferocity to protect their young from any aerial predator that might try something. Tyrannus tyrannus is well named. A kingbird will ride a crow or hawk, punching holes in it, for just crossing the airspace near their nest.

A tangle of monofilament provided inspiration and perhaps a base for these kingbirds to place their low-hanging nest. It was at eye level for me in a kayak!

 Like it or not, he's there, and he's going to make it work. (You can tell he's a male by the white, not grayish, chest. Both male and female incubate).

Go ahead. Take my picture. 

 

 

We drifted past whitetails just resting and feeding. The deer at North Bend have an understanding with boaters, and can be freely observed from cars, as well. It's really nice to be able to see them unconcerned and behaving as they would were you not watching.

I hate to use a tired word like "magical" on this, one of my spirit places, but it is. There's always something special going on on its waters, in the skyspace, or in the surrounding forest. North Bend heals me. 

And the little town of Harrisville is such a treat. Here's a tiny cottage with a Gothic touch. I so wished I could go inside and see if the kitchen was as unchanged as the exterior!

We looked for the post office, a nice early 60's box of metal, brick and glass (probably mint green inside, too)

and found the courthouse, quite a fancy one. We were tourists in this quiet little town.

We got noseprints all over the glass at Berdine's Five and Dime. It's chock-full of little stuff you can't find anywhere else. How we wished we'd come by when it was open.

But the greater treasure was up in the porch eave as Shila indicates in this photo. Musta been Sadie Hawkins day, because here's a male mourning dove tending a nest.  I suspect this to be a robin nest that the doves took over, to which they added some flimsy plant material. Wise move, doves. It's not a typical mourning dove location, but they're flexible birds.

Pretty sweet, to see him there with us just below, and the old sign and some forgotten Christmas lights hanging.  

It had been a beautiful day. We'd shown Oscar some of the best of West Virginia, thanks to North Bend Outfitters and lovely little Harrisville. It had been a stress-free getaway into quiet waters.

 Dinner in Marietta (House of Wines, outdoors, of course!) capped a perfect day. Here's to good days, and love, and breathtaking beauty in the ordinary. You just have to watch for those moments.

Phoebe is 23!

When Phoebe was a wee little thing, we had a game. She pretended she was a princess who could get anything she wished for from her subservient Queen Mother. “Oh, my darling little princess, what is it your heart desires today?”

“I would like the moon, Mother.”

“Then I will build a giant ladder and take a lasso and get you the moon. I’m not sure where we will keep it, but you shall have it. What else do you desire?”

“I would like a pet giraffe.”

“That will be no problem. I will have to get a sailing ship large enough to accommodate one, but you shall have it, my darling! I wonder what they eat? And if you can bridle train them? But never mind. You want a giraffe, you shall have one!”

And on it went. It was a good parody of real life, in which most of the things she wanted stayed right there in the realm of things she wanted. But she was well fed and clothed and, along with her little blonde brother, certainly well-loved, and neither of them spent much time complaining about what they couldn’t have.

Now she’s 23, home for a few weeks, and she lost her dad on March 25, and the only thing she really wanted for her birthday I couldn’t give her. Still, we had a great time shopping and eating our way across Columbus on July 10, the day before, meeting our sweet friend Alex for tacos, and staggering home around 1 AM.

Phoebe's actual birthday was the 11th. I got up early and started cleaning and straightening; wrapping all the gifts; making a special dinner of pad Thai (because nothing says “I love you!” like a labor-intensive, incredibly messy meal); baking a layer cake strewn with fresh flowers; hastily writing some birthday cards. I did everything I could to make it nice, but there was no getting around it. Milestones take on a whole new meaning when you've lost someone so dear. I gave her lots of stuff, but all the pretty clothes only seemed to underscore who was missing, and that felt enormous to us all. No matter what anyone did, Phoebe's actual birthday was rough and sad and teary. And that’s just how it is. No jollying that away. 

It rained much of the day, but there was a rosy sunset. 

Curtis wants some cake. He and Liam are the best Dr. Feelgoods we could have. 

She already knew what was in 'em, because she'd picked it all out, but I wrapped 'em anyway, over her protests. It's our tradition.

With all that going on, I never got the chance to write my traditional birthday blog, because living in the moment is all we can do lately. This year, I broke a streak of writing joyful birthday blogs for everyone in my family that started in 2006. They never felt obligatory before now. Life just got too big and overwhelming, and it needs to be faced and lived, not written about. Beautiful things happen every day, and I take photos and store them away, for what I don't know. For remembrance, I guess. 

But I still want to write a present for Phoebe, so I will lasso the moon and recreate our best day, June 29, for her and her novio, Oscar from La Gomera. This was his second trip to the U.S. His first was in late March, especially to meet Bill, and outside of his birthday music party, nothing thrilled Bill more than meeting Oscar. On this latest trip, Oscar could only stay two weeks, so we piled up things we wanted to show him. We waited for a sunny day with big puffy clouds and took off for North Bend. Puffy clouds are required for any North Bend canoe trip. I got up, saw them, and set about rolling everybody out of bed. "We're going canoeing today. This is IT."

My friends Doug and Andy of North Bend Outfitters in Harrisville, WV, have done the most amazing job turning what could be a simple canoe livery into a total outdoor experience.  They've got a lovely breezy barn/office right by the lakeshore, and they've built a gorgeous deck around two young sycamore trees. Young sycamore trees don't stay small long, and they've had to cut the deck holes larger a couple of times already.  And they've made this outdoor living room with sycamores for a ceiling, a place I could be happy hanging out all day, if there weren't a whole beautiful lake to get out and explore. You can rent canoes, kayaks, and even a pontoon boat. Their terms are fair and the service can't be beat. Nicest guys you'd ever want to meet. For the best ever canoe adventure, call 304-299-1768. Tell them Julie sent you!

Jessica is the new Assistant Editor at Bird Watcher's Digest. She's been a dear family friend for years. On this morning, she had wanted to come to the house to visit Bill's grave. That would be fine, I said, but I had other plans for Jess. I surprised her with an invitation to one of her favorite spots, doing her favorite thing: paddling around looking at birds, dragonflies, trees and flowers. (She's taking a picture of me, taking a picture of her).

 Wanna know what a happy woman looks like? Like this:

Oscar knows his way around the water; he's a lifeguard and water sports instructor on La Gomera, Canarias. Born and bred on the island, you've got to believe that Harrisville, WV is a long, long way from home. But with his sharp eyes and high situational awareness, Oscar was completely at home at North Bend. 

And Phoebe was at home with Oscar.

I had a hard time getting many photos of the lake's famous red-headed woodpeckers. There was too much other scenery to take in and meticulously document. And I'm the gal for the job. 

We forged on through the puffy white cloudscape, seeking spots of shade, as it was hot! But that only makes the shade feel better. Shila's hoisting her Yeti thermos. No adventure is complete without Shila. Each one of us brought a two-quart thermos and drained it.

It was a disorganized, happy flotilla, each of us following our own butterfly, coalescing to share, then drifting apart.

 

Out of the corner of my eye, I caught Oscar paddling hard to build momentum.

 

 I only realized what he was doing as he began to pass through two closely placed snags.

Nary a scrape on the sides!

 Pretty slick!

 I think my best find of the day was a little family of FLYING SQUEEEE-RILS peeking out of their nest hole!

First there was one:

 

and then there were TWO

 

and there was some hole switching going on with a fast skedaddle (fairydiddles specialize in quickskitters)

It was all just too cute for words. What a gift to see these night sprites in broad daylight! They looked like juveniles to me.

We found a 5-6' long snakeskin, likely that of a black rat, neatly shed in one piece in an old snag. The interesting thing about this is that the snake would have had to swim to get there. It kind of shook up my notion of the snags, surrounded by water, as super-safe nesting places for all kinds of cavity nesting birds: red-headed woodpeckers, great crested flycatchers, tree swallows, eastern bluebirds, flickers, red-bellied woodpeckers--and the eastern kingbirds that also nest on snags. Ack. Those black rat snakes will do about anything to get to a nest.

 

 Right next to the squirrel condo, Phoebe and Oscar discovered a Midland map turtle in a peculiar place. He was a good 6' above the water's surface, high and dry on a snag!

We paddled around for three more hours, and when we came back he was still there! He had to have climbed laboriously up this long snag (pictured below) to get there. I wasn't concerned. When I was a kid, I'd had a Mississippi map turtle as a pet, and that little thing was an expert climber and smart as a whip. But Phoebe decided he must be stuck or high-centered, and she determined to help. I was already chuckling as she planned her climb to aid the turtle. No stopping her when she's decided a critter needs her help. Wonder where she gets that?

When her kayak drew near enough to make him nervous, that turtle spun like a disco turntable and skittered back down the log like a flat squirrel, his feet scrabbling madly on the bark.  Then he dove headfirst into the water from about three feet up, totally soaking Phoebe with the splash!  Obviously, I failed to get a photo, but I sure wish I'd been shooting video. It was heee-larious! Little soldier knows where he's going.

 We laughed for about ten minutes.

 

If there's anything better than being out in nature with kids and friends, I don't know what it is. 

 

Remember this day, sweet blue-eyed girl. It was yours, and there will be many more.

Mint chocolate cookie by my sweet Martha. They went on a three hour cruise and never returned.