Getting outside first thing in the morning has been my routine for years. Every morning, usually before anyone else in the house is up, I’ve slipped out the front door, rain or shine or snow, slush, wind, cold.
As poet-artist Brian Andreas captured so well: “I’ve always liked the time before dawn because there’s no one around to remind me who I’m supposed to be, so it’s easier to remember who I am.”
For the past few months, Patrick’s been exploring trails farther afield and organizing weekend hikes for our local family. Nearly every Sunday, at least two and as many as eight of us will don our various layers and boots, meet at a trail head or parking lot, pull up our masks, and set off — and up!
Last weekend, we spent a few hours at a rambling, rocky conservation area just north of Boston.
Our trail was clearly marked with white blazes, but that didn’t prevent us from circling back multiple times when we discovered that there were several options all of which had white blazes.
Fortunately everyone took the adventure in stride. The bright and mild-for-January weather helped — as did the occasional panoramic view from a rocky outcrop.
Back home, I cast on the second fingerless mitt that I’m whipping up for a chilly-fingered relative. You’d be excused for thinking I was making yet another pair of socks. The ribbing on the wrist of a mitt (or mitten) is essentially the same as the cuff of a sock.
Of course, I’ve got one of those in the works, too. After all, I am a creature of habit.