Monthly Archives: February 2023

Feb8

The joys of simplicity – Winter break, 2022 into 2023

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Friday, 23-Dec-2022 through Monday, 02-Jan-2023


I reflect on quiet time, as I’m relaxing on my balcony and keeping my hands busy with the simple act of shining my dress shoes while “writing” this post in my head.

Life is… insane, these days. Always dialed up to the 11, and always 5min later than I’d like to be. I don’t know if that’s me, my age, or the world as a whole… though, to be frank, it really feels like the world as a whole. The 24-hour new cycle, the constant stream of short clips of information being beamed into my eyes by Reddit and Youtube and Instagram… My phone and computer constantly clamoring for attention.


I’m going to do better about ignoring them, I’ve decided.

My phone went on “Do Not Disturb” on Christmas day, and hasn’t intentionally left that state since, as of when I’m finalizing this post on 02-Feb. I’ve set up exceptions for various people at various times, and accidentally turned it off for 20min one Tuesday morning, but overarchingly my life’s been far quieter than it was in 2022. The clamor is lowered, the buzzing and beeping far less constant.


I’m focusing on the simple. Small actions that help ground me, center me, and let time flow a little bit more slowly.

Shining shoes, pruning plants, lifting weights and reading books by the fire. Slow sips of interesting whiskey, and quiet evenings plucking strings on my guitar… however discordant those notes may be.



We’ll see how long it lasts into the year. But for now… I’ll appreciate the quiet for as long as I can have it.



I don’t have any photos to include of quiet time, since… well, obviously. Instead, enjoy two very similar views, with subtle-but-critical differences in composition. Relax, appreciate each for its own strengths… and maybe you too, dear reader, can enjoy some similar quiet.



Feb7

Taking a walk by the water

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Indian Head Beach, 25-Dec-2022


Man… It’s been ages since I’ve gone hiking around the coast. I think I avoid the ocean during the summer, thanks to the crowds, and so find myself out in the rain and fog of the winter more often than not. It’s nice – For one reason or another, I tend to associate the ocean with where I grew up…

New England doesn’t have white-sand beaches, or the gentle surf of the Gulf. The ocean in Massachusetts is harsh, and my vision of the sea is more anchored (hah!) in the vision of a salty fishing captain, with their yellow jacket and big wooden toggles, fighting to haul a lobster trap in through the lashing rain.

Today fit that vision nicely.




It was cold, it was rainy, and it was frustrating. My phone was exploding with end-of-year sales emails, well-wishing texts, and dating apps reminding me that I should be spending more time on them… ideally with a paid subscription don’t-you-know.


I quickly settled on my gift to myself. A gift, I’ll point out, that I’ve extended through to 2023… the gift of silence.

My phone set to do not disturb, I forged through the rain and fog and onto the trails.



Indian Head is beautiful – the trail winding through the thick forest of tall trees, finding itself on various beautiful overlooks gazing out over the Pacific ocean and the harsh shoreline below. I walked, I gazed, and I enjoyed the rain spray on my face and ocean smells in my nose.

The trail forged inland, and I followed to a small campsite with neat (and slightly ominous) cabins. The trail forged toward the shore, and I followed to a beautiful overlook where I relaxed and watched the waves smash into the rocks far below.

I turned around, and explored the beach near the parking lot. The light faded, the sky got dark, and I drove home.

It. Was. Lovely.


Indian Head is beautiful – the trail winding through the thick forest of tall trees, finding itself on various beautiful overlooks gazing out over the Pacific ocean and the harsh shoreline below. I walked, I gazed, and I enjoyed the rain spray on my face and ocean smells in my nose.

The trail forged inland, and I followed to a small campsite with neat (and slightly ominous) cabins. The trail forged toward the shore, and I followed to a beautiful overlook where I relaxed and watched the waves smash into the rocks far below.

I turned around, and explored the beach near the parking lot. The light faded, the sky got dark, and I drove home.

It. Was. Lovely.

Feb6

Hiking up to Elk Meadows, and a light dinner at Timberline

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Saturday, 17-Dec-2022



Elk Meadows and I are best friends.

We see each other a few times a year, we catch up, and we appreciate each others quiet company. We take a few hours to reconnect, and I head back to my world and Elk Meadows resumes its quiet contentment on the side of a beautiful mountain. The rivers run, the snow deepens, and everything is right.


I don’t often camp out at Elk Meadows in the winter – I’d love to, don’t get me wrong, but unfortunately the trailhead is snowed in this time of year, and the only parking area nearby is day-use only… and it’s well frequented enough that I worry about getting towed instead of just ticketed. Day trips are the name of the game in the winter.

Which is a bit of a bummer… but it means that I don’t stay overnight, and drive home… which also means that I can get dinners on the drive back. At… ohh, say the Timberline Lodge, as a specific example relevant to tonight’s story.



I… uhh…

I hiked Elk Meadows. And then had dinner at the Timberline Lodge.

That’s basically it. The rest, as they say, are just details.

One interesting detail, though… I ran into a guy backpacking! Right on the river… definitely an interesting spot, but it was neat to run into someone else snow camping. Not something I see particularly often, which made it a bit memorable.