read DAVID’S thoughts this FLAWED WEDNESDAY
the picnic ©️ 2019 kerri sherwood
Tag Archives: hiking
spring stripes. [two artists tuesday]
you have to admit – the first set of stripes is way more interesting than the second. the first set. in the woods. the color combinations. all alive with hue and subtlety. the second set. static. no air. no depth. no variance.
this weekend, on a warm-day hike along the expanding des plaines river, the colors were spectacular. the blue-purple of the water late in the afternoon. the fresh-baby-grass-green of the small island across the river. sky blue, white clouds, golden sunlight. it wasn’t capture-able on film. you just had to stand there and breathe it in. stripes, patterns, shadows, delicate light, elusive dark.
by hiking often on the same trails, we can see the minor changes along the way. we take note of them, commenting on a felled tree or more water in a pond or a new nest high in some branches. there’s more mud, there are goslings, the daffodils are in full bloom, the groundcover is rich. the earth coming back out of fallow. winter’s rest is over; spring’s explosion has arrived.
for us, these winter-spring-summer-fall hikes are necessary. they allow us to see, outside of ourselves; they allow us to process good earth growth and change and color. for us, these hikes are like a security blanket. they soothe worries, sort problems, wrap gently around us.
read DAVID’s thoughts this TWO ARTISTS TUESDAY
toward it. [not-so-flawed wednesday]
“the weakest link,” i said, referring to myself as we spoke about the possibility of going snowshoeing. i had never snowshoed before, but i was excited to try it. we were planning on renting some snowshoes at a nature center and then snowshoeing through the woods. but, in the typical manner of someone who has never tried something before, i was a little nervous about keeping up. i’ve skied before – both downhill and cross-country – and i know it takes some concentrated ability to do it even partially well. hence, the nerves about snowshoeing. (do i need to take lessons? is there a trick to this? are there things i need to know about balance and leaning in and switching leads and and and?)
our best friends and david told me it was “like walking”. i seriously doubted that. i just knew that i would somehow be trailing behind, poles and snowshoes stuck in drifts, head over heels in the snow (literally).
but it didn’t turn out that way. i worked at having a you-don’t-have-to-be-instantly-good-at-this-relax-kerri attitude all the way there. i worried all the way there. did i have the right boots on? should i have worn a different jacket? what kind of gloves would be best? i complicated something that is actually not complicated. but, even in the middle of my snowshoe-agonizing, i kept walking toward it.
and, ohmygosh, it was fabulous. when i wrote to The Girl afterward, she referred to it as “your new fave winter activity”. it is totally ranking up there, high on the list. what better way to hike a few miles through snowy woods? the trails were quiet, save for the punctuation of our laughter and the stops where we had lengthy conversations and brad built a snowman. it was a brilliant day.
so many times we hesitate…we worry…we think we should already know how to do something or be instantly good at it…we resist trying something new….
i just want to say this: walk toward it. it could be an experience filled with quiet and laughter, stretching of muscles intellectual or physical, simple beauty and fresh air in your lungs literal or figurative, and an i-can-do-this illumination.
read DAVID’S thoughts on this NOT-SO-FLAWED WEDNESDAY
snowshoes ©️ 2019 kerri sherwood & david robinson
spider sisu. [two artists tuesday]
whoa….we saw one on the des plaines river trail and stopped short. it looked like candy on the path, but on closer examination, we discovered it was a spider! an orange spider. it’s called a marbled orb-weaver. and it’s pretty intense. and, i suppose if you are not spider-phobic like me, it’s beautiful.
later that month, we were hiking at bristol woods, one of our favorite go-to places to hold staff meetings as we walk together. out of the corner of my eye i caught the glimpse of bright movement in the air…sure enough, it was one of those marbled orb-weavers (doesn’t that just slip off your tongue? lol!) it was dangling on a web-strand that was at least 5 stories high! whattheheck! this roly-poly little spider was bravely trying to reach a white mass that was a bit flattened (an egg cocoon with several hundred eggs, we read later) while being tossed about in the wind, up and down, sideways.
i could practically hear this spider whisper to itself, “gotta have sisu, gotta have sisu” as it climbed, bobbing, bobbing, up its long, high-above-the-ground web, finally reaching its cocoon and wrapping it close into its body.
wow. what we do for our babies, eh? amazing stuff. the stuff of sisu.
read DAVID’S thoughts on SPIDER SISU
SPIDER SISU ©️ 2018 kerri sherwood & david robinson
amplified quiet. [two artists tuesday]
having avoided the inevitable summer onslaught of mosquitoes in these woods, we recently went back to one of our favorite local hiking spots. bristol woods – with the pringle nature preserve – is an easy decision for us, at any time of day that we can step away. it is off the beaten path and serene and two loops through the trails give us about a five mile hike, a perfect revitalizing. we adore this place and the priceless quiet it affords us.
walking the trails recently, we came upon a wooden structure that invited me to go to the narrow end and speak into the woods…seemingly a megaphone, but a size we hadn’t seen before. it’s a nature megaphone. it draws in the sounds from around it and, as you sit inside, with the sun on your face, surrounds you with nature, amplified a bit closer and more personal. this one needs to be turned around into the woods, as there is a busy road in the distance and it pulls in those sounds as well, but that’s a mere detail. i love the concept. a little googling shows that there are nature megaphones of great size in estonia, placed there for the healing power of the sounds of the outdoors, the quiet. ahhh.
the other thing we notice as we walk are the red and green ribbons encircling trees, the little red flags planted in the dirt. fearing what we had read earlier in the summer, we asked the naturalist what these ribbons and flags were for. she verified our fears, telling us that they were markers for the new aerial ropes course that the county has decided to move forward. the article states that there are no high ropes courses in the area; a very quick google search shows one in lake geneva and three (!) in east troy. but money talks (is this shocking?) and the county will share in the gross revenue. 
and the quiet of this small county park, the well-being of the wildlife in the woods, the educational value of a pristine teaching environment untouched by commercialism will all cease to exist. is “teaching confidence” and “learning about yourself” not found in the quiet woods? is a “family-oriented, wholesome” experience no longer a hike together? what exactly does “putting people in touch with nature” mean?
while i don’t question the opportunity for learning that a high ropes course might afford children and adults on all different levels, i do question the sacrifice of an active nature facility and its woods for this purpose. an official associated with the county is quoted as saying, “(bristol woods) is not going to be significantly impacted.” hmmm. i disagree. during the construction of and upon the completion of the high ropes course, what sounds will be amplified in their beautiful new nature megaphone?
read DAVID’S post on this TWO ARTISTS TUESDAY
trees and angels. [merely a thought monday]
“how was your week?” jonathan asked. we rolled our eyes. he was unpacking his bass while i uncovered the piano and d adjusted the mic stands. he said, “tell me about it. you guys always have great stories!” eh. great stories. more like mini soap operas, you might think schadenfreude applies here (where he might derive some pleasure from our angst) but on the total other side of the spectrum, we have agreed that jonathan is an angel. i wonder if, as he drives away in his subaru outback, he turns the corner and POOF! he disappears.
“it’s ok,” he says. “trees must split their bark to grow. there is pain.”
i can’t remember ever truly thinking about this. but…i immediately pictured a beautiful sapling, our own “breck”. a baby aspen we brought back from colorado, we have been nurturing it for over a year now, watching it carefully -and proudly, like parents- through the seasons. the smooth bark on its adolescent trunk glows in the sunlight and we worry as we see this summer take its toll on the young tree’s leaves. we notice little scions near its base, our aspen sending out roots to perpetuate itself.
i think of all the walks in the woods, the trails in the forest, the old trees in our yard and neighborhood and i can picture the rough bark, the puzzle pieces up and down the trunk of each tree. somewhere along time, these trees, too, had smooth skins. and then, in growing, the cambium layer’s cells, just under the bark, divided and grew, adding girth to the tree’s diameter in the process. the outer bark continued to protect this inner layer of growth. the job of that outer bark is forefront, keeping the inner tree healthy, as it experiences pain from the environment. and the tree grows.
the bark. the cambium. the heart of growth. and angels.
thank you for the perspective-arranging, jonathan. again.
read DAVID’S thoughts on this MERELY-A-THOUGHT MONDAY
sunrise. sunset. [d.r. thursday]
we often walk at the end of the work day. we go inland to a lake trail and walk a couple times around the lake, somewhere around 6 miles or so in total. we mostly hike around the lake clockwise, which means that we are watching the sun come down across the lake at the beginning of our walk, a time when we are still processing the day and haven’t yet gotten immersed in the trail. sometimes we are so engrossed in talking or thinking-silence that we have to remind the other to appreciate…”look at that sunset,” one of us will say.
sometimes we will get up early and, with our coffee mugs, go sit on the rocks and watch the sun come up over lake michigan. every time we are witnesses to the beginning of a new day this way i think we should do that more often.
sunrise. sunset. it makes me think of the song from the musical fiddler on the roof. it’s truly a beautiful song, simple, sung with great heart. the passing of time. so fast. wendy wrote to say it was time to bring logan back to college – for his second year. i could so so feel how that felt, remembering times i had brought My Girl or My Boy back to college.
“Is this the little girl I carried?
Is this the little boy at play?
I don’t remember growing older
When, did, they?
When did she get to be a beauty?
When did he grow to be so tall?
Wasn’t it yesterday when they, were, small?
Is this the little boy at play?
I don’t remember growing older
When, did, they?
When did she get to be a beauty?
When did he grow to be so tall?
Wasn’t it yesterday when they, were, small?
Sunrise, sunset, Sunrise, sunset
Swiftly flow the days
Seedlings turn overnight to sunflowers
Blossoming even as we gaze
Sunrise, sunset, Sunrise, sunset
Swiftly fly the years
One season following another
Laden with happiness and tears.”
Swiftly flow the days
Seedlings turn overnight to sunflowers
Blossoming even as we gaze
Sunrise, sunset, Sunrise, sunset
Swiftly fly the years
One season following another
Laden with happiness and tears.”
(Sunrise, Sunset – by S. Harnick, J. Bock)
life somehow fits in between these sunrises and sunsets. and somehow, some days, we just seem to miss it. too many things to do, to worry about, to perseverate over, to check off lists. every time i vow to honor the sunrise and exhale with the sunset, somewhere in between i realize i forgot. i’ll try again tomorrow.
SUNRISE. SUNSET. a morsel from the painting A DAY AT THE BEACH
A DAY AT THE BEACH, 38″ x 52″
read DAVID’S thoughts on today’s D.R. THURSDAY
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sunrise. sunset./a day at the beach ©️ 2018/2017 david robinson, kerri sherwood
which way? [two artists tuesday]
the moment i saw this trailmarker it made me laugh. i was feeling exactlyyy this way, so this lightened my mood. (yes, yes, i understand that the marker made sense, but if you flatten it out (as opposed to three-dimensional) it is admittedly funny and a little confusing.)
middle age (ohmygosh, yes, middle age) seems like a time of arrows every which way. where we’ve been, where we are, where we are going…these questions are all different now…different from the striding times even a decade ago. time is starting to mean something else; i recognize the scarcity of time-limitlessness.
i lost one of my very best friends from elementary school, junior high and high school last week. kenny was brilliant and funny and courageous and a really good person. together with his twin richard and i, we were often thought of as “triplets” in school, mostly because we were all platinum blond kids growing up. i haven’t seen kenny for many years. the last time i can remember was having coffee with him at the atlanta airport; he was an airline captain and based there so we met when i flew through with a tad bit of a layover. he was thrilled to catch me up about his beautiful wife and son and he joked about how long it took him to find her. even though i saw him rarely, there was something about knowing he was in the world that was comforting…a piece of my long-ago-past that i could still talk to or text with, maybe see from time to time, who knew me when i was little, when i was a preteen, when i was a teenager, when i loved calculus. i tried to explain this to d…when certain people who connect me way back to my roots are no longer present on this earth, it is as if i can feel the earth tilt on its axis; it wobbles. and nothing will ever be the same. i can’t get to ken’s service, but i hope to carry with me – always – a piece of kenny and our growing-up history. i hope to honor him somehow.
and the next time i wonder “which way” in angst, i hope to stand still, right where i am. time is not unlimited. i don’t want to waste it.
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TWO ARTISTS TUESDAY – ON OUR SITE
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which way products ©️ 2018 kerri sherwood & david robinson
put on your rubber boots [chicken marsala monday]
chicken marsala mugs, cards, tote bags, cases
right now my favorite boots are my timberland brown and black boots. they are hiking boots and they are always sitting at the back door….poised and ready. in between work(s), we will throw them on and drive off somewhere for a hike; our go-to adventures usually include a hike somewhere. at the moment, these boots are full of mud because the woods around these parts are completely muddy and squishy and on the verge of gleefully welcoming spring. but we don’t let that stop us.
beach towels, throw pillows, bath accessories
now it’s not too out-of-the-ordinary for us as we often have gotten caught in weather, but we chose to be in the woods in the rain last week and ohhh what a gift – the smell of rain dampening the earth was exquisite. looking back, it is one of my favorite moments in the woods and i’m glad to have not missed it.
today we are sitting in lake geneva drinking starbucks coffee and writing, a fire going just beyond our feet perched on the hearth. i think of the day we were out here having a glass of wine at an outdoor cafe. it began to drizzle and we got ready to go, but not sooner than the skies let loose. it poured down buckets of rain and we laughed and splashed through the puddles, playing in the water, nonplussed* by the torrents around us.
leggings
spring is around the corner. grab your rubber boots or your hiking boots or just be barefoot and go splash in those puddles. don’t let a chance to play pass you by.
CHICKEN MARSALA MONDAY – ON OUR SITE
read DAVID’S thoughts on RUBBER BOOTS AND PUDDLES
*(so i just looked up ‘nonplussed’ to make sure i was using it correctly and was surprised to see two opposite definitions of it. the one i meant was ‘unperturbed’ but that was the second definition; the first definition was surprised and confused. words are funny, aren’t they?)
PUT ON YOUR RUBBER BOOTS ©️ 2016 david robinson & kerri sherwood
the mountains are calling.
there is a spot when you are driving to colorado that – all of a sudden – the mountains come into view. they are far away, on the horizon, but their presence hits me to the core. every single time i catch my breath. every single time i get tears in my eyes. every single time i anticipate the air i feel there, the space, the vastness, the greatness, the majesty of those ever-present giants.
we come over the rise of the pass and i instantly weep. there in front of us are these incredible soaring heights of rock, dotted with gorgeous green pine trees, verdant aspens. every single time i catch my breath. every single time i weep. every single time i anticipate the air i feel there, the space, the vastness, the greatness, the majesty of those ever-present giants.
we sit in adirondack chairs in the snow, midway up a-basin, soaking in the sun, eating bar
becue, listening to a band. in front of us, hundreds of spring skiers and boarders go past us – we virtually have front row seats. we watch the girl approach from the heights of the ski mountain…she gets closer, closer. her ability on that snowboard astounds us. she is one with it; her passion for the snow obvious in her huge laughter as she stops abruptly in front of us, deliberately and generously spraying us with snow and slush. 
i catch my breath as i look at my beautiful daughter, the mountains behind her, intense sun. i laugh, all the way from my heart, as i celebrate with her. this air, this space, this vastness, this greatness, this majesty.
one of our hikes was about 6 miles, half of that all uphill. not uphill like the little hill that used to be at the end of the road i grew up on, where you could not pedal all the way down and the momentum would take you all the way around the corner and beyond. no, this uphill is serious. i’m not sure of the elevation gain, but, after the hike, i would swear it paralleled everest. …ok, maybe not so much… regardless, it was uphill in snow. snow! we were hiking well into june and there was snow on this trail. lots of it. 
the air was clear and crisp. the sun dappled through the trees. (haven’t you always wanted to write that? “dappled through the trees.”) when you are on the mountain hiking, you aren’t as aware of the mountain, if that makes sense. (i remember one time out in the colorado mountains when i was heading to a concert venue and they gave me directions through high elevation plains. i drove along, wondering where the mountains had gone. when you are up on them, you don’t see them. so much like life, eh?) but when you are hiking and you come up to a clearing 
and there is a break in the trees and you can see beyond where you are standing, beyond the trail, beyond limitations, you can see that the mountains out there go on and on and on. we came upon such a clearing and i caught my breath. i didn’t want to turn around. i wanted to keep going and going. to see more of this space, this vastness, this great majesty.
we were driving down the mountain and came upon a lookout with a trailhead. stopping to get out and stretch our legs on the trail we took a few pictures. (this is a never-ending thing…there is an incredible photograph every other second. you have to be careful to not get lost behind the camera – sometimes you miss the moment that way.) the photographs looked not “real” – the beauty so …….what word is bigger than astounding? i stand and look out in amazement. tears of gratitude and joy and sheer life make me catch my breath. once again, that air, that space, that vastness, that greatness, the majesty. all right there.
it’s funny how when i write about these mountains, this place, i can’t seem to stay in the same tense. if she reads this, andrea will shake her head and wonder if i remember anything she taught me about writing back in high school. but there is something that dominates my need for tense-correctness in this writing. it’s the holding-on-feeling-it-still-ness of these moments. it confuses the tense use, but helps me – viscerally – like goose bumps on my skin – remember. so i will forgo correctness for anything to burn these golden moments – like a kiln with raku pottery – into my memory bank, open to draw upon any time i need to.
i cry a lot in the mountains. it’s always good. it’s Divine Intervention reminding me to breathe, touch, taste, see, feel each and every moment. they are vast and great and majestic. every one is our own mountain. and yes, they are calling.
reverse threading 