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Tag Archives: hiking


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timed well. [kerri’s blog on not-so-flawed wednesday]

because we really needed to, we went for a hike that day. we went to the trail where we have processed much life. because this was a day in which we needed just that – a place to process.

the first snake we encountered was motionless, but in the dirt of the path. we gently lifted it and placed it in the trailside vegetation, out of harm’s way. the second and third snakes were also in the middle of the trail and we moved them as well, for there were several bikers zooming their way around and we were worried these snakes wouldn’t be visible in time.

and then there was the praying mantis. there it was, just waiting for us as we rounded the bend. it allowed me to get up-close, taking several pictures of it – its forelegs folded as it watched for prey. it looked at over at me and i talked to it, a tiny bit envious of its ability to remain zen-like in such an uncertain moment.

repositioning the praying mantis would have been much more difficult than the snakes, so we didn’t move it and we hoped that it would nimbly move on – with its impossibly delicate, needle-thin legs – across the trail in its quest for food.

we looked for our mantis the second time around our looped trail but it had disappeared. it left us with its memory – a rare sight for us – and with affirmation, symbolic meanings that were, indeed, timed well.

for praying mantis encounters symbolize things like good luck and stillness, spiritual guidance and courage and strength. we read that it also can be indicative of divine protection, a messenger.

praying mantises are masters of disguise – blending in. they are still and patient; their camouflage in nature – looking like twigs or grass – helps them find prey. this graceful green creature – showing up to us on the anniversary of the day of d’s dad’s passing – seemed serendipitous.

to be mindful and still, patient and strong and courageous…in the middle of uncertainty…all the messages we needed on that very day.

“i go to nature to be soothed and healed, and to have my senses put in order.” (john burroughs)

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this NOT-SO-FLAWED WEDNESDAY

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the L box. [kerri’s blog on d.r. thursday]

mama dear repurposed gramps’ old wooden cigar boxes. she’d label them with a magic marker with a big Z or a big B on the front – which stood for zippers and buttons.

i have these old cigar boxes. The Z box now stores nespresso pods in our sunroom. the B box stores harmonicas, kazoos, egg shakers in my studio. the unlabeled corona cigar box is in the office and is loaded with business cards from days when my recording label was flourishing.

the zippers from the Z box are in with my sewing supplies.

and the buttons from the B box? there is a giant collection of buttons. tiny buttons, metal buttons, plastic buttons, wooden buttons, buttons with distinction, whimsical buttons, spare buttons in those tiny plastic bags along with a bit of matching colored thread – that used to come with every blazer, every shirt, every coat.

it is a direct connect to pass by these button-flowers – these fading daisies in the meadow – and think of mama dear, my grandmother, my sweet momma’s mom. she is the person who taught me how to sew and i simply cannot so much as thread a needle without thinking of her.

i found a letter from mama dear the other day. it was from early 1980. i was 20. in it she thanked me for a christmas gift i had given her and a card i had sent from a trip to visit my parents. no one knew at the time it would be her last holiday season. born in 1899, she was a feisty almost-81 with bright red hair and a penchant for gambling slot machines in vegas. in her letter she wrote, “i hope you are happy with your choice” referring to my staying in new york instead of going to florida with my parents as they retired.

at the time it wasn’t really a difficult choice. i was at the beginning stages of a composing/recording/performing career and retirement-central wasn’t the place to grow. so, yes, i was happy with my choice. until one day when that choice became dangerous and i fled all semblance of my budding career, leaving any feisty i had inherited from mama dear behind, devastatingly leaving all artistry buds behind for decades to come.

the button-flowers are charming. they punctuate the masses of goldenrod lighting up the meadows. and they make me think of my button collection.

i have no idea what i will do with all of those buttons. i suppose one day i will list them on marketplace and give them away to a seamstress or crafter who will make creative use of them. maybe i will tell them a little about mama dear, about how many of these buttons are vintage, about how they carry a spirit of feisty red-headed grandma in them.

or maybe i’ll just quietly gift them the collection and hold onto the feisty myself.

and every time i pass a button-daisy on the side of a trail i’ll check in – inside – and make sure it’s still there – the feisty – still growing, still challenging me, still repurposing into profound and important choices for the L box. Life.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this D.R. THURSDAY

66 and 19. (david robinson)

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the acorn. [kerri’s blog on k.s. friday]

there are plenty of trees where we hike. oaks, sycamores, birch, maples, pine, hickory, black walnut…there is quite a list. so it is no surprise that, as we are hiking, there are browned acorns, drying acorn shells and big black walnuts dropped on the trail, scattered everywhere, even dropping on us as we walk.

when i came across this branch, it was the brilliant green of the acorn that got my attention, the too-soon-ness of its place on our trail. i wondered – for a few moments – about what broke this branch that fell. it occurred to me that its natural aging, its natural place in the ecosystem of wildlife and forest had changed; this tree had somehow stress-shed this branch, this acorn.

there’s a lot of too-soon-ness…especially now, i think to myself.

and – a few moments later – i was back pondering the lists in my head…the to-dos, the worries, the problems to sort, the existential questions.

“lists engulf us – creating the illusion that our lives are full.” (plain and simple journal – sue bender)

the lists swirled and i organized them in the spaces of my brain as we walked in the early part of our hike.

but – in the way that being out in the forest, along the river, skirting meadows on a trail does – it all slowed down. and the joy of the trail took over. and, instead of the noise – internally or externally – the quiet serenity held my attention.

and this morning i find myself – once again – grateful for the sheer moment. even in this moment of the throes of a miserable cold, i am grateful for the simplicity of our givens.

“in that tiny space between all the givens is freedom.” (s.b.)

and it nudges me to simplify even more. the space of needing less, of making do, of knowing not a lot really matters.

the acorn is an ancient nordic symbol of life. my sweet momma kept a silver one in her purse and, now, so do i. maybe the acorn on our path was there to remind us.

“it’s time to celebrate the lives we do have.” (s.b.)

*****

peace © 2004 kerri sherwood

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read DAVID’s thoughts this K.S. FRIDAY

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wisdom of the stanchion. [kerri’s blog on merely-a-thought monday]

one of the coveted front spots beckoned. it is pretty unusual to arrive at this grocery store and for there to be a front spot open. we don’t mind walking from afar but when it’s 150 degrees out with humidity tilting the charts – and you don’t personally have central air conditioning – and you just came from a hike where you nearly melted into the gravel in the parking lot – you take the coveted front spot because from there to the door of the pretty bitterly cold air-conditioned store is merely steps. steps, i say! i pull littlebabyscion into covetland and start to jump out of the car – ok, slither is more like it – when i see the sticker on the stanchion in front of the covetedspot.

“you are beautiful”

in this moment – when my hair is plastered to my head, my lake-geneva-tjmaxx eddie bauer first ascent sun protection UPF50 lightweight moisture-wicking trail guide capris are two-way-stretch-stuck to me, my injinji coolmax no-show toe-socked-toes are screaming for freedom, my eyes are watering from coppertone spf 50 dripping down my forehead – unchecked by my meager blonde eyebrows – into my eyes – which makes my nose kinda run – and i look wrung out, not at all fresh or pressed or glowing from being outside and from having exercised – i do not feel beautiful.

“you are beautiful”

i laugh aloud, get my phone and schlither myself somewhat-debris-flow-ish out of the car and to the front of littlebabyscion so as to take a photograph of this sticker, prolonging by at least 45 seconds my entry into the much-anticipated cool-dom of the store. two young girls are walking by – looking fresher and definitely tan and glowing – while i position my camera. i’m pretty sure they were wondering why this melted woman was taking a picture of the metal post in front of her car.

i take a closer look as i get ready to click.

below the sticker that reads “you are beautiful” is another sticker. this one says “visitor” with a smiley face as the “o”. sheesh. i nod. i soooo feel like a visitor to this place. particularly right now. and i’m not talking about this grocery store. everything that is happening is hard to understand, to grok, to even slightly wrap my head around.

visitor. yep.

because what i really believe – in my rainbow-bubbles-sunrise girl kind of way – is that if we could all embrace each other – respect each other – treat each other kindly and with equality – rights, privileges, care and concern – if we could really truly look at the words “you are beautiful” and believe these words about all people – all people – regardless of any – any – differences – we could stand a chance of survival.

anything less makes us visitors to a land of ill intent, a land of corrupted souls, a land of immorality and sociopathic narcissism. and nothing about that is beautiful. we are privy to that.

nevertheless, i show my photograph to david as we walk into the store.

“you are beautiful”

he gets a cart and stops for a second. he looks at me and says, “you are.”

i hook my arm through his – as he begins pushing the cart toward the baguette aisle – and – for these moments of freon/puron/HFC/HFO/other-refrigerant-bliss – all is right in the world.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this MERELY-A-THOUGHT MONDAY

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sage the morning glory. [kerri’s blog on flawed wednesday]

we hike along this trail often, so often we know it well, its curves and windy way through the trees, the meadows, the boggy areas, the marshland near the river. only when we go earlier in the day do we see the morning glory. only when the sun is not too high in the sky are these beauties wide open, begging for attention on this, their day.

morning glory blossoms only last one day. they bloom in the early morning and by late afternoon have closed their fragile petals. the star in the middle of the glorybloom is stunning, the vine winds willy-nilly through the underbrush.

i always feel fortunate to be witness to the morning glory, though i am haunted by a song about morning glories that i cannot remember and haven’t ever spoken about. it was written by a man who stole morning glory moments from young women – from me – in vile self-serving predatory hunger.

i can hear the strains of finger-picked guitar, the croon of his easy, practiced singing voice. i know the lyrics ‘morning glory’ are in the lyrics of the song – i can practically taste it every single time we pass morning glory. but i cannot come up with the song and, since it was probably not published, i likely won’t be able to find it so it remains amorphous but potent.

and now, passing the pink and white glory holding hands and stepping together, i think it is probably time to sage the morning glory. it is time to exhale, to ease my mind into different lyrics – like the lyrics john denver sang in the song today, the lyrics of gentleness, of soft reverence for the other, of sweet love, of gratitude and appreciation, of new dawn, of fleeting time, of presence.

“today while the blossom still clings to the vine/i’ll taste your strawberries, i’ll drink your sweet wine/a million tomorrows may all pass away/e’er i forget all the joy that is mine today.” (today – randy sparks)

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this FLAWED WEDNESDAY

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of being alive. [kerri’s blog on d.r. thursday]

when you hike a trail a lot, it becomes a member of the family. like when you recognize something has changed – someone had a haircut, someone has new glasses, someone has lost weight, someone looks tired – it is no different. the trees have leafed, the underbrush has been knocked over, the game trail is tamped down, the may apple has flowered, the wild geranium is prolific, the river is high, the river is low, the turtles have come out, the beaver dam is bigger.

we talk about our river trail a lot because we hike it a lot. though we’d prefer it to be different, we see it more than we see any member of our family.

this particular day – when the sky was a perfect sky-blue, when the river was high enough to cover the logs where the turtles sun, when purple fleabane budded next to its white-daisy-bloom predecessor, when the great blue heron joined the cranes flying the river, when the color green had more hues than any person might imagine – this day was a reminder of how well we knew this trail, its turns, the gifts of the familiar and the magic of the unexpected.

and there is this high spot on the trail where we stand and look out over the meadow, over the marsh, over the river. and i stood – still – looking at where the trees met the sky, all glorious, listening to the sounds on the breeze, feeling the sun on my face and my feet on the ground – standing still – and felt the insanity of being alive.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this D.R. THURSDAY

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tiny nails. [kerri’s blog on merely-a-thought monday]

“may i be the tiniest nail in the house of the universe, tiny but useful.” (mary oliver)

it was astounding. we were on a hike and heard a crack in the woods. we looked to our left – where the sound had come from – and watched a towering tree fall onto the forest floor. powerful. humbling. just stunning to witness.

naturally, we looked it up – is there meaning to being the sole persons witness to a tree falling in the woods?

in what would seem narrative written for the moment, these words: transformation, renewal, release, resilience, cycles of life, interconnectedness, impermanence.

we sat – later – on our deck – and talked about these words.

the experience of something so rare fell right in line with another experience we had this week. for the first time while hiking, we encountered a bobcat. the big cat was on the trail and watched as we approached. it didn’t take too long before it glided into the underbrush, over toward the river. but it left us just as stunned. such an elusive creature.

and…at a time when looking for meaning in what is going on around us seems so difficult…we wondered, is there any? we found that our very rare bobcat sighting was a reminder to acclimate to shifting circumstances, to embrace change, seize new opportunities, to thrive though all that is ever-unfolding.

now, that’s two stunning events in less than a week. i might say we are paying attention. we have been present to the rare; we pay homage.

so as we carry on here – doing the best we can to be tiny nails – to make a tiny difference, our theme song is one of adaptation. in variations on the theme we do what we can to seek new beginnings, to shore up our inner strength, to be useful, to be aware of the profound impermanence of it all.

to be witness in, to and with the universe.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this MERELY-A-THOUGHT MONDAY

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gnarly. [kerri’s blog on k.s. friday]

“ooh child, things are gonna get easier

ooh child, things’ll get brighter

ooh child, things are gonna get easier

ooh child, things’ll get brighter

some day, yeah, we’ll put it together and we’ll get it undone

some day when your head is much lighter

some day, yeah, we’ll walk in the rays of a beautiful sun

some day when the world is much brighter…”

(“ooh child” – stan vincent 1970 the five stairsteps)

it is hard for me to avoid. i simply cannot help it. or maybe i just can’t resist the impulse.

we play rummikub every monday and thursday with 20 after we share dinner together. and – every single time – something one of them – d or 20 – says, makes me break into song.

we were talking about the obvious – you know – the state of our country. it was in an unusual fit of optimism. it was right after we talked about bernie sanders and aoc and the pushback of intellectually woke people against authoritarianism etc etc etc (i know you hear that line now – from the king and i – uh-huh, uh-huh – etc etc etc).

it had been a week since we had seen 20 (which is also unusual) and much had happened – on both sides – so there was a lot to talk about.

in that week we had found a different trail. it wound its way through a rural landscape and we enjoyed its newness. and then there was this tree. one sturdy old gnarly oak in the forefront of a blank field. stunning. perhaps a hundred years old. perhaps more. its silhouette against the sky so intense, strikingly gnarly in a good way.

we have such an appreciation for these lands of space through which we hike. we have hiked out east, down south, out west, up north. we’ve hiked in county parks, state parks, national parks. we dream of thru-hiking one day on one of the national trails. we hold these places in high regard, grateful for the glorious beauty, the potential for peacefulness, the celebration of the wild.

and so our conversation of late and of that night – of course – is also about the threat to these places (in addition to all the other gnarly-extremely-twisted corrupt threats of the administration too long to list or even grok in any conscience-based way.) we talked about our new forest preserve hike and we talked about national parks. and it feels sickening inside to think of the decimation of any of this. and all for the wealth of the wealthiest.

in the middle of our rummikub game – me…stuck with gnarly chips – a double of black 13s and a double of 1s and the grasp of the plastic trophy seeming bleak – and in the middle of the accompanying punctuations of news-chaos-of-the-day conversation – it suddenly came to mind, rose to the top.

the song ooh child was written about times of strife.

i started singing.

and hoping.

that some day we – this broken country – will put it together and get it undone. and then we’ll walk in the rays of a beautiful sun – when the world is much brighter.

they rolled their eyes, poking fun at the records spinning in my brain. and, for a few minutes, we all laughed.

and then the lyrics sank in…

…sigh.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this K.S. FRIDAY

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streamers. [kerri’s blog on d.r. thursday]

though we love-us (as they say) a familiar trail, we found a new trail to hike recently.

it was a really windy day and we set out knowing we would not-know what we might find along the way. that – in itself – is one of the gifts of hiking. even on trails we know like the back of our hands.

i knew being a minister of music like the back of my hand. and, as the easter holiday just passed by, i thought a lot about the 35 or so easters for which i had been responsible – the decades i had shaped the music of these seasons. i always believed it was my job to help people connect to that which they could not see – thus, ultimately, to touch faith, to touch love.

a dearest friend of ours retired this past week. with great joy, we celebrated his new freedom and listened as he told about the party his colleagues had thrown for him. he told of their stories, their comments, their appreciation – it was a powerful validation for him and for all the time and energy and life he had spent working in that place. he finished with a flourish – full of affirmation – ready to walk into next. one door closed, others ready to be opened.

it brought up personal grief.

for my very last days – of that career – one of the professions in which i used my knowledge of music – that spanned three and half decades – these days were not lined with validation or gratitude or even a nod of thanks. instead – for me – they were fraught with being fired, what felt like a plethora of undistilled meanness, full of unanswered questions, betrayal and shock and – then – absolute quiet. an assault.

i never finished. there was no brunch, there were no casseroles, no sheet cake, no jello mold. there was no t-shirt, no mug to carry off and use each morning, warmed by the memories of time spent.

this was an awakening.

i suddenly realized that i wasn’t done.

for all the sorting and cleaning and throwing out, there was still something incomplete.

there was no flourish; there was no affirmation.

this was an epiphany.

since i can’t go back literally, there is something in me that wishes to find a way to closure. maybe it is to go back to this place we found on this new trail. to this gate that stands in the messy field of wild grasses next to the birch tree just a bit back from the meadow. maybe if i lift up that gate and just step – even just one step – into what is past it – what is on the other side – maybe it might feel – in some metaphorical-retirement-party-crepe-paper-streamers-strewn way – like there was a little flourish. that i will grant myself the validation, the affirmation – the acknowledgment of a great deal of dedicated time of my life – that others tore from me, disregarded – that i will know – deep inside me – that i gave that place – and all the 35 years in that particular spoke of my sedimentary-layered life of music – giant pieces of my creative soul and that i can finally – finally – leave the familiar behind and get about the new. whatever their agenda or issues – in an end that was not of my choosing – it should not detract from my own celebration of me.

i will never be a minister of music again. that part of my life – that arrow of dedication of the music within me – has finished. and – i was damn good at it. i understood it. i knew it like the back of my hand.

and now it’s time for a new trail.

right after i pull down all the streamers and toss them out.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this D.R. THURSDAY

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the woods. [kerri’s blog on k.s. friday]

it had been two years. two years plus since we last hiked there. after the woods added a high ropes/adventure course we were less inclined to go there, less eager to go hike its trails. the tranquil quiet was interrupted with the sounds of groups on the contrived course, the echoes of planned adventure bouncing off ancient trees and the forest floor.

but the other day – on a blue-sky-slightly-warmer-less-windy day – we decided to go back. because it is still merely early-spring, the course wasn’t yet open, though the staff was there training. one of the guys – suspended in a harness on lines high above us – called down to us, telling us how happy he was to spend the day in the woods.

we set out on our trail, a bit eager to see how things might have changed, how the familiar might be a bit less familiar after so many seasons had passed.

seeing this much-trod-in-the-past place was sheer joy. there is something about knowing the bend in the path, something about knowing where the tiny ponds are tucked in the woods, something about knowing certain trees and where the green glow might be starting.

we took our news-weary eyes and placed them – instead – on the roots crossing the trail, on the rise and fall of our breathing. we focused on spring arriving in the woods in this place where we have spent so much time.

we were – gloriously – nowhere else for a couple hours.

“and into the forest i go, to lose my mind and find my soul.” (john muir)

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this K.S. FRIDAY

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