Crisp at 22 F

The crispness of the frosty air stung my nasal passages on my way to Whatcom falls in Bellingham at 0930, December 10, 2009. The moon was not visible to me, probably in a snit because I chose to see the last quarter yesterday as a sliced half instead of a reflection. I met couples intent on the same mission I was: namely a walk for good health. But I was alone, solo, and I felt a pang of envy that others had a companion. I had the privilege of a companion for 39 years and it was a happy privilege.
Then that companion left, not just off looking for another companion, but left – died. I floundered a bit at loose ends, as if the tie to an anchor had been cut. There came a new found freedom. And I went off to exotic places around the world. Places that I had only dreamed of seeing. Activities I never thought of doing. I swam in the great barrier reef off Queensland and climbed Ulrulu in the geographical center of Australia. I assisted British chemists in the great rift of Africa. I watched penquins dive into burrows in Argentina after they waddled ashore. I still find it difficult to consider them as birds, though they are birds in every sense of the word because they have feathers.
The first trip I took was with Folkways Institute to Nepal. It began in Kathmandu with a plane ride to a village on the edge of a mountain. Lukla was where mountain climbers began the hike to the base camp at Mount Everest. We trekked the narrow trails on the edge of the Himalayas for fifty kilometers from the eight thousand foot altitude to Dangbouche at fourteen thousand feet, camping every night in tents at wide areas in the trail. That was a maiden trip so to speak because after that I chose places I always wanted to see and went alone.
To see the Matterhorn in Switzerland was a side trip I took when my bus tour arrived in Zermatt. I took the cog train to the ski lift and then up to the top of that and got off to walk to Zermatt on a trail from which I could see the Matterhorn. I visited castles in Austria and Germany that had beautifully ornate hinges and doors. The bus went through the longest tunnel in Europe from Switzerland to Italy. Distance in Europe is minor. In an hour I had a tour that went into three countries. It takes more than an hour in the USA to get across any one of several western states.
I sampled rose hips near a hotel in Amsterdam when I worried that a serious cold was invading my sinsus. No other access did I have to vitamin c. Because European trains were a better way to travel from The Netherlands I hopped a train to Austria. A woman I met at the conference who was quite touched by my intention to find my father’s birthplace suggested she meet me in Vienna. She offered a room in her home while I searched. I lingered for several weeks with her but without success in my mission. I returned there for the wedding of her daughter and assisted in some remodeling of their home.
On several excursions with a knowledgeable handsome young birdwatcher, I was bused from Peru, the Towers of Paine, through Chile and Patagonia to look across the Strait of Darwin for a glimpse of Antarctica. As my group moved northward long the eastern coast of Argentina, blowing whales were visible and we viewed spectacular Iguazu Falls from a walkway where I stumbled on my shoestrings. A beautiful square scarf became the sling to support my sprained wrist all the way home.
Some years later in the company of the same birdwatcher, I explored the island of Jamaica, first along the coast highway and in another visit into the cockpit to explore a large cattle pen in the interior. Farms there are called pens, but as far as I could see the cattle were not penned in the manner with which I am familiar.
Twenty-four countries were visited on six continents so reads my biography. The folks I met and the scenery I enjoyed are enfolded in my novels. I have self-published “Sagesong” and “Beyond Namche” and co-authored “Rise to the Occasion” a book of essays on science and philosophy. All are available on Amazon.
All of this came to mind while my nose stung from the frigid air as I walked along a trail with green ferns and other shrubs that were so much like Jamaica, subject of a novel yet to come. But I am in Bellingham and today is the sixty-third birthday of my son-in-law, Jerry. So I can relax in a warm place and celebrate with his favorite - cherry pie. No crisp air in here. And I am not alone.
Naomi Sherer