Traveling in Place

God Cares

One day last week, I spotted what seemed to me a large and intimidating spider suspended just below eye level on our back deck. Its huge web was spun from the eave down to the back of a wicker sofa then to the facing of the door into our sunroom, completing a sticky triangle that effectively blocked passage. Without much thought, I went to the closet to get a broom so I could sweep it all away.

I called out to Martha, who was sitting in the living room reading a book. “Do you want to see a big spider and its impressive web before I get rid of it?” She came to the kitchen window and peered out. “Wow,” she said. And then, after a pause, “She worked hard all day.”

Those words turned the broom in my hand into a weapon of mass destruction. “So you think I should leave her alone?” I asked. (Notice she was now personalized.) “Your choice,” Martha said, walking away from the window and back to the living room. When she sat down again, she called out, “Why don’t you find out what kind of spider it is?”

Such a reprieve seemed only fair. So I leaned the broom against the sunroom door and found my laptop. I searched “types of spiders” and scrolled through the images. I found a picture that seemed to match the creature I was eyeing with some trepidation, and then clicked the link to the website where it was identified. The fearful arachnid blocking passage from the sunroom to the deck turned out to be a “garden spider” whose bite was “unpleasant but harmless to humans.”

I closed the laptop, picked up the broom and went to the living room. I reported my finding to Martha and said, “I can’t very well destroy Charlotte. I guess I’ll leave her there as part of the protected wildlife in our backyard.” She looked up from her book, her face beaming with a triumphant grin.

The Cost of Unrestrained Freedom

August felt like October. Now, September feels like July. That’s unsettling, but it could be a lot worse. I’ll take unseasonable temperatures any day over multiple once-in-a-millennium, tornado-inducing hurricanes that spawn record flooding and wind destruction.

In fact, I have been hearing Central New Yorkers express a newfound appreciation for our signature winters. Rather than reflexively complain about them, now folks are starting to realize how even deep piles of snow are far preferable to the hazardous risks endured by other parts of the country. Heavy lake-effect snow (which can be beautiful to behold) is gentle compared to the fury of wildfires, tornadoes, earthquakes, floods, and hurricane-force winds.

It’s all a matter of perspective, isn’t it? Who knows? As the planet continues heating up and sea levels rise, cool inland places like Syracuse may become highly desirable, but only for a while. Changes to the climate do not leave any location unaffected. Weather weirdness is going to be the norm for the foreseeable future.

When the abnormal becomes normal, everything looks different. We begin to appreciate things that once caused us to grouse. We begin to notice and respect what we used to take for granted. We start examining our lifestyles to see if we are part of the problem and how we can become part of a solution. At least, that’s the hope.

The concern is that human ability to adapt and create is matched by the equally creative ability to persist in the denial of uncomfortable truth. It is ironic, but probably indicative of the human condition, that denial of anthropogenic climate change is highest in those places that are most at risk of its devastating effects. Climate science deniers are most heavily concentrated in the Deep South, where

A Late Summer Hike

Rain and responsibilities conspired to keep me off the hiking trails this summer – until Friday. On the first day of September I grabbed a late season chance to challenge myself with a good, long, strenuous trek up one of the Adirondack High Peaks.

I choose Sawteeth, which stands 4,100 feet in elevation, making it the 35^th highest among the 46 over 4,000 feet. The peak is aptly named because of its multiple summits that, from a distance, give the appearance of teeth in a saw blade. It rises sharply above Lower Ausable Lake and stands just south of the Great Range.

There are two approaches up Sawteeth. The shorter route begins on the Weld Trail toward Gothics and takes a left turn up the north slope. The longer route is called the Scenic Trail. Following the advice of others who have experience with this peak, I ascended by way of the 3.1-mile scenic trail and descended by the shorter 2.6-mile route, making a circle of 5.7 miles. But that’s not the entire hike. Before getting to the actual trailhead at the east end of the lake, it is necessary to walk the entire length of the privately-owned Lake Road. The distance from designated parking for hikers to the lake is 3.9 miles, so the trek covered a total of 13.5 miles. From end to end, the Lake Road gains 700 feet in elevation. The ascent up Sawteeth nets another 2,275 feet.

Sawteeth’s summit doesn’t feature a broad expansive view in all directions, but it is spectacular in its own way, and the Scenic Trail includes a little of everything – a challenging scramble along the lake shore over big boulders, several severely steep climbs that require use of all four limbs, and occasional ladders leaning against massive rocks that can’t be scaled without them. But this arduous climb is made much more bearable by five outlooks that afford gorgeous views of Lower Ausable Lake and the peaks to the south, east and west. The sheer drop at the edge of the outcrops is enough to make your fingers tingle, but they allow the hiker to see the lake from higher and higher perches, and eventually to also see Upper Ausable Lake and distant peaks stretching out behind it.