From Sunsets to Storm Clouds

So, I read a book

September 6th, 2026

And then I read a few more books. Over and over, I heard authors describe their romps across the Scottish Highlands. As the pages turned, I found myself captivated by the landscapes they described. I longed to see it for myself — to feel the rock, to experience the wind, to smell the heather (and maybe sheep wandering about).

Then I had to start researching.

And research led me to the West Highland Way — a 96-mile hike that starts in Glasgow and ends in Fort William. It meanders, it ebbs, it flows, it climbs, it falls. There are rocks, winds, and definitely sheep (enough to make the natural water sources a tad bit sketchy). And, there’s access to pubs, B & Bs, and luggage transfer. (Heck. Yes.)

To shorten this backstory…we’ll jump ahead to now. I’m on my way to Scotland to hike the West Highland Way and explore a few other bits while I’m there. I thought about flying straight back after finishing the trek…but I’ll already be there, so I might as well explore a few other pockets.

The bags have been packed (and unpacked and repacked and unpacked and repacked and…that’s been a whole journey on its own). Inns booked and a few dinners and a whisky tour. And my map is dotted with places to get coffee, waterfalls to peek into, and nooks to stand in awe.

The only question that remains…can I keep up with a blog for two weeks to appease all of the people who have said, “Send pictures!”

Only time will tell.

P.S. The only book I distinctly remember from the inspirational reading is Wanderers: A History of Women Walking.
Transitions

October 24th, 2024

The chlorophyll has broken down. Vibrant green leaves have shifted into warmer colors…yellows, oranges, and red. Slowly but surely, they’re falling (approximately 82% of them have fallen onto my car). The transition from summer to fall is one of the most visually stimulating transitions. We go from greens to goldens to bare branches…just like that.

Somewhere along the way, we find the coats, hats and mittens that will become necessary sooner or later. We put away the sandals and dig out the boots. Soups go on the menu as we finish up the last of summer’s tomatoes and zucchini.

Each time I find myself in a new place, I anticipate this transition because I know that it always holds these echoes – color, clothing, meals.

But this year, as fall slips in, I’m in motion too. And it’s almost caused me to miss the shift. I’ve joked that I am “geographically unstable” or that my life is a “logistical bad dream” (not nightmare…it’s not that bad) right now. It’s all of my own making, though.

And I know that the transition….the moment of change…won’t last forever. In just a moment, the leaves will all finish falling and things will be still again.

In the meantime, I am once again on the move. West as far as I can. And then a slow, cumbersome journey east (that includes a conference for grant nerds…be jealous).
Spokaffeinated

October 19th, 2024

If you’ve met me, then you likely know I have a special affinity for coffee. On occasion, I have been called a “coffee snob.” I only find this mildly offense…mostly because of the way snob was used in such a derogatory way during my middle school years. But if we’re being honest, I do have a strong preference for quality coffee. I have a go-to order at a coffee shop (cortado) and a preferred roast (light to medium) and even a favorite processing method (natural…aka unwashed).

Being in a new place has given me a whole new coffee scene to explore. Entering a new coffee shop is a full sensory experience. You’re taking in the sights, the smells, the sounds, the feel, and eventually the taste. You notice the lighting, what the seating options look like, and how friendly the baristas are. All of this can impact whether or not you want to spend time there.

The real test, though, is whether or not a coffee shop can make a cortado. The espresso has to be pulled so that the flavors emerge without being bitter. And the milk needs to be steamed till the perfect moment before it gets too frothy. (The “coffee snob” might be peeking through.)

The first place where I ordered a cortado, the barista asked, “What size?”

I should have walked out…because a cortado is served in a standard size with equal parts milk & espresso. That question should not be asked when someone orders a cortado. But I stuck around, only to be disappointed by the drink and the pastry. Looking around the little coffee shop, everyone else seemed happy with their order. It’s a store that has several locations around town and the online reviews are all positive. But…it wasn’t for me.

A dozen coffee shops, cortado, and pastries later…I’ve found the places that are for me. I know which coffee shops make my favorite cortado and I know which places have other menu items of interest.

I know where to find my favorite pastry or a loaf of bread. I know the coffee shops that play funky music or don’t offer WiFi. And I know the ones that get busy and make me feel antsy.

The journey to find a cortado – while it may seem snobbish or obsessive or petty – is actually a beautiful reminder of our existence as humans. We’re all just looking for something that makes sense for us.

For some, that’s a place with jaunty music and extra large coffee beverages with whipped cream on top. And for others, it’s a snobbishly crafted espresso-based beverage with a splash of steamed milk. And, then there are some who don’t drink coffee and will just take a Coca-cola from the vending machine…please & thank you.

Whoever and however you are…don’t let anyone tell you it’s wrong.
Will hike for mountain goats

September 12th, 2024

As I settle into Spokane (I use “settle” loosely), I’ve been exploring different types of trails that are nearby.

I know you’re surprised. Here…you probably need another picture as proof.

For about two weeks, I had this wild plan that I would increase the length of my weekend hikes by a mile each week. I happened to do 14 one week…and then 15 the next. The scheme made sense. But as I began my research for the upcoming week, I couldn’t find an interesting trail that matched the desired length. Instead, I found a trail that claimed to have mountain goats.

I let go of the short-lived obsession with “distance traveled in a day”. Nooo. That’s not right. I loosened my grip on my obsession with “distance traveled in a day”. Here I was in a brand new place with a range of trails at my fingertips and I was obsessing about how far I could hike in a day? At the expense of MOUNTAIN GOATS? Just think…I almost missed out on this:

But I still wanted to push myself and find the edge of comfort. So I’m working with a sort of a balance between these different types of hikes.

Some hikes are about the destination – a summit, a lake, foraging for huckleberries, the proximity to mountain goats (but not too close).

And other hikes are about going far, going fast, or going high. I call these the “Maintenance Hikes.” They offer the maintenance I need to remain my best self…physically, mentally, and emotionally. We’re holistic over here.

Not everything we do is about where we’re going. Sometimes it’s about the work you put in to get there and what you learn along the way.

Also…I’m always scheming about longer day hikes in the future (near and far), so I’ve gotta stay ready.
The thing about huckleberries

August 28th, 2024

A while back, I thought about embarking on a “50 States of Pie” journey. I was going to bake a pie for each of the fifty states (that’s pretty clear from the name). I began my research and started assigning a pie to each state. I wanted to know where I was going with this before I got myself in over my head. If you’ve known me long enough, just think back to when I spent two years working on #traveltastes

Somewhere along the way, I came across huckleberry pie. I knew that I would have to do huckleberry pie for Montana. There wasn’t any other option. But I lived in Vermont.

Huckleberries don’t grow in Vermont.

In fact, they don’t grow anywhere other than where they want to grow.

Unlike many other fruits, huckleberries have yet to be domesticated. The only way to get huckleberries is to go out and pick them yourself…or pay $60 per pound (before shipping costs).

There’s something special about a plant that refuses to follow the rules we want to assign to them. They will grow where they see fit and, even if you offer them the perfect place, they would rather be wild, freely roaming the woods.

Over the past few weeks – freely roaming the woods from Montana to Idaho to Washington – I’ve come across patches of huckleberries. The first time, I scrambled to find a way to collect them and mainly just ate them. It reminded me of the time I came across the perfect fiddlehead ferns while I was running a trail. I picked just enough for dinner and carried them out of the trail rolled up in the edge of my shirt. Exactly how I did when I collected rocks as a six year old.

Since that first time, I’ve been a little bit more prepared. And I’ve learned how to watch for them. Unlike blackberries or blueberries, huckleberries don’t announce themselves. They thrive in a bit of shade, tucked under their leaves. And they don’t all look exactly the same. Some are a dusty blue, while others are a deep purple black. They come from different bushes, so they present themselves in unique ways.

As I hiked the trail, I managed to collect about a cup of huckleberries. There was something magical about turning a corner and seeing bushes laden with berries…and then turning another corner to find the tiniest berries hidden beneath wide, stretching leaves. I tucked my half-full baggie (I only took what I would use) into the very top of my pack so that they wouldn’t get squished. And with a slew of huckleberries, there was only one way to respond.
The Contrast

August 19th, 2024

As I immersed myself in the natural beauty of Wyoming and Montana, I kept coming back to this idea of contrast. Think of delicate wildflowers gently waving in the wind with stony peaks in the background. The flowers move and shift in response to their environment, moment to moment…and season to season.

Every where I paused, I was struck by this contrast. Sunflowers danced in a coming Kansas storm. Wandering Daisies and Paintbrushes lined the trail to an alpine lake in the Tetons. And in Yellowstone, I was struck by the vibrancy of flora next to geothermal activity. And in Glacier, the Harebell and Yarrow was joined by huckleberries!

But the theme of contrast extends beyond wildflowers that refuse to be defined by weather, soil, or even stomping boots.

I noticed this contrast while watching the bull moose nuzzle noses with a female. They nibbled greens, checked in with one another, and then crossed the trail ahead of me. The bull kept an eye out to make sure I wasn’t a threat.

But casually returned to the business of…moose-ing. This intimidating creature also had a gentle side.

I also saw contrast in the way water pushed its way through “immovable” rock. From the aptly named Artist Point in Yellowstone, I wondered at the difference between liquid and solid. This contrast tells a story about perseverance and the changes that happen over time.

And what about temperature?

From geothermal ground that will burn your skin off…up to glaciers. These natural wonders are within just a new hours of one another. Can you imagine stumbling upon this world for the first time? One moment the water is chilling you to the bone…and the next it’s hot enough to sanitize your dishes.

Then there’s my willingness to crawl out of a tent at 4 am for the ideal start time…contrasted with the desire to stay curled into a cozy, comfy bed.

That’s where I am now.

I look back at three weeks of constant movement, early mornings and evenings – rising and setting myself with the sun, long days of hiking, dehydrated meals more often than not…

And that’s over. For now.

I’m settling into a season of stillness. Work responsibilities kick back into high gear. Meal prep becomes a part of the weekly rhythm. I sleep in the same place for more than just a few nights. And long hikes are for the weekend.

I’ve been in Spokane for a week now and the acclimation has been harder than I anticipated. It feels like everything screeched to a halt. But I know that’s not true. There’s adventure to be found in stillness. Now, please excuse me while I go find it.
Glacial glimpses

August 12th, 2024

There were two big hikes on my list for Glacier National Park. And by “big,” I mean that they required a gentle day and plenty of hydration & fueling on the front end…and then a full day dedicated to the adventure. Given all of that and the rainy days that landed just as I arrived in the park, I figured that I would only be able to do one of them. I prioritized the trail that came more highly recommended by people who know things.

I arrived at the trail head very early in the morning and actually made my coffee on-site. Once I had the coffee and finished packing up my back, I headed to the start of the trail…and quickly found myself facing a barrier: “Trail closed due to bear activity.”

Well…I guess we pivot.

I wasn’t too upset by the pivot. The first chunk of the hike took me to the Grinnell Glacier. Many people actually hike up to the glacier, back down…and call it a day.

And that would make for a marvelous day! But why stop by going to see just the glacier? A connecting trail leads down to the lake that’s fed by the glacier.

Getting up close and personal with that lake involved pulling my socks and shoes off to traipse across a little stream, also fed by the glacier melt. The toes got very chilly, so I sat by the lake and enjoyed some sunshine while they warmed back up.

And here’s the thing about a hike like this…as you take a path that leads you to the start of something and then further along the journey, you begin to appreciate how connected the world can be.

So now, as I settle into a cozy little apartment in eastern Washington, I think back on the past three weeks of wandering and traveling and exploring. All of these moments feel disconnected from real life…but the glacier and all of the other elements that are connected remind me that everything comes together.
Cows & Mudpies in Montana

August 8th, 2024

You know it’s going to be a good night when you’re 28 miles away from your campsite and the host calls and says “Uhhhhh….soo…we just got an inch of rain and uhh…you’re in a tent? I don’t know if you’ll want to do that.”

You assure him that your Crosstrek is very sleepable – you’ve done it before. Your concern is whether or not the car will be washed away or struck by lightning. No, that’s not the concern. It’s that a tent would get soggy just in the process of being set up…if you even could manage that. So you keep driving towards the beach (yes, a beach).

He meets you at the site and shows you what’s what. He says you can come up to the house and use the microwave, oven, air fryer…he seems slightly concerned for your well-being.

You assure him, this time, that you will be perfectly fine and that this is not your first rodeo. You tell him what happened in Kansas. You almost tell him about the time that you strung a hammock underneath a picnic shelter in North Carolina.

He is amused. But now concerned that you will get bored.

You assure him, now, that you have books and other methods of keeping yourself occupied while curled up in the front seat of your trusty car (aka Nessie).

He decides that you’ll be all right and heads back to the house…with a final request that you not be shy if you need anything.

You walk around the area and listen to mooing cows on the other side of the lake. You adjust your car to have the best view of the shoreline. As you head up to get water, you exchange semi-sarcastic greetings with one of the van-dwellers on the beach with you, “I’m doing great!”

They’re leaving a day early…6 am tomorrow. He says this like you should be warned about their pre-dawn activities.

You plan to leave around the same time to get to a trailhead. (Spoiler: You left at 6:40 and they were just rolling out of their van) It might be raining, but you rarely let that stop you from hiking. Especially when your in a new place for a limited time. And you just so happened to stop at a used gear store on your way up and found a very much not needed soft shell jacket. Well, you didn’t need it at the time. But now you’re glad to have the extra layer easily accessible.

Your rain boots on the other hand…are they buried somewhere in the car? Or are they in Arkansas?

You survived without the rain boots.
Wildflowers & Butterflies

August 6th, 2024

I am constantly stilled by the display of wildflowers and butterflies.

There’s something special about these delicate bits of color existing in contrast to the backdrop of grey and brown…grit and roughness.

But it’s so easy to coast past them. If you have a destination in mind or a pace planned for the day, it’s easy to stick to your path without looking left or right. You can plow through the butterflies dancing ahead and the wildflowers swaying in the breeze.

If you’re so focused on moving ahead, it’s easy to miss where you are in the moment. Over the past two weeks – hopping from trail to trail and park to park, I’ve worked so hard at staying in the moment. It’s tempting to rush ahead and plan the next hike or think about what’s for dinner…or wonder if someone texted you back or how many unread work emails you have.

I’m coming to the end of this season, though. Next week, I’ll land in a spot and stay there for more than just a moment. So please excuse me while I disappear for 4 more days to dance with the butterflies and notice the wildflowers.
Natural expectations

August 6th, 2024

“The show” was scheduled for 10:25 am. I had arrived with plenty of time to find a bathroom, get the lay of the land, and enjoy a bit more coffee. The benches were full and people had started claiming spots sitting and standing around the wooden boardwalk. I took up the space left between two larger groups and made myself comfy. I sipped some more coffee and made sure that I was happy with the view. I thought about moving for a better photo op. By then, though, more people had gathered and I didn’t have high hopes for anything better. As we waited, I could hear the rustling of kiddos behind me and shifted a little closer to one of the groups.

As it approached 10:25, there were periodic teases of what was to come. After the collective gasps, you could hear murmurs of “Maybe it would start early.”

10:25 came and went and we were still just waiting. There were grumbles of frustration…impatience. But we all stayed.

At 10:28, an eternity after the schedule time, Old Faithful began the show. There were gasps and oohs and ahhhs…cameras snapped and children watched with awe. And then it slowly came to a sputtering stop.

People began to disperse. And there was a sense of…disappointment? Their shoulders and occasionally their mouths, said, “That’s all?”

It reminded me of coming to the summit of a grueling hike to be surrounded by fog. People would glance around, sigh in resignation, then turn and leave.

We have a tendency to treat nature like a tool for instant gratification. We approach nature with expectations, the same way we approach a coworker in a conversation about KPIs. And we get irritated when nature fails to perform on command. The audacity!

Instead…I choose to see whatever nature has to offer in any given moment as an opportunity to behold something wonderful. What an honor it is to sit and watch the display that is before me in any given moment.

So…let’s go find some more moments.