From Sunsets to Storm Clouds

Savored

September 11th, 2026

This morning looked…precarious. One weather app said “RAIN” and two weather apps said “Probably not…but we make no promises.” As I ate my full vegetarian Scottish breakfast, I watched other hikers mill about. Some were in full rain gear, while some were holding out hope for sunshine. I was finishing my coffee before making any decisions.

Fueled by the final dregs and a Scottish tattie scone (my favorite part of breakfast), I gathered myself and my gear to venture out.

It wasn’t raining.

But would it?

Should I go ahead and put on the rain gear in anticipation?

I chose to be on the side of hope. And it paid off.

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The clouds hung close all day long and I splashed from the remnant’s of yesterday’s storms. But the day leaned heavily to sun and warmth. It was the ideal time to slow down and appreciate the little nuances of the trail.

Today was also the day for looking back. As I climbed higher into the hills, I took many opportunities to pause and look back. The sun streamed through the clouds and highlighted the hills. The nooks and crannies, the waterfalls too far away to hear, the wind-blown heather. It was all there just waiting to be appreciated. How many people pass through without stopping to look back?

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Today was truly all about savoring the trail — from slowing down to appreciate the little things to looking back to see how far I’ve come. It was a joy to be romping about the hills with the background noise of sheep and birds to accompany me.
Slow & soggy

September 10th, 2026
I started the day in grey, but determined to make the best of it. Fueled by a hearty breakfast (including a Scottish tattie scone…yes, I will try to recreate this), I set off to get through as many miles as I could before it started to rain.

I passed by a field of cows and watched one of them lay down while looking me directly in the eye. I knew it wouldn’t last long.

Five miles done before I stopped to pull out the rain gear.

And from there, it was another five or so miles of hiking through the rain.

With those first ten miles done, I was about halfway through my day…but things were just getting interesting. This 21/22 mile day (everyone says 21.5…my Garmin says 22.5) is notoriously challenging.

You follow the edge of Loch Lomond (Loch = Lake) for the rest of the day. And that lake edge does what they typically do — it’s rugged, rocky, and rooted. The type of terrain that turns particularly precarious with a drizzle of rain. But add on a whole day of rain and it turns…slooooow.

Along the way, there were moments when I struggled to stay positive. I questioned many of my life choices, like, “Why do I like hiking?” So I began to make a list of things that I was grateful for like…
- I am not camping tonight.
- I don’t have to write any grants today.
- There is not a rigorous timetable for me.
- I have so many snacks in my bag.
- I downloaded a new murder mystery audiobook because I knew that the rain would make the day drag.
- OMG — look at the tiny frog.
- Oooh — buying snacks from an “honesty box.”
- Did someone take a bite out of that mushroom?
- I lost count of the waterfalls.
He would have fit on a quarter.

The glimmers of gratitude helped to get me through the slog of a day (even when I slipped and fell into the river that had taken over a trail).

But eventually, shortly before the trail wound down into the town of Inverarnan, the rain faded. And I wouldn’t say that the sun shone…but something changed. I looked back and had my first clear view of the loch all day.

And then I turned around to see what was ahead.
We begin in sunshine.

September 9th, 2026

If you have ever considered a trip to Scotland or researched “what to expect when I visit Scotland” or “packing list for Scotland,” you know that rain is always on the forecast. No matter when you visit or where you land, you are to assume that rain will be part of your experience. So imagine my joy when today was filled with the most glorious sunshine.

The route — and community around it — is so well established, you’d think it had been around for at least 50 years. but it only officially opened in 1980. It follows a path, though, of a deeper history. Eventually, I’ll come to a pub that has been around for centuries, hosting the likes of Rob Roy and Gerard Butler.

But, I am trying desperately to take this a day at a time. I have a tendency to rush ahead and try to plan out the next seven steps. Or check the weather for the next seven days (spoiler: it’s gonna get interesting). In the meantime, please appreciate all of the new friends that I made today.
Dear Green Place

September 8th, 2026

The journey – once the plane part is over and done with – begins in Glasgow. I have had just a tiny bit of time in Glasgow before moving onto more interesting places. But, I still wanted to “do right” by the city. Thus began the research.

The first thing I came across is a restaurant. But we’re not going to retell this story in chronological order. I’ll save the best for last.

Glasgow was originally just a little religious community founded by Saint Mungo. That community outgrew their smallness. Today, the Glasgow Cathedral stands as a testament to the power of that origin. And the community became known as Glasgu, or “little green place.”

On the edge of a river, Glasgow was poised to grow. Commerce, industrialism, academia, art, culture…today, fingerprints of this growth are all over the city.

In an effort to fight impending jet lag, I spent all of Monday wandering through examples of that growth. From botanical gardens to the university to a free museum or two…some of it was intentional and some of it just happened to be on my way from here to there.

And sometimes the right door just happened to be in front of me when the rain started pouring.

If you kept up with the World Cup or, at least, the Scottish shenanigans during the games in Boston and Miami, you might be wondering if the cone thing is real. I found one example that suggests it is, in fact, real.

After all of the wandering, exploring, raining, so on and so forth, I had to refuel myself. And the perfect place to do that was the restaurant…that I discovered before I learned anything else about Glasgow: SYLVAN.

I’m not sure they realized that they named a restaurant after my cat.
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.