Come along on 'vacation'

Settle in and put your feet up.

It's time for some snapshots from a jam-packed two weeks away from the office. Note that I didn't use the term "vacation." It was far too strenuous for that word to apply.

Click.

Here's a shot of the cabin, the place in southern New Hampshire that's been in my wife's family for nearly 100 years. The plan was to spend a few days relaxing up there before our daughter Margaret's wedding, which was to be the centerpiece event of the two weeks.

Those branches and broken trees? Those are evidence of last winter's ice storm. They're also one of the reasons the time at the cabin wasn't so relaxing. There was plenty of clean-up to be done.

Click.

This is Wade, the local handyman. He's arriving for work at 8 a.m. sharp to start sawing and hammering as he completes a dormer that was being added to a small bedroom at the cabin.

Sure, that's a little early when you're on vacation. But we were already up. Some neighbors up the hill were having some excavating done. The dump trucks arrived at 7 a.m.

As to Wade, getting him to show up at all is a challenge. He started work on the dormer in August of last year. Apparently our presence was required for him to complete it.

Click.

This shot's a little blurry because I was shivering. It was 41 degrees one morning at the cabin. (June in New Hampshire is a bit like early April in Indiana.)

Why didn't we start a fire in the fireplace? Good question.

Answer: It smokes.

We had our best clothes with us for the wedding and didn't want to arrive smelling like a couple of hickory cured hams. (Sniff. Sniff. Oh, I guess the parents of the bride have arrived.)

Click.

That's us at the lake. Despite the chill, we decided to take a dip. The cold water was a shock, but it passed quickly. That's because we were soon numb. It may have been the shortest dip on record.

Click.

This is the local laundromat, and that guy with the walking stick is Phil. He's a resident at a local developmental center and was doing his laundry while we were doing ours. A very friendly guy. He's also a shameless flirt. Just ask my wife.

Click.

Those are my feet sticking out of some ferns.

This shot is going to take some explanation.

Because of the ice storm damage, it was necessary to haul as many branches and limbs and small trees as possible to a spot where they could later be chipped.

I built a good-sized "Eeyore house" with every branch I could drag across the hillside.

But one small tree landed right on the property line between the cabin and an adjoining nature preserve. It was the nature preserve's tree, so I figured my chore was to shove it to the other side of the old stone wall that forms the boundary.

It didn't want to go.

I tried a different angle.

Still no luck.

Then, in a moment of monumental stupidity, I clambered up atop the stone wall. Grabbing the tree's branches, I gave the thing a twist and a shove toward the other side.

It worked. At first.

Then the tree flexed back at me. As it did, the stone wall decided to shift.

I landed on my butt first.

It's amazing how much can go through your mind in a single moment.

"You are 60 years old," I recall thinking.

"The wedding is Saturday," I remember thinking.

My left arm whacked against a small boulder as I came down.

"Wonder if I broke it?" I recall passing through my mind.

Then my back hit the ground, and as my head snapped back I wondered if it would strike a rock.

It didn't.

But as I lay there, waiting for the tree to laugh at me, I took inventory.

Bumps, bruises, and an excuse to call it a day.

Next week: The wedding.

[[In-content Ad]]