Today we journeyed to Lost Maples State Natural Area, in the South Texas Hill Country west of San Antonio. Generally, it is about a 2 1/2 hour drive. However, we missed the turn off and drove 40 minutes out of our way to Kerrville, TX, thus extending the drive time a little. The road was very curvy and hilly (the part we were never supposed to have driven, yet ended up driving twice), and on the drive back down Savannah began to get a little green about the gills. She has a known history of car sickness, so to save my friend's upholstery we flipped a backseat down and I threw a leg over Savannah and forced her to lay down without moving or jostling for the rest of the trip. She fell right asleep, once stationary.
A 5 mile hike up rocky terrain to the height of 2200 feet awaited us when we arrived, but we were prepared with water (human and doggy bottles) and granola, and planned to go slowly and take MANY pictures (objective obtained, by the way).
The sun rose high during the course of our trip, and was right overhead as we began our ascent. We had two friends with us, a friend's tiny little Cocker Spaniel, Pepper, and, of course, Savannah. Pepper was a trooper but you could tell she was flagging by the time we got to the top. Savannah? She was having the best day of her 14 month life! I admit that putting her in a harness rather than a head collar was a bad idea, and I won't do it again, as I don't relish the thought of being pulled 5 miles...again...but I have to admit it came in handy, on the steep slopes, to be tethered to the strongest, most athletic member of our little group. She was in her element, leaping and bounding up the slopes, straining against the harness when I lagged behind (which I did often, as I'm not in nearly as good of shape as my svelte little girl). I finally gave her to J so I could focus on breathing, but once we all got to the top, we really felt like we accomplished something--despite the fact that no work had been done, no files billed, no plans drafted, no corrections made, the sense of having done something important remained. I don't think I'd ever climbed so high before--and right now my ankles and thighs are protesting any repeat performance--but I loved it.
We got to the "scenic overlook" and my friends and J began to take pictures out on the ledge overlooking the world. The view was magnificent. You saw the Medina River valley and all the adjacent cliffs and escarpments, all absolutely covered in that rarest of the rare (for South Texas) and the admitted goal of our little expedition this morning--trees changing color. We oohed and ahhed all the way over and during the entire hike over maple trees in brilliant yellow, orange, and red. Due to an ample downpour we'd gotten earlier in the week, even the evergreen, or late-turning trees were somehow greener. I hung back and handled the dogs, at first blaming Savannah for my reticence to go so far toward the edge. Finally someone took Savannah from me and I went out to take a picture with my husband amidst the glory of God's creation. My fingers gripped tightly to the back of his shirt as picture after picture was taken, and I felt vertigo gripping me before I'd even peeked over the ledge. I smiled brightly for the camera and explained to J in an aside that I'm quite afraid of heights, and was perfectly comfortable admiring the view from a safe distance. There wasn't even a railing, for Pete's sake.
We descended, and made it to a clear, cool pond. The dogs drank and wet their tired paws, and I chunked Savannah overboard, because she's entirely too scared of the water for such a large dog. She swam her way out and shook herself off 3 centimeters from where I was sitting--I guess I deserved it--but then was happier for being wet and cool. Mommy always knows best.
Now, sunburnt of shoulder and wind-whipped of face, I listen to the heavy sleep-breathing of my family in the other room. It is peaceful, after a day filled with so many visual and physical stimuli, to tap away at my keyboard and think, "Today was a good day."
The Truth Universally Acknowledged
11.22.2009
climb every mountain
Today we journeyed to Lost Maples State Natural Area, in the South Texas Hill Country west of San Antonio. Generally, it is about a 2 1/2 hour drive. However, we missed the turn off and drove 40 minutes out of our way to Kerrville, TX, thus extending the drive time a little. The road was very curvy and hilly (the part we were never supposed to have driven, yet ended up driving twice), and on the drive back down Savannah began to get a little green about the gills. She has a known history of car sickness, so to save my friend's upholstery we flipped a backseat down and I threw a leg over Savannah and forced her to lay down without moving or jostling for the rest of the trip. She fell right asleep, once stationary.
A 5 mile hike up rocky terrain to the height of 2200 feet awaited us when we arrived, but we were prepared with water (human and doggy bottles) and granola, and planned to go slowly and take MANY pictures (objective obtained, by the way).
The sun rose high during the course of our trip, and was right overhead as we began our ascent. We had two friends with us, a friend's tiny little Cocker Spaniel, Pepper, and, of course, Savannah. Pepper was a trooper but you could tell she was flagging by the time we got to the top. Savannah? She was having the best day of her 14 month life! I admit that putting her in a harness rather than a head collar was a bad idea, and I won't do it again, as I don't relish the thought of being pulled 5 miles...again...but I have to admit it came in handy, on the steep slopes, to be tethered to the strongest, most athletic member of our little group. She was in her element, leaping and bounding up the slopes, straining against the harness when I lagged behind (which I did often, as I'm not in nearly as good of shape as my svelte little girl). I finally gave her to J so I could focus on breathing, but once we all got to the top, we really felt like we accomplished something--despite the fact that no work had been done, no files billed, no plans drafted, no corrections made, the sense of having done something important remained. I don't think I'd ever climbed so high before--and right now my ankles and thighs are protesting any repeat performance--but I loved it.
We got to the "scenic overlook" and my friends and J began to take pictures out on the ledge overlooking the world. The view was magnificent. You saw the Medina River valley and all the adjacent cliffs and escarpments, all absolutely covered in that rarest of the rare (for South Texas) and the admitted goal of our little expedition this morning--trees changing color. We oohed and ahhed all the way over and during the entire hike over maple trees in brilliant yellow, orange, and red. Due to an ample downpour we'd gotten earlier in the week, even the evergreen, or late-turning trees were somehow greener. I hung back and handled the dogs, at first blaming Savannah for my reticence to go so far toward the edge. Finally someone took Savannah from me and I went out to take a picture with my husband amidst the glory of God's creation. My fingers gripped tightly to the back of his shirt as picture after picture was taken, and I felt vertigo gripping me before I'd even peeked over the ledge. I smiled brightly for the camera and explained to J in an aside that I'm quite afraid of heights, and was perfectly comfortable admiring the view from a safe distance. There wasn't even a railing, for Pete's sake.
We descended, and made it to a clear, cool pond. The dogs drank and wet their tired paws, and I chunked Savannah overboard, because she's entirely too scared of the water for such a large dog. She swam her way out and shook herself off 3 centimeters from where I was sitting--I guess I deserved it--but then was happier for being wet and cool. Mommy always knows best.
Now, sunburnt of shoulder and wind-whipped of face, I listen to the heavy sleep-breathing of my family in the other room. It is peaceful, after a day filled with so many visual and physical stimuli, to tap away at my keyboard and think, "Today was a good day."
A 5 mile hike up rocky terrain to the height of 2200 feet awaited us when we arrived, but we were prepared with water (human and doggy bottles) and granola, and planned to go slowly and take MANY pictures (objective obtained, by the way).
The sun rose high during the course of our trip, and was right overhead as we began our ascent. We had two friends with us, a friend's tiny little Cocker Spaniel, Pepper, and, of course, Savannah. Pepper was a trooper but you could tell she was flagging by the time we got to the top. Savannah? She was having the best day of her 14 month life! I admit that putting her in a harness rather than a head collar was a bad idea, and I won't do it again, as I don't relish the thought of being pulled 5 miles...again...but I have to admit it came in handy, on the steep slopes, to be tethered to the strongest, most athletic member of our little group. She was in her element, leaping and bounding up the slopes, straining against the harness when I lagged behind (which I did often, as I'm not in nearly as good of shape as my svelte little girl). I finally gave her to J so I could focus on breathing, but once we all got to the top, we really felt like we accomplished something--despite the fact that no work had been done, no files billed, no plans drafted, no corrections made, the sense of having done something important remained. I don't think I'd ever climbed so high before--and right now my ankles and thighs are protesting any repeat performance--but I loved it.
We got to the "scenic overlook" and my friends and J began to take pictures out on the ledge overlooking the world. The view was magnificent. You saw the Medina River valley and all the adjacent cliffs and escarpments, all absolutely covered in that rarest of the rare (for South Texas) and the admitted goal of our little expedition this morning--trees changing color. We oohed and ahhed all the way over and during the entire hike over maple trees in brilliant yellow, orange, and red. Due to an ample downpour we'd gotten earlier in the week, even the evergreen, or late-turning trees were somehow greener. I hung back and handled the dogs, at first blaming Savannah for my reticence to go so far toward the edge. Finally someone took Savannah from me and I went out to take a picture with my husband amidst the glory of God's creation. My fingers gripped tightly to the back of his shirt as picture after picture was taken, and I felt vertigo gripping me before I'd even peeked over the ledge. I smiled brightly for the camera and explained to J in an aside that I'm quite afraid of heights, and was perfectly comfortable admiring the view from a safe distance. There wasn't even a railing, for Pete's sake.
We descended, and made it to a clear, cool pond. The dogs drank and wet their tired paws, and I chunked Savannah overboard, because she's entirely too scared of the water for such a large dog. She swam her way out and shook herself off 3 centimeters from where I was sitting--I guess I deserved it--but then was happier for being wet and cool. Mommy always knows best.
Now, sunburnt of shoulder and wind-whipped of face, I listen to the heavy sleep-breathing of my family in the other room. It is peaceful, after a day filled with so many visual and physical stimuli, to tap away at my keyboard and think, "Today was a good day."
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