The Taste of Summer

This post is an assignment for Studio30Plus. Note that it is an extemporaneous attempt to fulfill the requirement of a writing assignment. I am adding to the challenge by giving myself an extra "degree of difficulty" by trying to write it from beginning to end in one go, without revision, and without giving myself time to consider alternate prose. It will come out as the thoughts are born and arrive at my fingertips. Wish me luck!


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My left knee aches fiercely as I pick my way down the steep trail toward the creek, 400 feet below me. I can't recall seeing so much fissile shale before on any of the hikes I've done, going back as far as the 1970s. Then again, I have to remind myself that among other things, I've never been on this particular trail, high above the Susquehanna River. Another thought I force myself to accept is that the legs that powered me through endless periods of ice hockey and trail running are almost fifty years old, and the balance and coordination of youth are now memories.

So I focus on the skidding sedimentary floor of rocks below my feet, catching only glimpses of the awe inspiring scenery around me. I look forward to the trail flattening out so I can stare at the endless expanse of water and hills. The sun breaks through the amalgam of broadleaf and evergreens, reminding me through my salty perspiration and burning skin that I am in the midst of a glorious, but hot summer in Pennsylvania.

As I hit the well-worn and mercifully gently sloping dirt path at the base of my descent, I take a moment to drink from my canteen, which I filled at the summit and trailhead three miles back. The water is cold and sweet. Its source is the very river below me. Strong pumps and old pipes carried it to the top of the hills, where it was stored and cleaned and then sent to an ancient water fountain, built just for this purpose. I don't detect any of the chlorination present in my home's tap water. I can drink this water in huge, greedy gulps and savor it in my mouth, swishing it around with my tongue, which also sponges it up. It tastes like "outside" water and picks at some forgotten memory from childhood - perhaps a garden hose on a similar summer day.

As I trek on, I enjoy the smells of the woods: the Elms (ok, maybe not such an enjoyable smell to my nose), the Sycamores (my favorite tree), the dirt, the rocks that have sat here for a hundred million years, and the mossy smell of water from the creek that flows into the wide Susquehanna River. I follow that creek along, toward its source, back upwards again. This time I go slowly, not because of pain or fatigue, but because this is heaven. I don't want to leave these woods, but I can only stay so long, knowing that reality and the responsibility of home and work await me, impatiently.

The last mile of my hike takes me along a wide, grassy trail, with brambles and low bushes on both sides. Something else is there as well. Something I had hoped for with childlike anticipation: the wild raspberry bushes! They are everywhere! Fresh, beautiful, wild raspberries, dotting the greenery with their bright reds, bluish blacks, and not-yet-ripe greens. I pick them, one by one, and put them on my tongue. They are slightly tart, as fruity as anything can be, and refreshingly moist. I don't chew them but, instead, squeeze them between my tongue and the roof of my mouth. The tart/sweet juice runs around the sides of my tongue to its underside, where it mixes with my now plentiful saliva and then slides down my throat.

This ritual is repeated over and over and over, as I amble slowly up the trail. Between swallows of fruit, I place select berries in my now empty canteen and in my hat, knowing that in a month this trail will be devoid of these blissful buds. Animals will live on them, the heat will take its toll on them, and future hikers will not be able to relish their savoriness. I will enjoy the homeward bound berries for weeks to come. Each one will remind me of this hike, just as each one reminds me of summer, when I feel so alive, and so grateful for their taste and the memories that they bestow.

An Open Letter To Retailers

Dear Unnamed Retailer*:

I am your customer. Just one person.  A very frequent, loyal customer. I never complain, I'm always friendly, I thank you for your product and your hard work to make it for me.  I am no more or less important than any of your other customers. I frequent your place of business because you sell a product I like to use. If I and others didn't, you wouldn't be in business. Therefore, is it too much to ask of you to keep the environment of your establishment pleasant?

If I want to sit and relax with a beverage you sell me, but the music playing in your place prevents me from having a conversation with another patron because it is too loud, I'm going to politely ask that it be turned down (although I would think that someone working there should have already checked it for proper volume). Very politely, because why would I be otherwise? I like you, but I simply want to be able to carry on a conversation without raising my voice.

That stated...

Some Dos and DON'Ts:

Please don't suggest I move to a place farther away from the speakers. Please don't look at me as if I'm putting you out. Please don't sigh heavily at me. Please don't question my judgment on what is too loud, because I promise I'm not going to ask unless it's absolutely necessary. Please do tell me you'll take care of it right away, and thank me for bringing it to your attention.

Because if you do the don'ts, you'll lose my business. And guess what? You'll probably never know why, because I'll just stop coming, and you'll lose my business and the other business that I bring in through friends and family. You may say, "No big deal. It's just one person or a few people." Yep, I'm just one person, already admitted as much in the beginning of the letter. But your whole business is built on one person, then another individual, then another, and another, one or two at a time, over time. Trust me when I tell you that you cannot afford to lose the business of just "one person".

We add up. And again, the only reason you have a job, and that your establishment is open, is because I and others are willing to trade our hard-earned money for your product today.

Today.

Thank you,

The Defiant Marshmallow


*I really do enjoy your high-priced, great tasting, brewed, dark brown, hot beverages and free Wifi. Honest I do!

Recent Thoughts

Recent thoughts from the week. Maybe from recent weeks. Perhaps from even longer.

- My 138 lb son hasn't yet learned that mass wins. He must know it intellectually, because he's had two decent physics classes, but for some reason, the reality hasn't settled in his brain yet. I would never do anything to hurt him, but the look of surprise on his face when he bounces off of me is priceless. Picture a beach ball and a locomotive, on roller blades, playing hockey. No, I never go after him. It's just that now and then, he gets the crazy idea that he can throw a check at the old man. I'm sure one of these days, he'll catch me with my head down and feel the pride of a victorious hit. I'll be happy for him - and then probably board him like Dave Schultz would board a Red Army Forward.

- Speaking of physics, I was minding my own business in my back yard hammock this week when I experienced a sudden gust of gravity. Turns out, one of my precious buddies (look no further than the photo in the logo of The Defiant Marshamallow) decided to run under my hammock. He is apparently taller than he thought. Or stupider, because he actually hit the underside of the hammock, creating a moment that should have been captured on video, but wasn't. Yes, a hammock can spin around and turn upside down very easily.

- To all new and future pilots, military and otherwise. Please believe me when I say that the 20 Minute Fuel Light in your aircraft doesn't have a built in fudge factor.

- Ran across someone on a web forum who thought he had discovered a rock solid argument that would once and for all stop "those evil atheists" in their tracks. Atheist being his term for anyone who didn't believe in his specific god in exactly his specific way. And it was a very narrowly defined god, trust me. By this troll's account, everyone reading this is an atheist.
I don't know if I'm happy when I run across people this deluded or not. I think not. I would say I'm just weary of them. Any person who thinks he has the ultimate answers and that he, alone, thought of the ultimate solution to life, death, the universe, and the god thing is quite sad, really. Especially when they start off by telling you to prove a negative.

Sigh.

- I've decided to take up Portuguese. The language. I think it sounds beautiful. It's also one of those languages that, when you hear it spoken, you can't quite figure out what language it is. I like that. It will be a challenge. After eight years of German, three of Russian, growing up with Italian spoken in the house, and learning a smattering of Spanish while stationed in Honduras, I think it will be fun to try out a new language. The downside to learning it is that I don't know anyone who speaks it. Maybe this means I'll just have to go to Brazil.

I've always wanted to meet Helô Pinheiro* anyway.

*(The real Girl From Ipanema - who happens to look like this now)

Flying Rods

Just for fun I decided to photograph some backyard insects. This was to make a point about something that irks me. Maybe you've seen videos or photos of strange looking "Flying Rods".  There are plenty of internet sites that talk about them: Flying Rods for instance. Or this gem of a site. Naturally, these sites are dedicated to non-natural explanations of Rods. Why come up with something prosaic and normal when you can speculate all kinds of weird things instead? That was sarcasm, if it wasn't obvious.

Anyway, Rods are nothing more than insects of various kinds: flies (several species), midges, gnats, etc. My gallery has no explanations for each photo, but feel free to browse. Note the information accompanying each photo though, because the primary differences in the pics comes from the varied shutter speeds. In brief, long exposure times, with shutter speeds at or below 1/60 sec, make you see Flying Rods, and short exposure times (above 1/1250 and up to 1/5000 sec) let you see the individual insects as they really are.

Not all is in focus, because...well YOU try photographing things moving at a gazillion mph that won't cooperate and stay in your focal plane!

Enjoy, ask questions, and go out and try it yourself for fun. I know at least one person who will read this who has High Speed video capability (ahem, Barbara).

Click on "View All" to see the gallery and to be able to zoom in on each photo.

Very Important Blogging Tip

Just in! A crucial tip for bloggers. If you want keep from feeling unloved, unread, unwanted, or otherwise like a failure, do this!

Tip: Keep your blog posts short!

Studies have shown* that your readers, if you have any, pretty much all have A.D.D. Or some other issue which keeps them from reading anything they have to scroll to see. In a millisecond, they decide, based on the length of the tome you've written, whether or not they're going to read it, even if it's pure gold (and it's likely not, but that's beside the point).

So keep it short! Here's what some of the great wordsmiths have to say about this tip:

"Awesome tip! Wish I had read this last month."
--The Defiant Marshmallow

"#!%@$!*"
--The Defiant Marshmallow

"Quite true."
--Dead Shakespeare

"No shit."
-The Defiant Marshmallow

"I always said that brevity is the soul of wit"
Dead Shakespeare

"Fuck you, Dead Shakespeare!"
--Name Withheld





*Completely fabricated.