Saturday, April 08, 2006

country ‘scapes

after downpours and drizzles and thunder and fog, I wake up to a brilliantly sunny Saturday.

Naturally, I am inclined to call upon my traveling companion.

Ed! Look outside!
I have to work. You told me it would rain today.
I was wrong. Look outside!
You have to work as well. Didn’t I hear you talk of exam question writing this week-end?
Damn it, look outside! I deliberately moved from the suburbs to the city so that I could go out into the country on spring days like this!

[I know this may not make sense. But I do not recall a single brilliant spring weekend in the suburbs that was not spent on me doing yard cleaning. Never to explore the rebirth of forests and meadows, never to hear the wild pleading of a goose chasing down his love-object, never to see the first flower, the first sunbather, the first fishing vessel out in our state parks… Too sad. But now I am free of yard clean up! I am free to explore!]
Ed, look outside!
I have to work. Here, take a look at this book I got from the library. It’ll give you some hiking hints if you want to head out alone.

So much for “traveling companion.” What is it with people and work in this country? It will get done! It always gets done! Good grief.

[Still, guilt overtakes me and I spend the first four hours writing final exam questions for my courses.]

In the early afternoon, I head out to Dodgeville. I do not remember the convoluted process that led me to pick a Governor Dodge State Park trail arounf Cox Hollow Lake for my Saturday trek-in-defiance-of-all-those-who-insist-on working, but the expedition was fantastic. Ten miles of clear skies and wild geese and pine trees and not a single person on the trail except little me. Okay, back at the parking lot, I did run into some dudes sunbathing by the lake. That’s Wisconsin for you. The temps were only in the fifties.

Madison Apr 06 119
bluffs and pines

Madison Apr 06 132
walking on water

Madison Apr 06 147

Madison Apr 06 160
a quiet run

Madison Apr 06 162
jumping the season