The Saga of Dan and Hannah’s Boots (epilog)

The responses to the final blog confirmed what we expected.

My thoughts on Boots - unfortunately, I think that Boots had a blacker face.  The picture of the new cat has white around the whisker area - your Boots looks to have an almost all black face.  Could it be an offspring of Boots?

I used the Super Zoom lens on Photoshop and recreated the faces at 10,000 megapixels.  It's not the same Boots.

I'm sorry, but I am in the doubting category.

BOOTS HAD A BABY  ! ! ! !

On the day that I posted the last of the updates of the Saga of Dan and Hannah’s Boots, I left for Jersey at 6A to see my Mom.  After a five hour trip, I went to “current events” with Mom as the Israeli/Palestinian issue was discussed.   After lunch, I noticed on my phone that Hannah had called me.  I called her back and she said, Have you read my latest email to you?  I hadn’t and asked why.  She said, Just read it first.  It said:

I've fallen in love with a cat.....over at the Another Chance Animal Rescue in North Berwick. Should I go meet her tomorrow a.m.? She's a brown tiger coon cat, 6 months old, a stray...."sweet, social..." Spayed, vaccinated. Hours at the ACAR are 10a-2p. I'm thinking I’d like to go and meet her. I've sent an e-mail to see if she's still available but haven't heard yet.  Tell me what you think...... I'm ready. I think Boots would be ok with it too.  xo Han

p.s. I saw her picture in the Weekly Sentinel. Can't find out on line though if she's still available.

By email, I responded, You go girl! 

Hannah had read this ad in the local free newspaper, the Weekly Sentinel, about “Misty.”  It said:

Misty is a six-month-old brown tiger and white Maine coon kitten who came in to ACAR as a stray.  She is a very sweet, social girl.  Most likely Misty had been someone’s family pet.  Misty has been spayed, vaccinations are current and she has passed her wellness exam.  Pretty Misty would very much like a new family that will love and care for her as an indoor only family member so she will be safe again.  Additionally, Hannah had been told she was abandoned in an apartment when renters had moved out.

That very next morning, Hannah drove to North Berwick (some 12 miles from our home in York) to be at Another Chance Animal Rescue right at 10A.  (It is only open for four hours each week, from 10A-2P on Saturday.)  Hannah was on a mission and not going to miss out on this cat, if at all possible.   Arriving at 10:03A, she walked through the front of the building (a thrift store to benefit the animals rescued) to a small back room with no more than eight cages of cats.  There in the hands of a young father with his daughter, was “Misty.”  Hannah held her breath and just hoped.  Forty-five seconds after the father handed Misty back to one of the “cat ladies,” who introduced Misty to Hannah, she (Hannah) said, I’m ready.  I’ll take her.  With the paper work completed (during which time a call was received inquiring if Misty were still available) and the $75 paid, we two became three again.

 

Arriving home from Jersey, Misty immediately introduced herself to me.  I was sold.  Thank goodness Hannah went on her “mission.”  Later as we took a bike ride to nearby Mount Agamenticus, we played the name game.  Eventually I suggested Sedona (after a town in Arizona north of where Hannah and I spent our first ten years of married life) and we felt it right for her “birth certificate.”   We needed something that flowed more easily off the tongue, though so her nickname is “Sadie.”

Already Sadie is amazing.  She hangs around us all the time, on the table when I type at the computer, in our laps while we sit with popcorn and wine.  Despite our past propensity to have our cats be indoor/outdoor cats, we are committed to have Sadie be an indoor cat. 

Max Ehrmann wrote in the Desiderata (http://www.fleurdelis.com/desiderata.htm) that The universe is unfolding as it should.   After the drama of the past month, we feel so fortunate that things have “unfolded” as they have for us – and now, Sadie.       

    

The Saga of Dan and Hannah’s Boots (7 of 7)

Saturday through Monday

We are gone for the weekend to a wedding in Vermont.  No one calls about Boots.

Tuesday   

After sending Will’s picture of Boots to the neighbor who saw him, he responds, I am sure it was Boots.”  My spirits soar.  My commitment strengthens and grows.  Just before dinner the next door neighbor comes over and says, I saw your cat across the street.  I follow him.  We see a little rustling in the weeds and brush.  I have no doubt he saw him.  Boots is around.   Hot dog.

I call to confirm with another neighbor that the picture of Boots I sent them is the same cat as the one that has been hanging their house for a year.  Upon picking up the phone, she says your cat has been by the bird feeder this afternoon.  Have-A-Heart is the only way you are going to catch this cat.

My plan is to call local vets tomorrow and ask the same questions I posed to the online vets.

Wednesday

I call a local vet where the tech fuels my doubts.   She wonders if it is really our cat since it is so skitterish around me.  To my question whether it could turn wild, she thinks it possible if someone was mean to it.  It may not trust people, but she still is skeptical that it is our cat.  If it was friendly, and you had it for five years, it would remain friendly.  She wouldn’t start with the Have-A-Heart trap but encourages us to put food out, which we are doing, to coax it to us.   

I call the emergency pet line where this tech thinks cats can change by being out in the wild for a year as Boots has been.  They can start to distrust.  If you do catch him, he’ll have to be quarantined because he might have rabies and other nasty diseases by having been in the wild.  He should be examined.  It all made sense.  Try to coax him with food and then maybe use the Have-A-Heart trap.

I’m discouraged, but we continue to put food out each day.

Friday – The neighbor whose house Boots has lived around sends us a close-up of Boots by email.  I immediately email the picture to our kids and Hannah.  They respond.  

Will - Don't think Boots had that much white on him.  He was also a little thicker but perhaps fending for himself for a year he lost some girth.  Feel like his face was a little wider and again less white.  Not sure though.  Haven't seen him in a while. 

Molly - I'd have to agree with Will. I think Boots' boots of white were smaller - just on the lower part of his legs....But again, I had seen Boots far fewer times that you all! 

Robyn - It looks a little like Boots, but as you said before, he probably got a little thinner. Have a great day!

Hannah - I do seem to remember extra white on his boots (at least one or two of them). Yup, he was beefier, but the year away I'm sure has slenderized and toughened him up. The part that didn't look like Boots to me was the extra black on his face--lower jaw. Eyes were the same color.  Still, after a year, our memories are all a little blurry.  I guess I'd still have to see him for myself before I'd say a definite "no". Ahh...I don't let go of Hope easily!  

After revisiting the pictures, Hannah adds, The extra black is right above his mouth, not below on his jaw....

We still put dry food in our garage every day.  More days than not the food is gone from the bowl.  That’s not conclusive since animals, raccoons, skunks, chipmunks, squirrels live in the area.  Yesterday, “Boots” passed by my window.  Later that day a neighbor called that her kids were shooing Boots towards our house. 

Whether it’s Boots or a new Boots we get, we won’t give up; we are relentless in putting food out, hoping to fill the feline void in our home. 

Compare the above picture to the picture of Boots on the fourth day’s posting.  What do you think?  

The Saga of Dan and Hannah’s Boots (6 of 7)

Thursday

As I am walking through our bedroom in the early afternoon, there he is right outside the bedroom window by our bulkhead.  I know he zipped away when he saw me before, but not being terribly bright, I still open the front door, and bam he’s off to the races; I mean sprinting across the front yard, down our driveway towards the road (in five years Boots never went toward Chases Pond Road), stays on the shoulder to the north, then cuts in by our neighbor’s driveway.  The seeds of doubt are growing that this is Boots.  Why would he bolt?  Trauma from a year in the wild?  Maybe.  He looks shorter than he does in my memory.   He’s leaner.  And why does he zip away so quickly?  Abused?  Maybe, but I’m just guessing.  I’ll take a picture with my phone if I get another chance.   I’m discouraged that he zips away so quickly.  How are we going to catch him?  How to lure him in?  Leave food closer and closer to the door so he eventually comes in?  That seems like a pipe dream.   All three bowls of dry food I’ve placed around the house have not been touched.  Seeds of doubt are growing, but I’m resolved to learn the truth if this cat is Boots.  What are the odds another black cat with four white paws would be hanging around our house?  I hope zero.

Friday

I have to say my fire is gone.  No sighting.  No animal eating the food in the three bowls I’ve placed around the yard.  My doubts multiply.  In the afternoon I take around the final Boots flyers.  Few people are home so I’m not energized by the give-and-take of conversation.  One guy tells me his mother-in-law who lives nearby has had a cat in her yard for a year.  He doesn’t remember the color, but I’ve already dropped a flyer off at her house.

Boom.  At 520P I get a call. It’s his mother-in-law.  She tells me that they’ve had a black cat with white paws around their house, barn, and shed for the last year.  Whenever they try to get close to the cat, it runs away (just like this cat has done twice with me over the last week).  She thinks it could have been in the barn over the winter.  They’ve not fed it because they don’t know where this wild cat might have been.  I’ll email the picture of Boots to her to see if they’d think it’s the same cat.  The cat is definitely leaner and wilder, but that’s what might happen when a cat is fending for itself and living off its wits.  She suggests using a Have-A-Heart trap and then take it to the vet to see what the vet thinks. 

Maybe Boots is forever wild and we will have to enjoy him from afar and on occasion.  Not much satisfaction in that.  I’ll call some vets to see what they think.

The Saga of Dan and Hannah’s Boots (5 of 7)

Wednesday morning

While hanging laundry outside, I hear a rustle in the bushes, not ten feet away.  I call, Boots.  I don’t see anything.  I race into our house to get some dry cat food to set in a bowl on the wood pile.  Upon my return, Boots is gone.  My main hope of finding Boots remains that someone has big-heartedly taken him in and will soon realize he’s ours.  I take every long shot I am given and put food in three bowls around the yard to lure him back.  A long shot, but it’s my best option.  It reminds me of the sequence from Dumb and Dumber with Jim Carrey as Lloyd and Lauren Holly as Mary. 

Lloyd: What do think the chances are of a guy like you and a girl like me ending up together?     

Mary: Well, Lloyd, that’s difficult to say.  I mean, we don’t really…                  

Lloyd: Hit me with it!  Just give it to me straight!  I came a long way just to see you, Mary.  The least you can do is level with me.  What are my chances?                                                                           

Mary: Not good.                                                                                                    

Lloyd: You mean, not good like one out of a hundred?                                                                

Mary: I’d say more like one out of a million.    

[pause]                                                                                                                                   

Lloyd: So you’re telling me there’s a chance…  YEAH!

Wednesday evening

Hannah calls that our neighbor has spotted Boots walking across his back yard as he raked leaves from Hurricane Irene.  Boots then went into the woods by our house.  Each sighting encourages me and motivates me to get on my bike to deliver another 20 Boots flyers.  Sylvie lets me know they have had cats disappear, too.  Sadly, first I have to introduce myself as a neighbor and motion with my hand that we live two houses away.  Two houses!  That is so embarrassing and indeed pathetic.  We can’t live 100 yards apart.  For a guy who believes in community I certainly haven’t done much to build one here on Chases Pond Road. 

When no one answers my knock, I wedge flyers into screen doors.  I feel these flyers will be taken less seriously, especially to the people I don’t even know.   I certainly haven’t made any down payments on getting people to care about our situation by being a good neighbor.  State Farm wouldn’t even think of having me.  When I do meet people to talk about Boots, I find I like them.  People are at their best when they are helping others in need.  I am in need.  Hopefully I haven’t crossed the line into sadly pitiful.  It just feels awkward having to introduce myself as a neighbor when I’ve lived here for 29 years; and then just show up wanting something from them.  One tells me we’re in the woods all the time.  Another young woman, who was in high school with our kids, tells of her cat leaving and not coming back.  I wish I knew these people better.  They seem so nice. 

I am encouraged that Boots again has been spotted.

The Saga of Dan and Hannah’s Boots (4 of 7)

A picture of Boots that our son Will took a few years ago.

Tuesday late afternoon

How can our neighbors resist these flyers!  They are bright, fluorescent green.   The first I give to a neighbor who cares for “Bootsy,” a second is left in the screen door when no one answers.  The third is for a neighbor who we wave to but have long since lost touch with.  He and I share a moment catching up.  His concern for our plight is genuine.  I wish I had done more to have such interactions.  Not to be his friend, but to be neighbors.  On the plus side, if I keep up this ratio in meeting neighbors today, it’s clear Meatloaf was right that two out of three ain’t bad.

It’s the same with the next neighbor who’s lived just a few houses away all the 29 years we’ve lived in York.  He asks specifically about the kids, especially wondering about Robyn, the soldier of ours.  I had no idea he cared.  Of course, how would I if I hadn’t talked to him in years?  It’s clear.  If I want to grow this community, I have the responsibility to take the first step.  I need to be more spontaneous and put myself “out there.”  Be a little more vulnerable.  It seems it’s drama, serious illness or death that gets us to leave the safety of our cocoon to meet a neighbor. Then I walk up the next driveway to explain my Boots story.  My neighbor shares it with his kids, who give me their laser focus and concern.  They are ready to march to Jerusalem with me.  I wouldn’t have recognized this Dad if I fell over him even though he’s lived on the street behind us for maybe 6, 8, or 10 years.  Am I too busy?  Too comfortable?  Too lazy?  Ouch.  

Going further down the street I meet two young fathers with six kids out playing.   I like these dads, too.  I know that I am coming in need, but as we talk, there seems to be a hunger to connect as none of us is in a hurry to disengage or move on.   I stick around.  Usually I have to borrow something or bring Hannah’s cookies to visit neighbors and just talk.  They all share their genuine concern for Boots.   Delivering flyers takes longer than I think it will, because I linger.  I am not so efficient as I thought I would be.  Maybe efficiency is part of the problem.  In a very small way, I feel that I am becoming a part of the neighborhood, at least for this moment.  I approach a backdoor neighbor who I have never met.  Literally back door.  He and his family must have lived here for five years.  Our half acre lots border for 100 feet, but there are woods and low lying wetlands between us.  Again, I wonder what would it take to become a real neighborhood.  

Though there have been no Boots sightings today (it’s only been 24 hours since he came waltzing up the driveway), I come home energized and renewed.  I am ready to spread the word tomorrow with more flyers.  

The Saga of Dan and Hannah’s Boots (3 of 7)

Back home that same Monday night

Once home, Hannah feels an old scab has been torn off her heart.  She had put to rest that Boots would ever be coming back.  I, too, figured that he was gone. GONE.  A Maine winter is just too much to survive.  Though it still seems like a long shot, I just have to do all that I can to find the family that has been caring for him.  I got used to his absence, but now I am getting used to the idea that he might return.  We draft a flyer for our neighbors.  I dismiss the need to offer a reward to our neighbors.  In our little neighborhood in Maine, people’d be thrilled to help us find Boots.  Our flyer follows.

Male Cat Missing (“Boots”) Black body with               four white paws

Last September 10, 2010, Boots did not return home.  With no sign of him, we thought a coyote might have got him.

Monday evening (August 29, 2011),  nearly a year later, Boots walked up our driveway.  When we opened the door, Boots scooted into the woods.                                 

If you see Boots, please contact           Dan or Hannah.

162 Chases Pond Road, York, Maine  03909

My specialty is the personal touch.  I’ll deliver these flyers by hand in the early evening before dinner to maximize the chance that I’ll connect with my neighbors in person.  If Boots doesn’t return, I’m thinking there is still a silver lining - we’ll at least get to know our neighbors a little better; maybe there’ll be a little more sense of community in and around our country road. 

But in the end, I just can’t NOT try.

The Saga of Dan and Hannah’s Boots (2 of 7)

Soon after that Monday evening

Not wanting to spook Boots by chasing him, I walk in the direction of our next door neighbors, Barry and Jenny, who always had a soft spot for “Bootsy” when he would come to their yard and watch the birds at their bird feeder.  I blurt out, You won’t believe it, but I just saw Boots.  We turn to the pines and oaks between our houses and see Boots again.  Be still my heart.  He slinks back into the brush as I head home for some white tuna in a can, since we have long since given all our dry cat food away.   Placing the tuna in a dish on an old stump in Hannah’s rock garden, I know I have to do something more.  I am too jazzed up to just to sit around. 

First, I call DJ, and then walk over to our backdoor neighbors, Red and Kerry.  Each just stares at me as I repeat my story.  They can’t be more sympathetic.  Truly, they are ready to join the posse.  I call Randy, then let Chrissie know, too.   Jackson says he’ll try to catch Boots, and for that I am thankful for it makes me feel I’m not on my own in this search.  Next it’s knocking on the doors of Crystal, then Alicia, and finally Old John.  Their eyes soften and they no longer wonder what this stranger wants at their door.  All are just as understanding and willing to do what they can.  They can so easily put themselves in our place.    

Alicia asks, Are you sure it’s your cat?  She relates a story of mistaken cat identity with her own cat, but I respond, it’s got four white paws and a white chest, without actually answering her question.  I just want it to be so and, tell me, what else explains this black cat with four white paws walking up our driveway twelve months later?   Heading for home, I totally forget her question.  I am on a mission.  As the poker players say, I’m all in - giving my full focus to getting Boots home.  Still it’s strange that he zipped away so quickly when I opened the door.  But that totally makes sense - he’s been on his own for the past year.

The Saga of Dan and Hannah’s Boots (1 of 7)

Monday

Picture this.  I’m just sitting in our living room at our home of 29 years in York, Maine, writing in my journal when Boots, our black cat with four white paws, ever so calmly saunters up our driveway right toward me.  That may not sound so amazing, but Boots has been gone for nearly a year!  I swear it’s Boots.  Like a cat burglar (I am so shallow that I couldn’t resist that pun.), I quietly step to the front door, open it; and boom, with the creaking of the door, Boots bolts into the woods of pines and hemlocks by our house.   Astonished!  Stunned!  Dumbfounded!  Overwhelmed!  I empty the thesaurus. Boots has come home.

When Boots, our exotic short hair cat of five years, didn’t return home last September, we thought a coyote or a fisher cat in this rural part of town might have done him in.  But today my eyes do not deceive me, Boots has come home.  Hannah and I are indoor/outdoor cat people.  We believe that our cats should have the chance to hunt mice in the yard and chase chipmunks in our wood piles.  We do know the risks of letting him out, but for five years, without fail, Boots returned daily, that is, until twelve months ago this September. 

Maybe like your dog or cat, Boots was a part of our family.  He’d sit on my lap when I read the Sunday Globe sports section or just lie on the floor at our feet when we sat with wine in the evenings before the fireplace in winter.  He’d plop on the dining room table right where Hannah was writing her cards and letters.  Though on occasion he would scratch the arms of our sofa to "sharpen" his claws; that was indeed a small price to pay for such an affectionate cat. 

Last September our hearts were torn open (ripped really) when Boots didn’t return that late summer day.  We figured he was just gone for a while.  Initially, each day when we returned from work, we’d look to see if Boots was back in the yard.  In time we got out of the habit and out of hope.  Come November, there were days we’d forget to look at all.  Then with the snows of winter, we knew he was gone for good. 

And yet there he is.  Boots is not gaunt or haggard.  He is lean but not desperate.  I immediately jump to the conclusion that he, in fact, hasn’t spent last winter totally in the wild.  Jumping higher, I figure some kind-hearted family took him in when he appeared at their door, not knowing that Boots was our cat.  Welcome home, Boots.

Dan and Hannah hike to Surplus Pond on the Appalachian Trail in Maine

I just can’t get enough of the lives of thru-hikers.  In Andover, Maine, I hit the jackpot.  Just down the road from where we are staying is the Pine Ellis hostel (http://www.pineellislodging.com/Hiker_s_Page.php) where thru-hikers (those Appalachian Trail hikers going from Georgia to Maine or vice versa in one calendar year) get off the trail to get a shower, sleep in the bunk room ($20/night) or in private rooms ($50 for two); get pizza and ice cream at the Andover General Store and Diner, and pick up mail at the local post office.  

Being bold when bold is called for, I ride up the driveway on my bike, park, and just step right up onto the front porch, acting like I know what I am doing, which I certainly do not.  Fortunately, I am a newcomer like everyone else.  David, one of the caretakers, takes me and a few others on a tour of the back bunkroom for four, which on this 90+ degree day is suffocating.  Then it’s to the laundry, which for $3 you can do a load of your nasty smelling clothes, the kitchen area where meals can be cooked, and a living room with a computer and television (got to have a shower to use the computer).  Though I saw a woman in her 50s, most of the thru-hikers are 20s and early 30s. 

Seeing an empty spot, I sit on a porch bench next to Shoofly (trail name), who is most willing to talk.  Hallelujah!  Having quit her job, she says the rule of thumb is that it costs $4000 to hike the AT for four to five months.  The Whites (White Mountains in NH) are the toughest.  She says, (and this stuns me since I see hiking the AT as a chance to stop and smell the roses) AT hikers never take blue blaze trails (those trails going to side views of, say, waterfalls or other points of interest) if they are .2 of mile or more away.  At .1 of a mile they think about going off the white blaze AT trail.  They have just too many miles to go from Georgia to Maine.  She started in early March (now late July) and is on her third pair of Merrells (http://www.merrell.com/US/en/MerrellMainPageB?grp=B), which are very cool. Merrells will replace one pair of hiking shoes for free for thru-hikers.  She hopes to finish in two weeks at Mount Katahdin.

On the porch I am taken aback by an ashtray with fifty cigarette butts.  Shoofly has a Smart Phone and others have IPods.  She mentions that 9P is the hikers’ midnight.  She says to me, You should hike the trail.  I take that as a compliment since I am semi-fit, but I have no spirit for the backpacking life.  One, it rains regularly, two, a 30-40 pound backpack is beyond my endurance, and, three, I sleep poorly enough that sleeping with others in a shelter or lean-to holds no charm for me.  Fact is, physically I don’t think I can do it.  Thirty-five years of daily running has taken its toll on my knees.  Just before I get up to go, David the caretaker offers all the hikers a freeze pop on this sweltering day and he offers one to me, too.   In my sad little mind, it’s validation of my acceptance into the thru-hiking brotherhood.

The following morning with good friends Donna and George, Hannah and I drive out of town on the East B Hill Road for the trailhead eight miles away from Andover, ME.  Looking for thru-hikers myself while the others want to see a moose, we climb quickly and easily on a dirt path with many cross cutting roots towards Surplus Pond.  Through the boggy sections there are puncheons (log planks over the muck) through the lush Maine forest.  After three days of muggy 90s, today we hike in the low 60s on trails almost always shaded by trees.  There is a 500 foot elevation gain for this part of the trail.  After an hour of hiking to Surplus Pond, we take a .1 mile side trip to an abandoned cabin with an outhouse with a seat for all who heed nature’s call.

We then continue on the AT north towards Wyman Mountain on well-marked trails with moose pellets here and there.  Still having not seen a moose or any thru-hikers, we hike on easily until we hear some loud talking.  Two strapping young men, American Bacon and Magua (from the Last of the Mohicans) [their trail names], are roaring by, barely making eye contact.  Bummed, I play my ace in the hole – offer them granola bars.  Quickly, they play a different tune.  They relax and engage and are most appreciative of the extra calories.  They mention that as southbounders (going from Maine to Georgia) they lost too much weight initially and are watching to see that they eat enough calories.  Energized by the interaction, I ask the others who are still pining to see their moose, Can a moose offer such engagement as these two young men?   Unconvinced, they trudge on, still wanting their moose. 

The trail towards Wyman Mountain is tree covered. Low pines and ferns push into the trail as I whack them with trekking sticks to clear a path for future hikers.  Hiking with good friends makes the time fly even though they never saw their moose.  It’s always nice when the trailhead is near town.  A shower and lunch nearby await. 

As always when hiking, know thyself, thy limits, and the conditions.  Be prepared.   

Dan and Hannah and Blueberry Fields Forever - White Cap near Andover, Maine

On one of the hottest days in Maine in easily five years, we are guests at our friends’ family house in northeastern Maine. They have air-conditioning; we don’t!  The trip from York is a mere two hours and 15 minutes as we take the Maine Turnpike north to Gray, then head north on a variety of small roads (routes 26, 232, 2, and 5).   In GPS we trust.  The drive takes you through 1950s Maine with houses built right on the road, farms among the forests, and rushing rivers.  It puts the quint in quintessential Maine life.

Scorched to a crisp by temperatures in the mid-90s at home, we head with friends, Donna and George, for White Cap Mountain not fifteen minutes away.  These are good friends.  You know the kind.  When we are with them, we have a voice, they think Hannah is very funny, the time passes quickly, and we play games together: Cornhole (http://www.cornhole.com/), Mormon Bridge (We’ll teach you this classic game when we next get together.), & Doubles Wild (http://www.areyougame.com/interact/item.asp?itemno=ENG1031&q=doubles+wild).  These are all good social games with the right amount of skill and luck to keep everyone interested and give each a chance to win.

Already 74 degrees and muggy at 730A, we park at the trailhead on East Andover Road and get ready to climb 1600 feet of vertical gain to a summit at 2200 feet. Lathered with Deep Woods Off, we don’t find the bugs an issue throughout the day.  Beginning on a logging trail, we soon climb among the deciduous trees (I use deciduous because I don’t pay enough attention to know if they are oaks, poplars, or whatever).  Rarely hiking in such muggy weather in the 90s, I relax knowing George is in charge.  He’s been coming here since he was a child.  Usually the responsibility falls on me to plan and execute the hiking experience.  It’s really nice to be just going along for the ride today.  The trail is exceptionally well marked and recently rerouted by the Mahoosuc Land Trust (PO Box 981, Bethel, Maine 04217). 

It’s a steady climb on mostly dirt trail that’s easy on the feet.  There’s no getting around that it’s a serious vertical climb; we are huffing and puffing.  Coming out of the forest, we begin to see the blueberry patches.  I’ve brought plenty of water, but sample the blueberries along the way to supplement my water.  My lightweight Under Armour (http://www.underarmour.com) George Mason University tee-shirt doesn’t hold in the sweat or suffocate like a cotton shirt can.  It’s very cool, too.  We drink freely and the good company makes the time pass quickly. 

Once at the top of this bald (few trees and much exposed stone on the mountain top) we scatter, take our three-cup Tupperware containers, and start picking blueberries.  In no time, I’ve learned I can grab a clump of berries with the ripe ones coming off easily and the green ones staying on the bush.  Soon it is apparent that bending over is not a winning strategy for picking berries so I find a shady area to plant myself.  Slacker that I am, I am soon thinking there is no way I am filling this little plastic container.  Having self-diagnosed ADD, I wander off to check out the mountain ranges on this summit with 360 degree views and wait till the others have filled their containers.  There’s Sunday River and Old Speck Mountain on the Appalachian Trail. 

I am so ADD.  I rarely read books, (too long), unless I am reading them aloud to my friend Vin.  I’m big into magazines (Sports Illustrated is #1 for me.  I like the New Yorker, which helps push the needle on my pretentious meter.  I like the reworked Newsweek with its renewed focus on pop culture and all things baby boomer).  If you have been a student of mine, you know that in a 2.5 hour class I might have four to five different things to do, and almost all interactive.  It’s experiential learning (learning by having an experience); it’s how I learn best - by being actively involved, thanks to my ADD. 

After berry picking on the summit, we descend quickly in less than an hour.  The trail is well marked with signs and cairns (piled rocks to show the direction of the trail).  Finding a teenage girl with a panting yellow lab Riley in the shade, we empty our water into a blueberry container for this tongue-pulsing dog who slurps wildly.   At the bottom, we are within fifteen minutes of a shower and a cool lunch of sandwiches and watermelon back at the homestead. 

White Cap Hike – Satisfying with panoramic views of the Andover valley.  Good for families and great for late July/early August blueberry pickers.  As always when hiking, know thyself, thy limits, and the conditions.  Be prepared, especially on excruciatingly hot days with water and salty snacks.