Knee Deep in Autumn

There is no doubt that my favorite season of the year is indeed Autumn. There is the anticipation of the hunt but there is much more to it then that.  There are those perfect fall days that beckon to be participated in. Winter is interminably long with cold dreary bleak days and bare trees waving empty fingers at the sky. Spring literally springs upon us. One morning we walk out and it is warm and the birds are singing and, while it may get cold again, inexorably the season crawls forward as spring flowers leap from the ground and one day you suddenly notice that the trees are full of leaves and, gasp, you have to mow the grass! Still, despite its fast appearance, spring is with us for weeks. The same with summer. Because of the long days, summer seems to be the longest season of the year. In the heat of a summer evening, those cold, snowy winter nights seem to have happened somewhere far off in a distant land.

Fall is different. On the calendar it last for weeks but those few days of fall perfection do not. You know the days I mean. The color on the trees is peaked. The dried out corn in the fields is under harvest, the hay is golden yellow and giant rolls of it can be seen across the country side. The wild flowers are mature and while the leaves and stalks begin to dry, the colorful fall blooms wave in the breeze in stark contrast to the ripe golden brown hues around them. Birds and animals are busy all day long plucking ripened berries and wild grapes from shrubs and vines in preparation for cold days to follow. Everywhere there is the steady thud, thud, thud, of nut-laden trees dropping their bounty on leaf-strewn forest floors, lawns, and roadsides. On clear days, hawks can be seen far overhead wending their way South on their fall migrations but a moment perhaps to enjoy the day and the bounty below.

It is these days that make me want to get out and roll around in fall. I want to soak it up and get it all over me. As a hunter, I become part of the harvest but I can never seem to full immerse myself no matter how hard I try. It seems like there is so much Autumn out there that no matter what I do I can not get enough. And it doesn't last long. One good wind and rain storm and, while the bounty seems to be gone. Obviously it is still there for the taking but the beauty is removed. Colorful leaves are ripped from their stems and dumped unceremoniously amongst the ruin on the ground to turn into a brown and grey mush. Nuts and berries are shaken violently to the ground to be quickly consumed or rot. Farmers hurry to bring in the last of the harvest and get it snugged away to feed hungry mouthes through the ensuing winter.

Every day through the fall I watch out my car window for those perfect days. Even leaving work, I stop to pick up a few crisp sycamore leaves and crush them in my hands and enjoy the sweet autumn odor they emit. I go out of my way to walk through a wind-stacked pile of crispy, colorful leaves and close my eyes and listen to the crunch crunch crunch as I walk to my car. I enjoy the day and look forward to when my time is my own and I can be out there every day knee deep in Autumn.

Confessions of a Baseball Fan

One thing I may not have mentioned is that I am an avid baseball fan. Specifically, I am a born and bred Phillies fan. I bleed Phillies red. I am congenitally allergic to the Mets. Needless to say, I was delighted with the outcome of game 4 with the Colorado Rockies.

But I don’t just want to gloat on the Phillies success. I’d like to pay a small tribute to the fans of the Colorado Rockies. I saw a lot of Philliness in those fans. They are diehard, rabid fans who were willing to show up for game 3 on the coldest night ever in major league post season history. I love their chant for Troy Tulowitzki. Clap, clap, clap, clap, clap, clap, clap, clap, clap, clap “TULO”!

As I watched the exciting 9th inning on the edge of my seat and even as I celebrated the outcome, I thought about those Rockies fans silently filing out of the stadium, heads hung low. I’ve been there many times as a Phillies fan . . . though all too often it is in September at the end of the regular season rather then in Mid-October in the playoffs. As fans, we are sad partly because our favorite team is no longer in contention for a championship but also because baseball season is over. For us baseball-inflicted types, we probably started following our team in February beginning with that exciting day when pitchers and catchers report to spring training. That little news tidbit at the end of the sports report on the news harkens the end of the long, cold baseball-less winter. We perk up a little wondering who is on the roster this year. Perhaps we check the teams website for the first time in months. Who is that guy? Where did they get him? What happened to my favorite player? How did the off-season surgeries go?

Before we know it spring training is in high gear. Players field ground balls, take batting practice and play grapefruit league games all the while signing autographs and taking pictures with those of us loyal enough to show up in various small ballparks around the warmer climates of the country.

Then April rolls around and the season starts. We spend a couple weeks checking out the new players in real game situations. We watch as rookies succeed and fail. Players are called up and sent down and rosters and line-ups are juggled as managers work out the alchemy that becomes the most successful team they can field.

By May we start to have an idea how our team is and who our stars this year are going to be. This may fluctuate in the weeks and months to follow, but the players we listen to and watch every day become like family. We follow them on the field, in post game interviews, on player blogs, and in the news. We watch statistics and even though we hope our team wins we also want to see our favorite players do well. We vote like mad to get them into the All-Star game.

Mid-summer brings lazy, warm nights. There is no finer time to be at a baseball game. We eat hotdogs and funnel cake and enjoy the evening breezes in shorts and t-shirts. Perhaps there are great fireworks and maybe even a foul ball as a souvenir. With any luck, the home team wins and we go home satisfied and happy.

After the All-Star break, the pennant races begin to take shape, and teams become either buyers or sellers in the race to the trading deadline. The managers and fans of potential contenders cajole their owners and GMs into going after the talent they need to make a playoff run. Managers of losers try to keep talent even though they aren’t a contender this year. In the eternal optimism of baseball there is always next year!

As the September pennant runs really heat up, our players and teams have become our extended family. We live for the evening ball game when we can put on the television or radio and spend a couple hours following the trials and travails of our boys. As September winds down we feel as though our very breath depends on every pitch and every swing of the bat. It is pure excitement. We soak it in while we can because we know somewhere in the back of our minds it is almost over. The feeling is reminiscent of the last days of summer as a child when you try to squeeze everything in and regret the days you spent doing nothing. Now you wish you watched every inning of every game.

If we are lucky, our team is one of the 8 to make it to the post-season. We get a few more days of cheering, hoping, and agonizing over the what-ifs. We want so bad to just win that next game and move on to the next opponent. Ultimately, the fans of only one team get to experience the high of a World Series Championship. This is truly a championship to be proud of. First, our team had to be one of the best in baseball after playing 162 games to hash out the contenders. Then we had to win 10 games in series to reach the pinnacle of the sport. There are no one game wonders in baseball.

For the first time in 28 years last year my Phillies gave me the honor of being able to celebrate that big World Series win. I screamed and jumped around like a school girl. This was something that for so many years seemed unachievable. It has been a privilege to say World Series Champion Philadelphia Phillies for the last year. I originally thought one would be enough to keep me happy for a while, but I find as the Phils progress through the playoff I want once again to watch that last pitch and see that last feeble swing by the opposition batter and feel once again that amazing feeling that my boys won the World Series. I want to talk to everyone I know about how incredible it is that our team won the World Series. I want to boast with pride for another year that my favorite team is the best there is.

Sadly, for too many fans, the season or playoffs will end without a World Series champhionship. Suddenly, our nightly obsession will be over. We will wonder what to do in the evening when there is no game to tune into or to go see in person. How will we get by? It doesn’t seem possible that 162 games have gone by and it is now over. It will be along winter before the season cranks up again. It is okay to be sad but it is also okay to say “Wait ‘til next year”!

Rural running

My many outdoor pursuits include running. Actually, I have had a love-hate relationship with running over the years and right now the affair is hot and heavy. To some degree it is a necessity. You see, I have the metabolism of my Mother's family. She fought with weight her whole life. She was never "fat" per se but she made a steady diet of sawdust and water to battle fat, high cholesterol, and all the fun and joy that goes with it. For me, if I eat fatty food and don't exercise, the pounds stack on quickly. But running is more then fitness and exercise. It is an escape from the daily grind and the pressures of life. It also allows me to stay in good enough shape to do all the other things in life I enjoy. I have also learned there is a wonderful, world-wide community of runners out there who "get it".

Another great thing about running is that it is easily combined with other interests. My wife and I have a little motorhome and camping is her passion and therapy. Happily, it is a simple business to go running while we are camping. In fact, it is fabulous because I can look forward to running in new places nearly every weekend. I get to discover new trails, new roads, and see new things all the while enjoying my run.

Obviously there aren't campgrounds in big cities and if there were we wouldn't go there. Our camping, and therefore my running is indeed quite rural. This works for me because I grew up as a backwoods boy and am still a backwoods boy at heart. Along with its beauty, rural running has its challenges though.

Not all with rural running is peaches and cream. There are definitely downsides. First and foremost is rural dogs. While many are well-behaved, most rural dogs on rural roads are free to roam their yard and property and seldom see runners. This always makes for an exciting wildcard. Usually, if I see a well-maintained house and yard and I am not too worried because the dog is usually well-maintained too. The excitement begins when you see the yard with foot long grass, the pickup with 6 coats of primer, and the couch and empty beer cans on the front porch. You KNOW not only do they have a dog but it is not a normal dog. It is some missing link between the modern canidae and some ancient, and especially vicious breed of wolf. This dog lies in wait under the trampoline with the torn cover for that one day a year when some foolish camper goes for a morning run and runs down "his" street. He kills the passing days by gnawing on the rubbery soles of the Aasics of the last hapless runner that went by (chewing the shoes because the bones have long since been devoured). Now, in most dog encounters you the runner hope the owner will be out and will intervene. But that will not be the case with White Fang. His owner put in a long night on the couch polishing off a case of bud light. He probably won't see the light of day until right before the NASCAR race at 1:00pm. He probably forgot to feed the dog before he went to bed too.

On one run this year, I literally ran by a junkyard with "Beware of Dog" signs everywhere and a large and steaming pile of dog sign laying at the shoulder of the road! On another occasion I ran by a yard that had 3 rather decrepit trailers on the property. This place definitely looked like Cujo's home. At first I was relieved because there was a sign for "Young Minds Daycare". Whew! Daycare . . okay probably no biting dogs there. My mind was just wrapping itself around the idea that there probably are people that had to take their kids to an old trailer out in the woods for daycare when I saw the next sign in the same yard. Beware of Dog! Great. I went into running stealth mode and peeked into the backyard. There were two unrestrained Pit Bulls staring off into the woods behind the house. Good . . they are distracted. I'll just run quietly by. I know right where this daycare/child kibble shop was because it was exactly 4 miles from where I started my run. I remember this because I have a running watch that loudly rings a bell every mile. As I "snuck" by and my 4 mile bell rang (aka the doggie dinner bell) my heart rate spiked and my pace quadrupled. A quarter mile down the road I looked back to see a hungry-looking Pit Bull standing in the street sniffing.

Not all dogs are perceived to be dangerous though. In fact the vast majority put on a good show but fail miserably in their attack tactics. Near my Dad's house (also rural) a small pack of ankle biters comes running out at me barking and snarling every time I go by. The biggest dog is the size of a large rabbit. I wave my arms and and yell and they all head for cover under the owner's automobile. Yesterday as I finished my run with amazingly few dog sightings, I heard the unmistakeable sound of a silently charging dog. Adrenaline pulsed in my veins, my heart leaped to my throat, and I turned to see . . . a Golden Retriever "charging". Yeah . . right. I had a golden. The biggest threat there was getting long fur all over my black running shorts. Over my shoulder I pointed and yelled "HEY  . . STAY". He got a bewildered look on his face and stopped as if he ran into quick sand. He hesitantly backed up, "woofed" a couple of times then sheepishly turned and headed back to his house.

Other dog encounters are down-right fun. Usually when I'm running I don't want to stop to talk or be greeted by a friendly dog. Sometimes you can't resist. A few weeks ago I was running down a country road on a beautiful morning and was admiring the wonderful landscaping at one house. The owner was on the front deck looking out. He suddenly looked down and said "No! Spike! Get over here"! I thought "Oh no . . Spike? This can't be good". Well, Spike turned out to be an adorable Jack Russell/Chihuahua mix. He trotted into the road and looked up at me with that friendly dog "Hi" look on his face and I couldn't resist stopping to greet him. I also didn't want the little guy running out in the road. I had to chuckle at the name "Spike" as I jogged on my way.

Dogs aren't the only challenge to rural running though. Just yesterday I had planned out my route on www.mapmyrun.com. Off I went with the first two roads and turns going as planned. Then I came to the  third intersection. Remember this is the rural road on an even more rural township in an even more rural county. The road sign had been hit countless times and blown by the wind for years without maintenance. I stared at the sign and the roads feeling a bit like Wayne Knight (Denis Nedry) from Jurrasic Park. Spin the sign and take a guess which way is right. Happily, my runs aren't that structured that I can't improvise if I guess wrong.

But after a summer of running and camping I will take rural running anyday over running in the city, suburbs, or on the track. It is inspiring to run miles along a field full of cows, or to share the early morning road with a fox heading for bed who doesn't think you see him as he hunkers in the roadside brush. I've seen amazing sunrises and sunsets, and watch hawks capture their morning dinner, all before most people are even out of bed.