Many of us have such a rite, often a private moment or meandering that initiates the season. Henry Thoreau, as noted a few posts ago, made ritual of getting his boat onto the river, often forcing the nascent spring into narrow leads of water in the still-dominant ice. There is an excited cadence to his journal’s prose as he caulks his boat, readies for its seasonal baptism.
My own ritual requires a little travel, and so sometimes it must wait a little deeper into this season. But on May’s 3rd day, I awoke and looked up at the mountain I must climb to say, “It’s spring.” That I would climb also back into some north-side drifts of snow and ice made me feel kin to Thoreau as he rowed and shoved his boat through the ice to reach Fairhaven; we both would get to this expansive season, even through ice.
Spring invites all sorts of rites, including, of course, the 6th’s remembrance of Henry Thoreau’s full short life.
The following photos form an impressionistic saunter from the day’s trail And you? Let us know your rite/s?
Morning’s (glacial) erratic – what animal within?
Yesterday’s moose – note: I have spared you photos of scat.
The centerpoint from the south.
Short snooze on the day’s first summit. Looking north.
Weather shifts; Washington shows white in the distance.
Centerpoint peak up close
Rock and Sky – up there
Summit inscription from Henry’s era.
The day’s “crux” – a 100′ descent of steep ice.
Afternoon’s erratic , lichen-starred quartz. Animal within?
Down to the day’s flowers – Downy Violet
Trout Lily
Tomorrow’s trillium
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