Rockport Expedition: Andrew’s Point to Granite Pier

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The Cape Ann Tool Company in Pigeon Cove was established in 1880 as a blacksmith shop. During the early part of the 1900’s, it supplied the seven established granite quarries in Rockport with tools, eventually shifting its production to manufacturing … Continue reading

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This One Struck Home

I rarely re-post. In fact. I have never re-posted. This one is worth it all the way.

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Walk of Life

At times I wish I could follow the beaten path, where routine is king and every day life of family dinners and soccer practice rules. Bushwhacking through life is exhausting, but when that single ray of light or the end of the rainbow fills me with such hope and curiosity… it is… just so… hard to resist the spice of life that feeds my soul and adventuresome spirit.

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Autumnal Equinox – SO WHAT?

According to the almanac here in the northern hemisphere, yesterday was the autumnal equinox, or the first day of fall, the day when the sun crosses directly over the Earth’s equator on his way south, and both day and night are about equal.

Each year, the autumnal equinox is surrounded by the same melancholy: “Oh, no! (sigh) Today is the first day of fall.” In fact, this glum process begins when school commences late August/early September. People give up on summer: vacation homes are boarded up, boats are hauled and people go outside solely for obligatory apple picking, corn maze trails and trick-or-treating. Unless there is a Patriots’ football game on, in which case everything comes to a grinding halt in Boston.

But I refuse to fall victim to tradition when tradition makes no sense. So today, under gloriously sunny skies (thanks to a borrowed, sweet, buoyant tri-wetsuit), I was filled to the brim with mind-bending, childlike happiness, as I swam gleefully, floating, exploring the crystal clear waters in a local cove with a bunch of funky jelly fish, feeling like a fat, blubbery seal.

And so the summer fun continues…


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Mum and Dad 50 Years

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In Times Like These

SMS received at 3:30pm: “Tell me you are not at marathon. Two bombs just went off.”

A sick feeling quickly filled my stomach.

Today is Patriots’ Day – a public holiday in the states of Maine and Massachusetts, commemorating the 1775 battles of Lexington and Concord – two of the earliest battles in the American Revolutionary War. What is celebrated with war reenactments in Concord is dominated in the city of Boston by the Boston Marathon, the oldest continuous run marathon in the world, with an estimated 27,000 runners and 500,000 spectators registered for this, its 117th year.

Surrounded by visiting runners at a Boston pub yesterday afternoon, an athlete myself and a foreigner to boot, I sensed their focus, the anticipation, the butterflies… just the way I feel the day before a race. Smitten, I strongly considered going to watch the race, however, I am a participant in life, not a spectator so I decided against it. Thank god.

The winners were from Kenya (women’s) and Ethiopia (men’s), as usual. But aside from that, this year’s race was like no other: Two bombs went off at the finish line, killing three people and injuring over one hundred, some critically.

Butterflies were replaced by utter disbelief. Hours of messages, calls, tweets and emails ensued from friends and family from as far away as California, Chile, Sweden and Australia making sure that I was not among those injured or worse, which surprisingly made me feel strangely disconnected and broken into pieces. Why were we not all together?

The answer is this: As a traveler and an expat, I’m very happy in my life is here and now, right now, and am surrounded by beautiful people – but throughout my journey, I’ve left and been handed pieces of hearts and souls across the globe. Thankfully, souls know no distance.

Thank you for being close today.

(Reuters/Jose Miguel Gomez)

(Reuters/Jose Miguel Gomez)

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Tree People

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