My Musical Journey to Coldplay

I grew up in a house without much  music in it. The silent melody of my Dad and the clamor of angry shouting and vitriol from my Mom were really the only instruments in our home orchestra of two. My mom was the conductor of our family symphony. She waved her baton ferociously, often landing on me in the form of a shoe, wooden spoon, hangar, hairbrush and even the flat of her hand. There was a silent chorus, my brother and sister, standing mutely in the wings. The three of us learned to just stay out of the way in the hush of our rooms. 

But music has a way of slipping into your life, unchecked, from a myriad of places. The radio in the car. Music in stores. Friends who shared, and even occasionally tv shows. Nowadays, I discover new music on YouTube where my first introduction to Coldplay happened. As a teenager, though, I was relegated to listening  to what my parents listened to, not too popular with my adolescent cohort so I didn’t share.

Fortunately and fortuitously, with the help of my grandfather, what did sneak its way into my life were songs by artists who helped me through my uneasy teenage years. He gave me a record player for one of my birthdays and with that gift my record collecting began. I found a community that, musically, captured with their relevant lyrics how I felt. So many artists writing deeply emotionally charged songs eased the silence of my room and gave me an avenue for hope.

When James Taylor wrote, “when you’re down and troubled and you need a helping hand” in You’ve Got a Friend, he was that hand for me.
In At Seventeen, Janis Ian penned “to those of us who knew the pain,” I knew what that pain felt like.
Elton John sang in Your Song, “I hope you don't mind that I put down in words how wonderful life is while you're in the world,” it felt like someone saw me.
And of course, The Beach Boys singing In My Room captured what a safe place should be, “There's a world where I can go and tell my secrets to, in my room.” I lived in a world of secrecy and I yearned for my room to be a safe place.  

Dozens of songs were a solace to me through high school and into college.

Then, in my 20s I married a guy who wanted to be a disc jockey on the radio. Music became a part of my life in an entirely new way. It was the 1980s. He was the morning man at a Top 40 radio station. I listened to what he played. In between weather updates, birthday greetings, local advertising and his glib schtick, I heard the hits of the 1980s and 90s, an eclectic mixed bag of songs. Some struck a chord; but not the same notes as those of my youth. Music was just a background thread in the fabric of my life.

Kid music dominated the next phase of my musical journey. The songs of Sesame Street and Barney and Disney musicals governed our household for years. I can still sing the opening refrain to Disney’s Robin Hood, a song I’ve heard at least 100 times … oh de lally, oh de lally, golly what a day bounces around in my head to this day.

As these melodies quieted and my children grew up, music somewhat disappeared in my house. Technology had arrived — ipods and headphones. My kids were listening to all sorts of artists, but I wasn’t privy to any of them. We still gathered around the TV to watch musicals. Our tastes expanded to include cinematic blockbusters and Broadway musicals recreated in film. But listening to music as my children moved into the teenage realm, happened predominately in my car, when my children weren’t in it. Nothing I played had any relevance to them … and they really didn’t like it when I sang along! 

And then they weren’t in my car anymore. My life had changed. My son and daughter-in-law lived in Oregon, my daughter had moved to Columbus and married an Ohioan and my record-spinning ex-husband had moved to North Carolina. So there I was, one night home alone poking around YouTube when I came across a video celebrating the almost 100-year-old Dick Van Dyke, a superstar in my family thanks to his performances in Mary Poppins, Chitty Chitty Bang Bang and Bye Bye Birdie. Apart from it just being a beautiful tribute to him and his family, it introduced me to the song All My Love, sung by a guy I’d never heard of — Chris Martin, the lead singer of the band Coldplay. When I mentioned this amazing new discovery to my daughter she smiled in a kindhearted way and said, “Oh mom, they’ve been around for 25 years.”

What! Clearly I had been living in a musical desert for a while. 

I spent way more time that I care to admit in a deep dive into all things Coldplay. I was fascinated by their story. How do four young men, arriving at college from different areas in the United Kingdom end up playing music together in their college dorm and go on to become one of the biggest bands in the world? And stay together for decades as musicians, yes, but more importantly as friends? What has to align in the universe to make that happen?

When I came up for air, I had been transformed at age 70… into a Coldplay fan, maybe even a fanatic! I was smitten by Coldplay’s epic narrative and, honestly, by Chris Martin. He has a comforting charm, seemingly irresistible to women and inoffensive to men. He is darling, funny, smart, thoughtful, self-reflective and even though I’m old enough to be his mother, I readily admit to an enormous infatuation with him. 

I am equally passionate about Coldplay’s music. Every album. There isn’t a song in their body of work I don’t like. I’ve watched as many videos, interviews and documentaries about them as I can find. I’ve witnessed them grow from somewhat geeky young musicians into extraordinary artists. Each member is vital to the band’s success. I love that. Collaboration and partnership speaks to my soul. Jonny, Will, Guy and Chris bring it to life. 

I have yet to see the band in concert, but from the videos I’ve scrutinized this collaboration includes concertgoers as well. I can’t wait to be one of the voices in the sing-along that happens when Chris Martin invites the audience to join in to any one of Coldplay’s superhits. I hope, and imagine, it will feel like being part of a joyous collective hug by all involved.

There’s a haunting quality to Chris Martin’s voice in The Scientist when he sings, “Oh, take me back to the start.” That’s what Coldplay’s music is for me, a return to how music first resonated in my life, alone in my room. Belonging, the knowledge that someone else in the world understands, a feeling that happens when a song fills every cell in your body is what’s manifested.

I listen to Coldplay not as a child behind closed doors in my room, or as a wife supporting my husband or mother indulging my children, but as an adult, singing at the top of my lungs in my car and garden, walking on the beach, hiking a trail. I’ve embraced that I am just an unabashed Coldplayer, a title I’ve coined for myself.  Music is life changing. I found what speaks to me, Chris Martin reminding me, “Don’t ever give up!” 

My Favorite Jackass

Here’s why I love donkeys. First, as far as jackasses go, they’re the cutest. I think it’s their adorable shaggy ears and their flattering Ringo-esque bangs. And who doesn’t love their ear-splitting braying!

Another reason. I was visiting a national park in southwestern Arizona. It was summertime. Hot. There were posted signs that encouraged visitors to be on the lookout for rattlesnakes, a reptile I have a very unhealthy fear of.

I was checking in with a park ranger at the visitor center, as I always do when a rattlesnake sighting might be on my hiking agenda. He gave me the usual spiel: they’re more afraid of you than you are of them, not true; they don’t want to waste venom on something they can’t eat, don’t care; they only rear their fanged, diamond-shaped head when they’re startled or bothered, two things I never plan on doing; and they’re the gentlemen callers of snakes, they announce themselves — I do think that very mannerly.

He was also a spinner of random rattlesnake yarns, misperceptions and superstitions. Here’s my favorite. Donkeys are good guard animals. They’re territorial and fierce, defending their homestead against predators, which according to my teller-of-tales ranger includes rattlesnakes. Now, I’m clearly not going to hike with a donkey, but the thought that one would potentially stomp a snake into, well, into snake oil was very appealing.

I rarely pass up an opportunity to stoke my donkey adoration. At another national park visitor center I picked up a delightful book by Andy Merrifield, The Wisdom of Donkeys, Finding Tranquility in a Chaotic World.

It is a chronicle of the author’s journey with his sweet, four-legged companion, Gribouille, through the beauty of the South of France. It’s a blend of the author’s personal reflections about life, purpose and meaning as he walks with Gribouille for days around the countryside. He writes, “In the end, if indeed there is an end, encountering donkeys has helped me encounter myself.”

Of all the reasons to love donkeys, taking a walk with one for personal enlightenment is now at the top of my list. The perfect scenario … with a donkey in rattlesnake environment in hopes of mastering my fear … or at least watch this venomous menace get stomped.

Paper Arts and Craft

A while back, I started making my own paper to print my photographs on. I hoped it would be a unique way to showcase my images. After a lot of experimentation repurposing shredded paper into a product with the right thickness and consistency to go through my printer, the end result exceeded my expectations. (Check out my shop page.)

An additional result is that I became fascinated with paper and how it’s been used in art, well for as long as paper has been around. Here are some techniques I’ve been playing around with:

Momigami - Japanese technique to transform paper from stiff to soft by gently kenading it with a softening agent … olive oil, hand cream. The traditional Japanese agent is a plant-based starch. I use my favorite hand cream!

Tataki-zomé - another Japanese art technique in which fresh flowers and leaves are pounded onto fabric or paper, releasing the natural pigments onto the material, leaving a permanent imprint. I’ve experimented with many different flowers and leaves, depends on what I have in my garden … some work better than others

Chine Colle - used in printmaking to add a thin piece of colored paper to a block print. I use tissue paper to add color to my woodblock designs.

Paste Papers - this technique began as a bookbinding craft. You apply a mixture of paint and paste — you can make your own with flour and water or use wallpaper or papier maché paste — onto heavy paper and then create patterns and textures. I use a variety of items, plus my fingers.

Paper Weaving - this is exactly what it sounds like. Take various strips of paper and weave them into a design. FYI: It originated in China during the Ming and Qing Dynasties (14th to early 20th centuries) as a sophisticated fine art.

Cyanotype - This process reminds me of my days in a darkroom. It’s a process that uses sunlight to create an image on chemically treated paper. The results are “Prussian blue” images. Many artists make botanical prints, which where its origins lie. I’ve been using negatives of my photographs, with varied success. Still figuring out best practices.

Paper Netting - again, pretty much exactly what you’d expect this to be — lacy looking paper. I use my sewing machine to create a grid pattern and then gently remove specific squares of paper.

I can’t say I’m an expert at any of these techniques, or what I might do with what I’ve made but I sure am having a lot of fun!

"To Plant a Garden is to Believe in Tomorrow"

Audrey Hepburn said this. Yes, the famous celebrated actress of Breakfast at Tiffany’s and My Fair Lady. She was an avid gardener. She also promoted the spectacular beauty of gardens around the world in the documentary, Gardens of the World with Audrey Hepburn. I admire anyone who regularly has to wash soil from under their fingernails. It’s a good sign of a kindred spirit.

I too love to garden. It’s contemplative, rejuvenating and an invigorating outdoor workout. I also love visiting gardens, either my neighbor’s or something farther afield. There are so many types to experience — vegetable, rock, Japanese, flower, English, butterfly, herb, botanical, tropical, desert — each with a distinct focus.

Recently, I meandered through the Filoli Historic House and World-class Garden located in California’s San Francisco Bay area. The visit made me want to redesign my own garden … if I only had the same budget!

The 654-acre Filoli country estate is hugely beautiful. Equally as impressive is its name. William Bowers Bourn, the original owner, had as a credo: “Fight for a just cause. Love your fellow man. Live a good life,” and from those words comes the name FiLoLi. By all historical accounts, Mr. Bourn did live a good life

The house, a classic example of Georgian revival architecture is in harmony with the refined English Renaissance garden, a very formal style of geometric designs, hedged mazes and integrated walkways that encircle the house. There’s also a Gentleman’s Orchard which I learned encompasses a diverse assortment of fruit trees; generally planted by the estate owner as a pleasurable hobby. I was there in fall so no fruit, but in other gardens there were plenty of dahlias, sunflowers, roses, as well as the last of some summer vegetables.

The many Filoli gardens have gone through numerous renovations since their beginnings in 1917 — a garden is a living entity that is perpetually in need of tending. That’s why I love the tomorrow of gardening. There’s always seeds to propagate, flowers to plant, vegetables to harvest, trees to prune and, yes, I even look forward to pulling the weeds that come back year in and year out.

It’s not easy to believe in tomorrow, sometimes, but the minute you see a new seedling emerge, or a flowering plant bloom or that first tomato on the vine the anticipation for what might come next brings with it hope. That’s what keeps me gardening. That and fresh tomatoes!

Sun Salutation

I just finished a lovely book, The Oak Papers by James Canton. I am fortunate to have seven oak trees on my property, all more than 100 years old. One is right outside my front door. As I look east, I can see the morning rays of the sun tickling the backs of the distant mountains, and then, on cue, the sunrise shimmers through the branches, illuminating the rough hewn bark, reflecting off one prickly green leaf to another.

Many mornings I will stand beneath it, welcoming the day with a sun salutation (really the only yoga pose I do well). The peaceful silence is so intoxicating I’m often hesitant to go back inside my house and actually start my day. My greeting of the day fills me with gratitude as I share my morning practice with the beauty of the Earth’s morning ceremony.

All around me the day is awakening. I live in a rural part of California’s Central Coast, surrounded by the sounds of horses, cows, goats, chickens, roosters, ducks all announcing their start to the day. I can’t help smiling. Quick note: roosters crow all day, not just at sunrise; a noisy prompt — stay awake!

All of this is part of the rhythm of my life, a perpetual cadence that renews my spirit every day and fills me with joy.

Homogeneity

We hit the road again! And what a trip: 6,800 total miles, 2 countries — US and Canada, 13 US states, 7 US National Park sites, 1 Canadian National Park, 3 Canadian Provincial Parks, 2 US state parks, 3 Great Lakes, 7 iconic road side attractions, 1 world famous apple fritter and … countless connections with the remarkable people along the way, all who made this trip so delightful.

Road trips are not just about what you see, but also about who you see it with, as well as about those you meet because of it. Being on the road — for 100 or 6,800 miles — inspires a reawakening for me of the homogeneity of the United States. I found that in Canada too.

Homogeneity — the Greek root homo-, means "same," and genos means "race" or "kind" — so homogeneity is the quality of being "the same kind." I love it when a word captures exactly what I’m experiencing. Traveling always renews my faith in people and their intrinsic kindness; regardless of what country I’m in. No matter where we stopped to eat, get gas, camp, take a tour, visit a site, wander through a museum, or buy a world famous apple fritter, we met people who were considerate, helpful and, what I would describe as downright, neighborly; happy to usher us into their lives and share their stories. And we shared ours in brief encounters, at meal times over local fare, at iconic roadside attractions or parked next to neighbors at a campground.

In the hubbub of navigating life, embracing the idea of homogeneity can get lost in the rigor of obligations and responsibilities. Travel takes us outside of that environment and puts us in situations that have different customs, habits and mores. What an opportunity to expand our understanding of those practices. And learn how others navigate their world. Those practices are, more often than not, similar to my own.

A revelation? More accurately a confirmation that in these chance encounters … however long the moment … remind me that we’re a community … whether we meet on a road trip, live next door to each other, are residents of a the same state or united as citizens of a country.

So let’s embrace what we have in common and accept and tolerate what we don’t — and get out on the road!

FYI: A gallery of great stops in the US and Canada … complete with friendly people.

Salamut Cebu

Even though I’m not really an island girl, I have spent my fair share of time hanging out at the beaches in southern California. They’re a perfect combination of warm water, sand and air. Once I moved to the Monterey Bay region, going to the beach was all about bundling up against the cold.

So, it was with delight that I packed my bathing suit for my trip to the Philippines, in anticipation of enjoying the warmth of the sun, sand and air that tropical islands are known for.

I was headed to the Philippines with my boyfriend Rick, his sister and his sons and their spouses to visit family members he hadn’t seen since his last visit, 63 years ago. Rick’s dad, who sadly passed away when Rick was 18, was born in Consolacion on the island of Cebu where much of his extended family still lives. This was a trip about reconnecting with family for him and introducing his children to their Filipino heritage.

The family gatherings were lively, joyous and so much fun. It was, without a doubt, the best part of the trip. There were first and second cousins and children of those cousins, all wanting to celebrate Rick and his family. It was a tremendous privilege to be part of it. Every occasion was a celebration filled with warmth, fondness, deep affection and … lechon! Yes, lechon … a roasted, suckling pig.

At each get together, the centerpiece of every buffet table was a whole, roasted pig. I’ve eaten Filipino food many times with Rick … but never a pig right out of the oven, the skin still crackling from the heat. It was so delicious. But let me tell you, I had to be quick to get some of that skin; it was gone in the time it took me to lick my lips while the savvy kids knew to dive in immediately for a handful.

In between family gatherings, we did manage to squeeze in some touristing. We climbed to the top of Osmena Peak, the island’s highest point; had an invigorating swim at a Kawasan falls … the ice blue water was as cold as it looked; we went snorkeling in much warmer water at a few of the more than 7,000 islands that make up the Philippines; we received an emergency alert on our phones about potential danger from Bulkang Kanloan volcano; we went to museums; stood on the sight where Magellan was killed by Filipino chieftain Lapu Lapu; we took a river cruise; saw Tarsiers, the world’s smallest primate with the largest eyes; we saw the Chocolate Hills, which were actually green since in was springtime; we walked, experiencing the uniqueness that is the city and island of Cebu.

And I spent some time on the beach in the warmth of the sun. A reconnection for me too to a time so many years ago!

200,000 Steps Around Japan

In 2023, my son and daughter-in-law, Matt and Emi, moved to Japan — for work and family. I was thrilled that they were able to realize their goal of living there.

It’s proved somewhat challenging, however, to stay in touch. There’s a 16 hour time difference. So when it’s early here in California it’s late in Sanda, the city they live in. Thank goodness for world clock on my iPhone or I’d never be able to figure out the time difference! 

So what’s a mom to do when when Zoom and Google Meet are really the only ways to actually see my son’s face and hear his voice? Hmmmm … go to Japan and see him in person!

The Christmas season saw me, my daughter and son-in-law and my kid’s Dad all in Japan. We were there to see Matt and Emi, of course, but in the process we experienced the unique culture that makes Japan a place where respect, harmony, and politeness are the foundation of their society.

We landed in Tokyo, jumped on the monorail that took us out of the airport, then onto the subway to get to our hotel. It was easy. It was clean. It was on time. It was the best kick off to our use of the country’s transit system, a system that we were on everyday of our stay. 

But that’s not the only way we saw the sights. In between subway and bus jaunts and a couple of excursions on the Bullet Train, we walked. More than 200,000 steps over the course of 13 days. It’s amazing what you see when you just drop into the daily life of a city. We mingled shoulder-to-shoulder with residents. We didn’t speak Japanese, and most of the people we encountered didn’t speak English, but these three phrases: Arigato gozaimas, thank you; Ohio gozaimas, good morning; and sumimasen, sorry or excuse me, opened the doors to many lively exchanges. These, and a lot of bowing, which I found to be an incredibly heartwarming way to connect. 

So where did our feet take us?

First step. Coffee. When I think of a morning beverage in Japan, my first thought is tea. But I’m a coffee drinker! There is, apparently, a thriving coffee culture in Japan but I found that none of the shops opened before 9am. And I’m up and ready to go at 6am. So I put on my walking shoes and headed out of the hotel in search of coffee, too. 

I knew that the convenience stores in Japan were THE spots to shop for unique foods and drinks. I ventured into a 7-11 two blocks from the hotel and there, to the surprise of my caffeine hankering, was an automated coffee machine. The machine streamed latte into a cup for 250 yen and satisfied my morning craving. 7-11 became my go to place for more than just coffee.

In between that first step and the 199,999 that took me back to the airport and my last step into the plane home, I discovered a country, a culture, a populace that so filled me with delight I didn’t want to leave.

So, where did my sneakers take me — to the picturesque, historic, vibrant and quiet areas that make of the cities of Tokyo, Kyoto, Osaka and Sanda. Okay, here we go!

Thousands of red, wooden Darumas are scattered across the Temple grounds.

So many temples. My favorite was Katsuoji —
nothing more enchanting than a Daruma doll
and it’s quirky story about good luck and perseverance.

So many ramen restaurants! My favorite meal of the entire trip. — except for the Okonomoiyaki, Hiroshimi style, that my daughter-in-law introduced us to.

So many Shinto shrines! The red gates of Fushimi Inari were inspiring; the walk so reflective.

So many Buddhist temples! On the day I saw the Golden Pavillion in Kyoto it shimmered in the sunlight, brilliant in its glittering splendor, sparkling across the lake that separates it from those of us admiring it.

So many quirky cultural oddities! Shibuya Crossing, toy machines, street art, window dressings (pictures), giant Buddhas, the Skytree, a 2000 foot tower that dominates the Tokyo skyline.

So many markets! Tsukiji and Nishiki top the list.

So many natural sites! Bamboo Forest. Mt. Fuji. Gardens that are found at palaces, temples, shrines and homes throughout the country.

So many people at Tokyo Disney! I’ve been going to Disney parks since I was a kid and I have to say, the Beauty and the Beast ride was the best I’ve ever ridden. Innovative, engaging, laugh-out-loud fun! Tokyo Disney was our final adventure — an immersion in CosPlay culture that was amazing to experience in person.

So many great moments to remember. My favorite? 200,000 steps with my family.

The Blissful Solitude of Solo Camping

My birthday present to myself this year was a roof top tent from Roofnest for my Subaru Crosstrek. I’d been contemplating the best option for my entrance into the solo camping experience — do I buy a small RV? Pull a trailer? Sleep inside my car? Pitch a tent on the ground?

I went with a rooftop tent because … backing up a trailer fills me with anxiety! I’m not going to sleep on the ground; been there, done that. My car is a car, not a bed. And a RV of any size was beyond my means.

So I bought a Sparrow Eye from Roofnest because it’s easy to put up, has a small footprint on top of my car and was the right price! On sale. Free shipping! It came in a HUGE box. There was little to assemble, although I could not have put it on top of my car without help. It’s extremely heavy. And bolting it to my rack took some effort, but it is not going to come off.

My inaugural solo trip was to Morro Strand State Beach; close enough to my California Central Coast home but far enough to feel adventurous. The campground, a parking lot right on the beach, was the perfect site for my first tent experience. Safe with lots of people around! The tent went up in one fell swoop … no problem. Took a long walk on the beach, made soup on my camp stove, watched the sun dip below the horizon and was lulled to sleep by the soothing sounds of the Pacific Ocean.

Next morning I awoke, toasty warm in my overnight cocoon, to the, once again, soothing sounds of the Pacific Ocean. After a leisurely walk on the beach, I collapsed my tent, packed up my gear and headed home up Highway 1. Stopped in Cayucos for a cup of coffee at Cayucos Coffee and a package of cookies at Brown Butter Cookie Company.

Here’s what I discovered as a solo traveler. Anonymity. I wandered aimlessly. The hellos and good mornings and how ya doing were said in passing. I didn’t know the people who I greeted or who greeted me. Didn’t feel the need to stop and catch up or exchange any information. A nod and a smile sufficed as acknowledgement. No thoughts about “who am I presenting to the world?” Just a wayfarer passing through, absorbing the vitality of an area. It was intoxicating!

Tidbits:

Public bathroom met my expectations. I’ve seen better and worse.

Camping in a parking lot was just fine; a safe spot for my first solo camping outing.

Drinking a hot cup of coffee, made on my little camp stove, walking on the beach watching the morning unfold … unforgettable!

Keepin' My Eyes Open

I’m always on the lookout for something different to photograph. I was checking into a hotel in southern California and saw this wild looking female sago palm seed cone. It was too great a shot to pass up!

What I See Through My Viewfinder

I’ve been looking through the viewfinder of a camera most of my life. What to do with so many photos? My latest endeavor: original photographs printed on recycled handmade paper and framed with found repurposed wood. Yep, all done by me. Check out my shop on Etsy: artbysusanhart. Just click the link in the menu bar above.

Photo taken in Wyoming at ylranch.com

Silly Gnome-nclature

When I was a kid, my Dad loved to make words silly. He would say scissors and sword and pronounce the ‘c’ and ‘w.’ He’d say K-night and an-SWer. He’d right upside down and backwards. In fact, the first time I ever wrote my name I wrote: trah nasus.

Suffice it to say, he loved the English language with all of its rules and foibles and imperfections.  I inherited that love from him. He didn’t love gardening, though, I inherited that fondness from my Croatian Dedo. Quite often in the quiet of the garden I hear them both in my head. My Dedo’s voice is loving and kind, about treating plants with tenderness. My Dad’s makes me laugh inside as I harvest this-T-les and cut lim-B’s off of trees or pick ras-P-berries.

But I laugh out loud with the word gnome. Not just because the word is funny — in my head I say ge-nome (my Dad would be so proud) — but because the garden sculptures, themselves, are just ridiculous. And I have a collection. What does that say about me?! It led me on a search to discover the attraction behind these tiny effigies, that we scatter about our yards, that depict men with long white beards and pointed red hats in various states of leisurely pastimes.

Their popularity started in Germany in the 1800s. But it really skyrocketed after Disney’s Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs. All that hi-hoing and off-to-work-we’re-going highlighted their charm … even though a dwarf is not technically the same as a gnome. Really, did you think they were?!

Their mythical DNA shows distinct differences from each other. In the world of fairytale creatures, dwarves are wise, friendly, hardworking and populate the forests and mountains. Gnomes, not so friendly characters who live underground.

So gnomes have different genomes. Aha! Vindication for my quirkiness with the English language. What are the odds that these two words would be so similar? 158,662,334 to 1. Ok, I made that up. But these are storybook characters, so a little exaggeration is forgivable. Except for that fact that these miniature gartenzwerges (that’s German) have been elevated to human-like existence, imbued with rights and freedoms.

The Garden Gnome Liberation Front, an organization with the sole purpose of liberating gnomekind everywhere, has issued a call to arms to alleviate the cruelty garden gnomes are forced to endure when stolen out of their outdoor environment. This is real. There’s even a Facebook page in support of this gnoble endeavor. No longer will gnomes be discriminated against because of their inability to stand-up for themselves … or to stand up at all.

Even the world’s most prestigious gardening event in the world, The Chelsea Flower Show, banned these tacky little people from the grounds of their show for 100 years, only to bend to popular demand and allow them back into the show’s garden beds a few years ago. Gnomophobes took a back seat to kitschy charm.

And charming they are, literally. Considered a lucky talisman by millions around the world, the garden gnome has moved well past its Germanic motif and into the realm of multi-cultural relevance. You’ll find them with a sombrero, in a bathing suit, with a jersey from a favorite sports team, dressed as Jerry Garcia and Uncle Sam and, now, there are even female gnomes.

Never let it be said that gnome genomes are resting on their garden laurels.

Pumpkin Spice ... Treat, or Trick?

Last April when I planted my pumpkin seeds, I was dreaming of pumpkin pie, pumpkin cheesecake, pumpkin soup, pumpkin pancakes and, well, just all things pumpkin. But one thing I wasn’t thinking about was pumpkin spice, a trend that has literally taken over the fall season.

It sent me on a quest to understand what’s up with this spice combination. Clearly it’s not about the pumpkin taste, since this blend does not have one ounce of pumpkin in it … not a smidgeon or a pinch or a dash or even a suggestion of pumpkin flavor.

So, what is it? It’s a mixture of cinnamon, cloves, ginger, nutmeg and sometimes allspice. Are you paying attention? No pumpkin! In a season of trick-or-treating, this is one big trick! My search for understanding of this pumpkin-less phenomenon led me to another shocking discovery.  The canned pumpkin my grandma uses to make her award-winning pumpkin pie (at least in my book) is not … are you ready for this … pumpkin. What!?

It’s true. The sole ingredient in Libby’s, most popular canned pumpkin, is cucurbia moschata, a type of squash also known as Dickinson gourd. It’s similar in shape and size to a butternut squash but very far removed from the species most jack-o-lanterns are carved from. You’d be hard-pressed to carve anything other than you initials on this gourd.

What a ruse! Yet another trick-or-treat gambit, leaving me once again feeling swindled, defrauded and cheated out of my first delicious bite of the de facto culinary icon of the season … pumpkin pie! The experience is forever changed for me knowing that the pumpkin is really a spiced-up squash interloper.

And everywhere I turn, I am reminded of this overwhelming fraud perpetuated on all of us pumpkin lovers. The pumpkin spice flavor-of-the-month marketing ploy has brought us an overflowing cornucopia of products infused with this no-it-does-not-taste-like-pumpkin seasoning (pardon my editorial comments, unless you agree!) and include:

Pumpkin spice french fries - Never.

Bailey’s pumpkin spice Irish Cream - Maybe in my coffee.

Pumpkin spice Cheerios - Why?

Pumpkin spice Triscuit - Served with what?

Pumpkin spice wine - If you’re desperate.

Pumpkin spice chocolate truffles - Chocolate would never be the same for me.

Pumpkin spice latte Peeps - Who eats Peeps of any flavor?

Chipotle pumpkin spice salsa - Ok, perhaps with the right chip.

Pumpkin spice marshmallows - Not even on S’mores.

Pumpkin spice moonshine - Hmmm … a possibility.

Pumpkin spice pretzel nuggets - Yuck.

Pumpkin spice Mini Wheats - Does the milk turn orange?

Nestle pumpkin spice morsels - Not in my cookies.

Keebler pumpkin spice fudge stripe cookies - No, just wrong.

Pumpkin spice coffee liqueur - Again, depends on the morning.

Pumpkin spice stuffed pretzel - Maybe deep fried.

Pumpkin spice caramel corn - Nope!

Pumpkin spice almonds - In with trail mix?

Pumpkin spice M&Ms - No, no, no!

I refuse to be drawn into buying any of these seasonal sensations. Of course, if some bright botanist comes up with a pumpkin spice pumpkin I can grow, I might reconsider.

Dog Day Afternoon

Labor Day. A well-deserved celebration for all who have worked or are still, currently, working. Today, the actual holiday is the final day of this three-day holiday weekend that, in addition to honoring workers, marks the end of the summer season.

The end of summer. Hmmm. Strangely, this got me thinking about hot dogs.

When I was a kid, I pretty much only wanted to eat hot dogs (and Oreos, another story, another time). My dad, a foodie well before that was even a term, liked everything so dinner time meals were always a wide range of cuisine. Didn’t matter to my unsophisticated palate … I was a hot dog devotee.

Fast forward to adulthood and the realization that hot dogs may not be the most nutritious food. This awareness didn’t change my love of frankfurters, just how often I ate them. And that is where the summer season, defined as the months between Memorial Weekend and Labor Day, shines for me. It is a license to eat hot dogs.

In the three months between these two holidays, known as hot dog season, more than 7 billion are eaten by Americans (according to the National Hot Dog and Sausage Council), about 800 per second. This is attributed to a number of factors: July is National Hot Dog Month, people taking vacations, as well as an increase in backyard barbecues.

Disclaimer here: I eat one each on Memorial Day, Fourth of July and Labor Day! And I mix it up. Chicken, turkey, all beef, sausage, foot longs, corn dogs; I like them boiled, grilled, pan or deep fried. And I’ve been known to just buy one at Costco … the convenience, and the yumminess, are hard to pass up.

My favorite, however, is the way my Baba used to make them for me. She’d pan fry them in butter, slice them to fit between two pieces of her home made bread and then slather with a little ketchup. The heat of the hog dog warmed up the ketchup and softened the bread, just a perfect taste sensation and one of my fondest childhood food memories!

So today, in tribute to my Baba, my dog day afternoon will be celebrated with an adaptation of her signature style with a few twists of my own. I’ll add a dollop of sweet pickle relish and a sprinkle of cheddar cheese, complemented by a cold beer!

As the summer season comes to a close, so does hot dog season. I’m resigned to putting my desire for a dawg on hold, held at bay by an eager anticipation of next year’s season.

"I'm Melting, I'm Melting"

In the classic 1939 film version of the Wizard of Oz, Dorothy, played by Judy Garland, inadvertently throws a bucket of water on the Wicked Witch of the West causing her to melt. As she’s shrinking, she cackles, “I’m melting, I’m melting.”

As I stood at the terminus of the Athabasca Glacier recently, which is retreating, aka melting, at a little over 16 feet a year, that refrain was all I could hear in the silence of this spectacular buildup of ice, part of the massive Columbia Ice Field in Canada’s Rocky Mountains. It’s easily accessible, although the hike is sobering. There are markers along the trail identifying how much the glacier has retreated since 1890, about 1500 meters (just short of a mile for us non-metric system people).

I crossed paths with many glaciers on my two-month journey through Alaska and Canada, predominately alpine glaciers I explored through my binoculars from a distance. All were impressive; long white arms of ice seemingly emanating right out of a mountain peak. These frozen rivers, formed over millenniums, creep downward, scraping away at the terrain, sculpting the landscape. I didn’t expect to be so captivated by these breathtaking natural wonders, but I was. And saddened by the fact that they’re disappearing.

It’s impossible to be in the presence of a retreating glacier and not be sobered by the effects of climate change. Not making a political statement, just acknowledging that the weather on this planet we all live on is changing … it’s getting hotter. Why? Well, so many theories compounded by so much disagreement on the cause makes it difficult to answer that. Not going to even try.

I’m not a scientist, just a believer in the merits of doing everything we can to take good care of our communal home. I’m not going to sermonize, experts much more knowledgeable than I am on the climate have done that — so often and so stridently that I think it falls on deaf ears more often than not now. There are just too many variables to a workable solution, one that could be embraced by the world populace.

But there are steps we can all take. One I’ve taken is to participate in the United Nations’ Act Now program. It identifies 17 Sustainable Development Goals designed to transform our world. It is a call for action to all countries in an effort to “promote prosperity while protecting the planet.” Goals include, of course, affordable and clean energy, clean water and sanitation, climate action, as well as addressing broader social issues like poverty, hunger, quality education, reduced inequalities and decent work and economic growth. There’s a call to each of us to choose an issue and make an impact. I chose “Healthy Planet.” And there’s an app — aWorld — where I can track the impact of my actions and those of a a global community committed to making a difference. It’s a simple way to be part of the climate change conversation.

In a moment of undue stress, Dorothy acted! She just wanted to get home. We can’t click red ruby slippers like Dorothy did, but we can, in this moment of undue stress to the planet, act. Because there’s just no place like our home.

Memorable People = Memorable Trip

A road trip is so much more than just heading down the highway. For me, the highlights are the people I meet along the way who make the journey so memorable. Here are some of the unforgettable people I ran into:

Grace - Richardson Highway, on the road to Valdez, AK. There’s a saying here, "8 months of winter and 4 months of road construction!” We were in it! As we headed out of Valdez we ran into Grace at out first traffic stop. It was drippy and cold, so we offered her a pistachio muffin and a fizzy water. What a smile! She passed us on up to our next stop, Allison.

Allison - Richardson Highway, on the road to Valdez, AK. We followed a pilot car to our next traffic stop and met Allison … so kind and considerate about our being delayed; she updated us on the progress of the construction project. We gave her a muffin too!

Taylor, Kluane Museum of History, Burwash Landing, Yukon. This museum is a fascinating compilation of the indigenous plants, animals, rocks, minerals of the Yukon, in addition to an amazing display representing the culture of the Southern Tutchone people. And Taylor was an informative docent.

Emily - Kluane National Park and Reserve, Thachal Dhal Visitor Center, Yukon. Meeting someone who clearly is passionate about their work is a joy. We found that in Emily, just an incredible font of knowledge about the park and so excited to share it!

Ethan - Major Marine Tours, Seward, AK. Ethan made us margaritas with ice from a glacier … nothing better than that!

Sophia, Village Bakery, Haines Junction, Yukon. We met locals Dave and Lois at Kluane Lake Campground. The gave us a lot of good advice about the area. The most important piece of information was to not miss a stop at the Village Bakery. They were right! Sophia makes a fabulous latte. And the food is incredible.

David and Kath, Jilkaat Kwaan Heritage Center, Haines, AK. This brother / sister dynamic duo are the heart and soul of this museum. It houses a phenomenal collection of items representative of the Tlingit tribe’s rich history. It was an honor to spend time with them and hear their stories.

Tanna - Alaska Made Goods, Haines, AK. We were looking for some local salmon. We found it and Tanna, a local expert on what to buy.

Robert - The Beach Rose by Adventure Harvest, Haines, AK. Locally owned shop showcasing locally made artwork and handmade products from local ingredients. Try the spruce tip syrup … you won’t regret it.

Alicia ( on left) - Bamboo Room and Pioneer Bar, Haines, AK. A centerpiece of downtown Haines, this eatery has been serving customers since 1953. We ate here twice, and both times were served by Alicia, a lovely and charming Irish lass who was spending the summer months working and exploring the area.

Teri - Haines, Alaska Marine Ferry System. Our ferry had a engine problem which left our homeward bound voyage in jeopardy of leaving on time. But Teri assured us that all would be well … and it was. She also told us ferry food was great - it was; the showers were hot and refreshing - they were; the beds comfortable - true; and the voyage itself unforgettable … IT WAS!

Ferry Crew - Columbia, Alaska Marine Highway Ferry System. Bosun Wade (left) arranged a tour of the bridge for us where me met the ship’s Pilot, Erica, as well as other members of the bridge crew. Our ferry experience, through the Inland Passage, was a tophighlight of our trip. The seas were calm, the speed slow enough to enjoy the passing scenery, but the entire shipboard crew set a high watermark of service, kindness and just plain fun!

Top of the World

As we traveled the Top of the World Highway, crossing from Canada to Alaska, it was the first time in our trip that I actually felt the enormity of the landscape we’d been driving through. By the time we forded the Yukon River, on the George Black ferry at Dawson City, we’d already pushed through Alberta, British Columba and the Northwest and Yukon Territories … about 3,000 miles … all of which was a panorama of stunning terrains. Snow capped peaks, boreal forests, deep glacier-cut verdant valleys, turquoise-green rivers and lakes, alpine meadows awash with wildflowers. Yes, it was all phenomenal.

But driving along the crest of the mountains and hills over which the Highway traverses unlocked a view that created the illusion that we were, indeed, at the top of the world. Even though, literally, we weren’t.

We were, however, above the tree line at about 5,000 feet. From that vantage point, the massive peaks of the Alaskan range dominated the distant horizon, carving a jagged gash across the skyline. The enormous grandeur of the Yukon River, the largest in the Territory, echoed the size of a rivulet as it snaked along the valley floor, at the base of steep vertical drops originating at the ridge line. A crush of crazy, Dr. Seuss-like black spruce trees, bent and withered by the brutality of their environment covered the hillsides below us.

Above us … blue sky for miles, broken only by the occasional cloud.

Even though I wasn’t, actually, standing at the top of the world, the enormity of feeling incredibly small was humbling. I marveled at the extraordinary scenery as I contemplated the panorama stretched out below me.

What a place, this Earth we all call home. So deserving of our stewardship.

Let’s just be good stewards.

My Memorable Minutiae ... Oh Canada!

Canada is a huge country, the second largest in the world after Russia. It stretches from the Atlantic to the Pacific Ocean. There are a lot of interesting facts about this, the largest country in North America: Winnie the Pooh was inspired by a bear from here, a few of the country’s national parks are larger than some countries, it is home to 10% of the world’s forests, license plates in the Northwest Territories are shaped like bears, and, well,   too many more to list. Yes, these facts are fascinating, but I discovered some of my own thought-provoking trivia:

Of Greatest Importance

There are no snakes in the Yukon Territory. Hiking is fear-free!

A bonus: there are no ticks either!

Rock Flour

I’m a bread maker. My go to loaf is whole wheat, but I’ve made sourdough, rye, white and pumpernickel. I’ve tried my hand at foccacia, baguettes, ciabatta, brioche and even flatbread. I’ve even made a few bricks. When the bread dries out you can use it as a door stop. You’ll thank me one day for this tip.

What I know about flour is that each one has a different purpose. Bread flour: high protein, good gluten structure. Pastry and cake flour, ok obvious. All purpose flour, that’s self-explanatory. You get my finely ground drift.

When I came across the term rock flour, also known as glacier flour, my curiosity was piqued. Here’s what it is. Glacial erosion grinds down rock into fine-grained, silt-sized particles. The pulverized rock particles absorb and scatter sunlight in a way that I don’t really understand, but what I saw was water with a striking blue-green color.

So grist mills and glaciers have a lot in common. Both grind something into a fine powder. One for food, the other, well, it was, certainly, food for my soul.

Inukshuks

The word means “in the likeness of a human.” These wonderful figures, made of stone, are distinctly Canadian. Built by the Inuit, they are found all over the Canadian Arctic. Similar to a cairn, they were used as markers for navigation, travelers and sacred places. Beautiful and unique, they are characteristic icons of Inuit culture.

I bought one in Tukoyaktuk, NWT made by an artist with stones from the Arctic Circle. It just might help me find my way back.

Sourdough Finisher

I have the following on good authority, from Kristen at the Visitor Center in Dawson City, NWT: During the Gold Rush that brought thousands of “stampeders” to the territory, many did not have enough food to really thrive,. Some made a sourdough starter — flour, water, yeast, which is live in the air — which they kept under their arm during the winter to keep it warm. If the miner made it through the winter he was dubbed a “sourdough.”

I’m going to suggest to my brother, who makes an amazing sourdough bread, that this process might make it even better!

Flower Power

As an avid gardener, I pay attention to all things plants, especially flowers. As we drove through British Columbia, Alberta, Yukon and Northwest Territories I noticed hanging baskets, pots, window boxes and gardens full of flowers.

I was told it’s a way to acknowledge the end of winter and celebrate springtime. A tribute to the reawakening of the earth, post winter freeze and the explosion of lushness that happens.

This custom is all about joy … and the lightheartedness that comes with planting flowers for the sheer delight they bring.

The People —

1) Annie - our intrepid hike guide at Tombstone Territorial Park.
2) Sherene and Brian - full of information at the Northwest Territories Visitor Center
3) Jay - ferried us across the Yukon River in Dawson City with no hiccups
4) Depute Chief Taylor - what a tour of the Dawson City Fire Fighters Museum
5) Nick Virgil - USFS Information Officer - an encyclopedia of “best spots” in Alaska
6) Tim and Ashley - the best sourdough pancakes at Sourdough Campground in Tok, AK
7) Kristen - just a delight, at the Dawson City Visitor Information Centre

We Didn't Find Gold in the Yukon or See the Northern Lights in the Northwest Territory but ...

We kept heading north out of British Columbia, jumped on the Alaska Highway towards Whitehorse, YT on our way to wiggle our toes in the Arctic Ocean. The Dempster Highway was our route in, the last big push to our goal … as far north as we could get on a road in the Northwest Territories. Since we weren’t in a hurry, we stopped … a lot … along the way. Our highlights:

• I’m a sucker for leaving and entering signs. Don’t miss taking a pic at the bright blue Yukon sign. Turn around and get a pic of the entering British Columbia sign too!

• We made a pit stop at the Yukon Hotel. Good thing, the cinnamon rolls are gooey delicious.

• The Provincial campgrounds are great, but most don’t have showers. We overnighted at Caribou RV Park, just outside of Whitehorse, YT. Sandra and Stuart have created a welcoming haven for weary travelers who need a bath!

• We were poking around in Carmachs, YT, checking for the visitor center where we ran into a Royal Canadian Mounted Police reserve officer checking us out. She was brimming with information. She will forever be Yukon Deb to us. You might see her cruising town in the summer months.

• Five Fingers Rapids Recreation Site — stop at the overlook for info and incredible views of the Yukon River, the fourth-longest river in North America. It carried a lot of stampeders in search of gold during the Klondike Gold Rush.

• Capture in one photo the trek north at the Arctic Ocean / Dempster Highway sign at the turn-off junction from the Alaska Highway.

• Don’t miss a guided tour of Goldensides Trail at Tombstone Territorial Park. It’s a hike through 2 billion years of geological history.

• Eagle Plains Hotel for fuel for both you and your vehicle.

• Photo op at the Arctic Circle kiosk, plus spectacular panoramic views.

• Haven’t been on a car ferry in awhile, here’s your chance … at Peel, Mackenzie and Yukon Rivers.

• Stop in and say hi to Nikkia at Western Arctic Regional Visitors Center and pick up your Arctic Circle Adventurer certificate. It makes a great placemat!

• At the end of the road, literally, is Tuktoyaktuk and the Arctic Ocean. Try the mukluk with HP sauce at Grandma’s Kitchen.

• Spend a day in Dawson City. This Iconic gold mining town on the banks of the Yukon River has a easy pace about it. A great place to decompress and regroup.

• What’s a pingo? You’ll find out at Pingo National Monument. Hint: it’s not an animal!

• Be on the lookout for bears, moose, caribou and, the ever present, pika.

• Boondock —just about anywhere. Turn everything off and just enjoy the quiet.

Fun Facts — Canada’s Yukon once was home to the Wooly Mammoth. Today, they’ve vanished but it can now boast it has more moose than people. The Northwest Territory is nearly twice the size of Texas and is home of the midnight sun.

As we prepare to leave Canada for Alaska, it is with a heartfelt appreciation for a country that has been ranked “one of the kindest countries in the world.”

See You! Canadian Rockies

Rugged and ragged. Waterfalls. Blue-green glacial lakes. Bears. Columbines. Snow-topped peaks. Avalanches (far away!). Mountain goats. Banff. Jasper. Elk. Glaciers. Hiking. Kayaking. Campground coffee. Pine trees. Aspens. Traveling buddies. Mt. Robson. Indian paintbrush. National Parks.

All of the above enhanced by enormous, stupendous natural beauty, that’s The Canadian Rockies. The country’s branch of the United States’ Rocky Mountain range are just glorious. They’re defined by the glacial activity that formed them. This results in more jagged peaks and broad valleys gouged by moving glaciers. That’s the extent of my geology expertise, but I’ll tell you as I hiked up, around, across and over I knew I was someplace extraordinary. As much as I love California’s Sierra Nevada range, these mountains are nipping at their foothills!

There is no better feeling for me than the view from the top of a mountain. More often than not, nowadays, getting there pushes me to the ragged edges of my endurance. I start strong, but I always reach a point where I wonder, “what made me think this was a good idea?” And then I’m at the top and well, of course, there’s the reward … the 360° panorama, made just a little better by sitting on a ledge eating a sandwich, admiring the unfolding landscape.

Massive clouds, up-close-and-personal. Distant peaks, so much closer … let’s go there next. (OK, that’s the thin air affecting my brain.) Snow fields begging for snow angels. Snow pack on the verge of avalanche. Little tiny people scurrying up the trail. Enormous snow-melt waterfalls cascading down rock faces.

Headed down there’s always time for reflection (it’s so much easier and faster). John Muir said “The mountains are calling and I must go.” And my Dad said, towards the end of a very active outdoor life, “sadly, eventually your legs just give out.” When mine do, it’ll be fine. The call to a viewpoint will still happen. It might just be a knoll or sand dune, or even just the slope up to my front door. I’ll be happy with the view of the 200-year-old oak tree from that spot.