House Mountain Hike #137 Earlier Today (published 12/22/2016; updated 10/3/2022)

Monday, 10/3/2022, addendum: I added the section titles without changing the original wording.

House Mountain Hike #136 on March 26

My 136th hike on House Mountain was on Saturday, March 26, 2016. Two coworkers and I hiked up the west trail to the west bluff. Continuing to the east bluff, we hiked down and out on the east trail. I took one photograph. We hiked from 9:24 AM to 1:30 PM. The notes are in my hiking record.

That was three days before my world changed for the worse. An uninsured chicklet failed to yield to my right of way on Tuesday, the 29th. The 12/8/2016 article mentions that infamous day in my life.

House Mt. Hike #137, the first “bionic” hike, on December 22

Earlier today, instead of my 150th hike, which it would have been by my estimate, I hiked House Mountain for the 137th time. This was my first hike on “my mountain,” since my near-death accident.

I hiked alone on the two loop trails at the base of the mountain. According to the signs, one trail is 0.2 miles. The other is 0.35 miles. I hiked on uneven paths, down and up some sections, and over a few fallen trees.

A man has to start somewhere. I cannot yet “mountain goat” up the side of the mountain, but I have taken my first hike. My surgically repaired right knee and foot, which is still swollen and scabbed, took the pounding well enough.

I rejoice that I could take this little hike on “my mountain!” Of course, the rocky bluffs above are calling me. How much longer before I answer? Give me time. Today, the weather was sweatshirt-warm and sunny, a little too warm for this time of year. Enjoy the five photographs below.

Pearl Harbor Day at the Homeplace (published 12-8-2016)

Photograph by M. Fearghail, 12/7/2016, 2:28 PM

December 7, 1941. The mention of the date is sufficient. I was not yet born, but I have seen video and photographic footage. I have listened to stories and watched documentaries. My parents and grandparents shared their remembrances of the day. The day changed this country.

Yesterday was December 7, 2016, seventy-five years after that infamous day. The weather was sunny and seasonally cool. I drove my new old truck, a 2006 Nissan Frontier, to and from the homeplace. It was the first trip, since my old 1995 Nissan pickup truck died, and I almost died, when an uninsured chicklet failed to yield to my right of way on March 29, 2016. That date changed my life.

Yes, I have improved. I can walk well enough, and I can drive. I am not yet able to hike up a mountain. On December 5, I was medically released to return to work on the 19th. The plan is to work part-time for two weeks. Afterward, I will be back to working full-time.

Yay, rah. Ho-hum. Okay. I am still alive, and I have recovered well enough to drive and to return to work. Don’t get me wrong. I am glad that I am out and about, going toward a normal, active life. I can see a finish line up ahead. The end of this marathon is in sight.

What’s wrong? The prolonged and ongoing recovery has been and is a gritty process. It’s the reality of life. At least I am going forward. My stubborn, strong will is helping me. The deeper purpose in life, however, is still missing.

Yes, I will be a good husband, brother, uncle, and in-law. I will be a good neighbor. I will be a good coworker. Is there anything else?

Pause... Wait... Oh well, we will see. In my 8/26/2016 article, I asked God, “Could you not open a door of complete physical healing and another door of opportunity to serve you, as I once did before you took Mom home? I await your reply and/or action -- as I have been doing since 2000, I do now still.”

The long physical healing process, still ongoing, sees a finish line. What about the door of opportunity? We will see. Until then, I go back to being a state bureaucrat in eleven more days.

To those, if any, reading, I wish you and yours a Merry Christmas. Maybe I will take my long-suffering wife with me to hunt a Christmas tree on Saturday, if I am physically up to it.