July 8, 2006
On Monday Brianne and I set out with several of my siblings and cousins in tow to search for a good place to hike and swim. After a brief visit to swimmingholes.org and a couple of other websites, we had directions to a nice sounding hike and a different local swimming hole, both located near Redding, Connecticut. As the oppressive humidity began to coat everything, we loaded into the van and headed south.
The trailhead of the first spot we wanted to hike was directly across from a semi-rural middle school, and our directions told us that the unused lot there was the best place to park. We pulled up just as an older couple was walking with a large golden retriever back to their car, and since I wasn’t sure if the directions I had from the place we were planning to swim were correct, I asked the man about it. He said, “The place you’re talking about is further down Route 53, but you can swim here; there’s a rope swing and rocks to jump from, and there are people swimming there right now.”
Continue Reading…
On Monday Brianne and I set out with several of my siblings and cousins in tow to search for a good place to hike and swim. After a brief visit to swimmingholes.org and a couple of other websites, we had directions to a nice sounding hike and a different local swimming hole, both located near Redding, Connecticut. As the oppressive humidity began to coat everything, we loaded into the van and headed south.
The trailhead of the first spot we wanted to hike was directly across from a semi-rural middle school, and our directions told us that the unused lot there was the best place to park. We pulled up just as an older couple was walking with a large golden retriever back to their car, and since I wasn’t sure if the directions I had from the place we were planning to swim were correct, I asked the man about it. He said, “The place you’re talking about is further down Route 53, but you can swim here; there’s a rope swing and rocks to jump from, and there are people swimming there right now.”
Since this idea simplified our plans significantly, all of the kids grabbed beach towels, I locked the van, and we head towards the trailhead where we were met by one of Redding’s finest. Let’s call him Officer Fife. Officer Fife exited his police car and intersected our party just as we reached the trail.
Officer Fife: “There’s NO SWIMMING here.”
Me: “Oh, I didn’t realize that. Some guy just told us it was alright.”
“Well, he’s wrong. There is no swimming here or anywhere else near the reservoir.”
I shrugged. “Alright. We were actually planning to just hike here, and swim then further south.”
“No. You can only swim at certain designated locations.”
“Like I said, I didn’t know that. But we’re still going to go hiking.”
“If you swim, I’ll have your vehicle towed.” Officer Fife began to walk a short way down the trail.
“Hey, OK. We’ll run our towels back to the car, and then you can show us the best places not to swim.” I smiled. He didn’t. All of us handed my cousin Oliver our towels, and he walked back up the hill to the car.
“Where are you from?” asked Officer Fife.
“Stratford” I said.
Officer Fife suddenly became extra agitated. He said, “What are you doing HERE?” as though I had just replied “East L.A.” or “Jupiter”. Keep in mind that Redding is literally less than twenty miles (or fifteen minutes) from Stratford. I was a little confused by his question, so I answered, “Uh… I looked it up online… and it sounded nice… so here we are.” By now Oliver had returned, and we all continued down along the trail.
I guess Officer Fife decided not to get his ten minutes of exercise that day, because he returned to his car and drove away. After a brief walk through a stand of trees and a large, lovely wildflower field, we reached a spot where the stream widened and many local kids were swimming. On one side of the water was a rope swing, and on the other side were several rocky outcroppings from which to jump.
We chatted with the local kids for a few minutes and then continued on the trail. Oliver, Shane, Nolan and I hopped a few rocks to the other side without ever touching the water while B-Unit (Brigid, Bethany and Brianne) sat nearby in the afternoon sun. The primary jumping spot was unspectacular. The Nehalem River has longer drops, and the murky brown water was no match for the crystal blue of Crater Lake. Even so, I probably would have jumped had Officer Fife not made another appearance.
Two kids had just splashed into the water below when I looked up towards the road and shouted, “The cop’s back!” Then the four in our group quickly made our way back to the other side of the stream, just in time for Officer Fife to start shouting, first at the swimmers, and then at us.
“Out of the water! Get out of the water!” shouted Officer Fife. The two kids swimming paddled slowly, defiantly, across to the other side by the rope swing. I wondered privately what would happen if one of them pretended to be drowning. Would the cop have to try and save them? Or would he just stand there yelling “I told you so”? I was now a few feet from the water, within sight of white rectangles painted on nearby trees to indicate the trail. The distance between Officer Fife and me required both of us to shout, although he was the only one who sounded angry.
“Hey Stratford, get back up on the trail!”
“I’m standing on the trail!”
“No, you were in the water!”
“Dude, I’m HIKING!”
“People don’t hike in the water!”
“Well, we aren’t swimming!”
“Get on the trail or I’ll tow your car!”
“WE’RE JUST HIKING!!!”
Officer Fife turned his attention back to the actual swimmers, and our group decided to continue along the trail, but not before snapping a picture of Officer Fife, hands planted firmly on his hips, as he kept the area clear of happiness and spontaneity.
This man hates laughter.
My education dealing with water quality and management issues makes me respect the fact that water protection laws are legitimate and should be enforced. That isn’t the problem I have with Officer Fife’s behavior. The problem I have is that from the beginning of time, kids have sought out places that they can claim as their own, places that offer sanctuary when they’ve been chased from everywhere else. For the youth of Redding, that spot was obviously one of them. So although authority figures must appear to maintain the status quo, they should also recognize the necessity of those places for the health of the community. Remembering their own youth, they should briefly wag a finger and then go try to prevent actual crimes. Apparently Officer Fife didn’t get the memo.
Redding’s Most Wanted
I don’t believe in karma, but how awesome is it that such a bully of a man, obviously craving authority, ends up spending every day screaming at fifteen-year-olds who think he’s hilarious and tell him so? When I asked one of the local kids if it was always like this he said “Yeah, they don’t have anything else to do but patrol the streams and pull over cars full of immigrants.” As we finished our hike and returned to the van, we saw Officer Fife parked nearby. He was scribbling furiously in what we can only assume was a coloring book. We waved goodbye and then drove five minutes away to the place that we had intended to go swimming all along.
The spot where we hiked and were harassed was by one of many small streams feeding the Saugatuck Reservoir, while the second place we went was located just past the Saugatuck Reservoir Dam, which meant that the water, while plentiful, was also very cold. But the day was only getting hotter, so we parked, hopped a cable barrier, and got wet.
The boys all swam upstream under the large concrete arch bridge into a spot where the current was stronger and the water deeper, while the girls opted for a shallower section where the sun was shining through the canopy of leaves above. After exploring the crags and logs of the upper part, the boys swam back down to join the girls.
Around the bend
Eventually some of us ended up where the stream broke over several flat rocks, and we sat on one side of them to enjoy river administered back rubs. Shane and Nolan also tried cascading water over the front of their bodies, with mixed results.
As the afternoon heat faded, we all got out of the river and dried off on the shore before getting back into the car. Despite the best efforts of Officer Fife, we had managed to go for both a hike and a swim- our day was complete. If you can get what you want out of a day without being hassled, then great, but if doing so requires you to frustrate a person already determined to be frustrated, I say all the better. It’s important to give people what they want, so you try. You do what you can.
July 7, 2006
On Sunday my mom hosted a graduation party/family reunion for my sister who just graduated high school and me. I was a little concerned when I heard that nearly one hundred people had been invited, since I only keep in contact with about three people in Connecticut who I am not related to. All said and done, the party went well, and we ended up spending the day with many families and individuals who I hadn’t seen in between five and ten years. Word of our trip has been spreading slowly, and Brianne and I each ended up explaining our itinerary about twenty times, usually sounding something like:
“We’re leaving for New Zealand on October 17th, and then we’ll be in Australia, Thailand and Cambodia, and then Spain, Portugal, and most of Southern and Eastern Europe. We won’t be going to much of Northern Europe or Scandanavia, but after a brief visit back home, we’ll head to South America for another few months. All in all, we will be gone about sixteen months.”
Ba-Dum.
The response to our plans has been overwhelmingly positive. Foremost among the feelings expressed to us are excitement, followed closely by good natured envy and encouragement, and capped off with a sort of parental, loving concern. We get a lot of advice from people about staying safe, but it never feels alarmist. Basically, everyone really wants for us to go, but they also want us to come back.
My favorite thing about Sunday was the fact that about 90% of my mother’s extended family was in attendance. It meant a lot to me to see nearly all of the Shepard/Giroux side of my family in one place, everyone thriving, everyone creating families of their own. Family, in its ideal form, is like a circus where the same group of people act as both spectators and performers. As portions of the family make their way onto the high wire of independence, everyone else is ready to cheer them on, enjoy the show, and most importantly be there to act as a safety net should someone stumble. The existence of that net certainly bolsters my own courage, but my respect for those providing it prevents me from ever wanting to actually use it. Ultimately, for me, a family is a group of people who care enough about you to give anything asked of them, and who you care enough about to never ask it.
Something else I noticed is that family members who are older than me never seem to age, while family members younger than me get older all the time. It’s rediculous, but I still find myself suprised when some of my cousins respond to a question with fully formed and intelligent answers, almost as though this ability is supernatural, like levitation or invisibility. Maybe it’s because although the difference in ages between me, my great-grandmother, and my youngest cousin are all fixed, her personality and skill set does not change significantly each year, while his grows exponentially. The person my great-grandmother is now is the same person I’ve always known her to be, while my siblings and cousins are almost literally different people each time we meet. I’m finding my own transition between dynamic and static roles to be going rather smoothly. But I wonder if the constancy of the elders in a family and the constant flux of its young aren’t both essential to a family’s strength.
Like the deciduous trees that New England is famous for, a family tree that transcends a simple lineage chart is one with life giving roots (the patriarchs and matriarchs) planted firmly in one place that can be counted on to hold firm when a storm draws near. Likewise, the leaves and acorns of new growth (all the kids, and eventually their kids) are expected to soak up the light, to change over time, and to keep straining ever higher into the sky. Considering how many families languish with shallow roots and broken limbs, it’s a pleasure to observe our own family tree on its way to becoming a forest.
July 6, 2006
On Sunday my mom hosted a graduation party/family reunion for my sister who just graduated high school and me. I was a little concerned when I heard that nearly one hundred people had been invited, since I only keep in contact with about three people in Connecticut who I am not related to. All said and done, the party went well, and we ended up spending the day with many families and individuals who I hadn’t seen in between five and ten years. Word of our trip has been spreading slowly, and Brianne and I each ended up explaining our itinerary about twenty times, usually sounding something like:
“We’re leaving for New Zealand on October 17th, and then we’ll be in Australia, Thailand and Cambodia, and then Spain, Portugal, and most of Southern and Eastern Europe. We won’t be going to much of Northern Europe or Scandanavia, but after a brief visit back home, we’ll head to South America for another few months. All in all, we will be gone about sixteen months.”
Ba-Dum.
The response to our plans has been overwhelmingly positive. Foremost among the feelings expressed to us are excitement, followed closely by good natured envy and encouragement, and capped off with a sort of parental, loving concern. We get a lot of advice from people about staying safe, but it never feels alarmist. Basically, everyone really wants for us to go, but they also want us to come back.
My favorite thing about Sunday was the fact that about 90% of my mother’s extended family was in attendance. It meant a lot to me to see nearly all of the Shepard/Giroux side of my family in one place, everyone thriving, everyone creating families of their own. Family, in its ideal form, is like a circus where the same group of people act as both spectators and performers. As portions of the family make their way onto the high wire of independence, everyone else is ready to cheer them on, enjoy the show, and most importantly be there to act as a safety net should someone stumble. The existence of that net certainly bolsters my own courage, but my respect for those providing it prevents me from ever wanting to actually use it. Ultimately, for me, a family is a group of people who care enough about you to give anything asked of them, and who you care enough about to never ask it.
Something else I noticed is that family members who are older than me never seem to age, while family members younger than me get older all the time. It’s rediculous, but I still find myself suprised when some of my cousins respond to a question with fully formed and intelligent answers, almost as though this ability is supernatural, like levitation or invisibility. Maybe it’s because although the difference in ages between me, my great-grandmother, and my youngest cousin are all fixed, her personality and skill set does not change significantly each year, while his grows exponentially. The person my great-grandmother is now is the same person I’ve always known her to be, while my siblings and cousins are almost literally different people each time we meet. I’m finding my own transition between dynamic and static roles to be going rather smoothly. But I wonder if the constancy of the elders in a family and the constant flux of its young aren’t both essential to a family’s strength.
Like the deciduous trees that New England is famous for, a family tree that transcends a simple lineage chart is one with life giving roots (the patriarchs and matriarchs) planted firmly in one place that can be counted on to hold firm when a storm draws near. Likewise, the leaves and acorns of new growth (all the kids, and eventually their kids) are expected to soak up the light, to change over time, and to keep straining ever higher into the sky. Considering how many families languish with shallow roots and broken limbs, it’s a pleasure to observe our own family tree on its way to becoming a forest.
July 4, 2006
*a fable, sort of:
Once upon a time in a land far far away, the traveling duo of Butch and Fabienne decided to visit family and friends on the easternmost side of the kingdom. Butch and Fabienne were both outdoorsy types, and typically each carried a knife with them for their utility and aesthetic appeal. Butch often kept his knife clipped to his pants pocket, while Fabienne carried one in a satchel in case she ever needed it. Butch had recently given Fabienne another, prettier and sentimental knife as a present, and she had left that one in her bag as well, simply forgetting to ever take it out. The blade of each one was over three inches long.
Since Butch and Fabienne had decided to travel by ethership, they arrived early and gave themselves plenty of time to board the craft. Because of past unfortunate events involving etherships and religious zealots, all passengers traveling in this manner were screened by the finest wizards in the land, who waved beeping wands and used powerful incantations to peer inside a person’s luggage without actually opening it. Due to their crucial role in keeping the kingdom safe, the wizards were thought to be highly trained, and there were harsh penalties exacted on a person attempting to bring weapons of any sort aboard the ethership, intentionally or not. Butch and Fabienne submitted to these security measures without complaint; for they had nothing to hide, and they appreciated the reassuring feeling that the security measures provided them.
Well, used to provide them.
Because after boarding the ethership and settling in for the long voyage, a thought crept into Fabienne’s mind, and her eyes went wide. Then she turned to Butch and whispered, “I just passed through security with two big knives in my bag.”
“What?” whispered Butch.
“I forgot to pack them in my checked luggage. They’re in my bag right now.”
A feeling of deep unease crept over both of them, and not because they might be punished for an honest mistake. It was caused by the sudden realization that all of the theatrics surrounding the security wizards’ incantations (waving their wands around, distrusting footwear, acting extra tough) were a fraud. If a well intentioned individual was able to totally bypass the security system by accident, what chance did it have to resist numerous orchestrated attacks? Suddenly, who Butch and Fabienne were aboard the ethership with and what those people had been allowed to carry on became a gigantic question mark, and erased any sense of security they had previously enjoyed. And although they wanted to believe that theirs was just an isolated incident, they both knew that security breaches such as this had happened several times before, in every corner of the kingdom.
As Fabienne slept in an uncomfortably small seat beside him, Butch began thinking more about the security measures that had been put in place. He began to see holes that he hadn’t seen before, such as the fact that he had been allowed to board the plane with several large glass bottles, which broken or unbroken could be used as weapons, and also could have (since no one had bothered checking) been filled with any number of flammable liquids. It seemed to Butch that instead of using their time to anticipate new threats, the FEA (Federal Ethership Administration) simply addressed threats that had already been identified, which left them a step behind anyone with bad intentions and a good imagination.
Of couse, the illusion of safety at five miles above ground was nothing new. The very act of stepping into a bird made of metal and glass was an inherently insecure thing to do. The fact that bad things rarely happened aboard etherships in no way guaranteed that they wouldn’t happen, and Butch and Fabienne were realistic about this. As Butch considered these things, he looked forward up the aisle and saw the door leading to the cockpit. It was heavily secured, and a large peephole was installed in the center. Upon seeing this he realized the truth of the situation, which was that in the end, it doesn’t matter all that much what happens in the cabin. The destruction to be wreaked by one man or a group of men in a full ethership cabin is nothing compared to what can happen when control of the ship itself is compromised. So the message sent by that secured door was this: should an incident occur, passengers would be expected to fend for themselves.
For some reason, Butch felt comforted by this new perspective. Because although the FEA was still failing to learn from its mistakes, ethership passengers had changed. They had learned that sitting quietly and submitting to a hijacking was no longer the proper course of action, and that any group of murderers that manages to board a flight will be outnumbered at least 10 to 1 by a group of people fully aware of the price of inaction. Butch looked around, suddenly aware that he was surrounded by friends. He saw a older man in a dark suit, a soldier dressed in tan fatigues, a mother holding her child. Butch trusted that if pressed, each of them would do whatever was needed to protect those they loved. Then he turned to the seat next to his and saw Fabienne sleeping soundly. Now fully convinced that “security” was not something that could be provided by a king using underpaid wizards, and was ensured only by those people accepting the risks, Butch joined Fabienne in a restful sleep. When they woke they had reached the far side of the kingdom, and were eager to explore.
The End
*a fable, sort of:
Once upon a time in a land far far away, the traveling duo of Butch and Fabienne decided to visit family and friends on the easternmost side of the kingdom. Butch and Fabienne were both outdoorsy types, and typically each carried a knife with them for their utility and aesthetic appeal. Butch often kept his knife clipped to his pants pocket, while Fabienne carried one in a satchel in case she ever needed it. Butch had recently given Fabienne another, prettier and sentimental knife as a present, and she had left that one in her bag as well, simply forgetting to ever take it out. The blade of each one was over three inches long.
Since Butch and Fabienne had decided to travel by ethership, they arrived early and gave themselves plenty of time to board the craft. Because of past unfortunate events involving etherships and religious zealots, all passengers traveling in this manner were screened by the finest wizards in the land, who waved beeping wands and used powerful incantations to peer inside a person’s luggage without actually opening it. Due to their crucial role in keeping the kingdom safe, the wizards were thought to be highly trained, and there were harsh penalties exacted on a person attempting to bring weapons of any sort aboard the ethership, intentionally or not. Butch and Fabienne submitted to these security measures without complaint; for they had nothing to hide, and they appreciated the reassuring feeling that the security measures provided them.
Well, used to provide them.
Because after boarding the ethership and settling in for the long voyage, a thought crept into Fabienne’s mind, and her eyes went wide. Then she turned to Butch and whispered, “I just passed through security with two big knives in my bag.”
“What?” whispered Butch.
“I forgot to pack them in my checked luggage. They’re in my bag right now.”
A feeling of deep unease crept over both of them, and not because they might be punished for an honest mistake. It was caused by the sudden realization that all of the theatrics surrounding the security wizards’ incantations (waving their wands around, distrusting footwear, acting extra tough) were a fraud. If a well intentioned individual was able to totally bypass the security system by accident, what chance did it have to resist numerous orchestrated attacks? Suddenly, who Butch and Fabienne were aboard the ethership with and what those people had been allowed to carry on became a gigantic question mark, and erased any sense of security they had previously enjoyed. And although they wanted to believe that theirs was just an isolated incident, they both knew that security breaches such as this had happened several times before, in every corner of the kingdom.
As Fabienne slept in an uncomfortably small seat beside him, Butch began thinking more about the security measures that had been put in place. He began to see holes that he hadn’t seen before, such as the fact that he had been allowed to board the plane with several large glass bottles, which broken or unbroken could be used as weapons, and also could have (since no one had bothered checking) been filled with any number of flammable liquids. It seemed to Butch that instead of using their time to anticipate new threats, the FEA (Federal Ethership Administration) simply addressed threats that had already been identified, which left them a step behind anyone with bad intentions and a good imagination.
Of couse, the illusion of safety at five miles above ground was nothing new. The very act of stepping into a bird made of metal and glass was an inherently insecure thing to do. The fact that bad things rarely happened aboard etherships in no way guaranteed that they wouldn’t happen, and Butch and Fabienne were realistic about this. As Butch considered these things, he looked forward up the aisle and saw the door leading to the cockpit. It was heavily secured, and a large peephole was installed in the center. Upon seeing this he realized the truth of the situation, which was that in the end, it doesn’t matter all that much what happens in the cabin. The destruction to be wreaked by one man or a group of men in a full ethership cabin is nothing compared to what can happen when control of the ship itself is compromised. So the message sent by that secured door was this: should an incident occur, passengers would be expected to fend for themselves.
For some reason, Butch felt comforted by this new perspective. Because although the FEA was still failing to learn from its mistakes, ethership passengers had changed. They had learned that sitting quietly and submitting to a hijacking was no longer the proper course of action, and that any group of murderers that manages to board a flight will be outnumbered at least 10 to 1 by a group of people fully aware of the price of inaction. Butch looked around, suddenly aware that he was surrounded by friends. He saw a older man in a dark suit, a soldier dressed in tan fatigues, a mother holding her child. Butch trusted that if pressed, each of them would do whatever was needed to protect those they loved. Then he turned to the seat next to his and saw Fabienne sleeping soundly. Now fully convinced that “security” was not something that could be provided by a king using underpaid wizards, and was ensured only by those people accepting the risks, Butch joined Fabienne in a restful sleep. When they woke they had reached the far side of the kingdom, and were eager to explore.
The End