Sustainability. Is it more than paper straws and LED light bulbs? Time to heal.

Yeah, I know what sustainability means.   It means doing things in a way to make to make them repeatable while maintaining your resources. Yeah, all of that saving the world crap.

Sustainability is also waking up before the dawn one morning, and panning across my cabin with a headlamp looking at a sea of dirty gear that had been drying all night under the white noise of a beat up box-fan. Then my mind warms up a little and I start counting all the things that really need to get done instead of putting on trail miles or bagging a peak. Now I stare at my roommate’s feet sticking out of whatever it is that fills his half of the cabin, make sure I am NOT on a Korean horror film set, and then try and decided if it’s safe to roll over and go back to sleep.  But in the end, I still must wake up and face the music.  The overture playin in my head is a wake up call, and I need to get my house in order (Ron Swanson style).

I’m trying to hike every minute I can, and keep reminding myself time is short. That’s why I have a “days left” in my stats spreadsheet. Looking forward,   I’m losing a couple of days for a return home to take care of some pre-start-of-school bus stuff.  I’m going to have a guest for a day (Wiseman) and we will finally see who has the skinniest legs and the most gristle on their bones for some real climbing.  My gear is all trashed from the wet August weather, leaving me with boots to seal, layers to clean, laundry in a sticky pile, and a funny smell I really need to find (and get out) of Nancy’s car before I return it to her. 

More importantly, it is getting hard to find time to write. Between this thing I call work, miles on the trail, and what feels like a few occasional moments to chase rabbits in my sleep, there not a lot of surplus minutes in the day.  Not to mention trying to hang out with the cool kids in the common kitchen area, which is my only form of entertainment.   I’m pretty sure they think I’m like Carl the janitor from ‘The Breakfast Club’.  Just a fly on wall, but I hear everything.

Kinda too old to hang with them, but the seasonal job buys a little credibility and I’m tolerable as long as I don’t make too many references to ‘back in my day.’  The gap between the rungs on the social ladder here are pretty few and far apart for us old timers.

So today I slept in and chased rabbits until the sun came up (literally), and my blog inspiration will be babysitting a Maytag commercial washing machine (and dryer), as the storm clouds disperse and the waning days of what shall be known as The Summer of Dave come to fruition. 

Also try to mend a cracked callus on my left heel.  Amazing how those things hurt.  Like it went down to the bone or something. Nothing like feeling your heartbeat exploding in your foot like the stab of a knife 24/7 for a couple of days. I assume the body will figure out a fix sooner or later. 

So yes, even Goatboy his a breaking point. But at least I can recognize and acknowledge it (finally). And turn it into a healing opportunity.