Mt. David, Cottage Grove

When a person is all disrupted and loosened from the moorings of routine, a good long walk with dogs is a reliable remedy. At Birch and J, both dogs reversed and pulled at the sound of B.’s laughter and the familiar squeak of Chubs behind the fence. I sympathized but pushed us all on to the hill a few more blocks away. We climbed up into the trees, Ramona and I both lagging a little more than usual. It’s always so worth it up here with the low clouds lingering in the little hollows and the buttes giving a green thumbs-up.

Cat poop consumed: no

 

Mt. David, Cottage Grove

It’s like an East Coast mountain, Mt. David. The kind where you’re walking along in your sneakers and someone says, “Gosh, aren’t these mountains great?” And you look around for snow-capped cragginess and say, “Mountains? Where?” In other words, there is no register at the top of Mt. David. It is not a peak to be bagged, or one that summons bragging. Nonetheless, it is a goodly hill that rises above the low fog in the valley, with many fire roads to explore, and it is only two minutes from L.’s soon-to-be-former house. The fog deceived me into thinking it is colder than it actually is, and I have to unwrap the scarf, stuff my gloves into my vest pockets, and unzip two layers by the end of the first climb. 

Cat poop consumed: no