Goodby Summer

Goodby Summer | 2022

In this episode (173) – Goodby Summer 2022 . . .

Wow! Can you believe summer is over? This year (2022) has flown by. It's early morning, and already I'm noticing the sunrise arriving later and later. Siri tells me, "The Sun will rise at 6:43 a.m." The shorter days bring cooler weather. Soon we will don our jackets for an early morning walk. Me, I enjoy the warmth and comfort of my blue flannel shirt.

For you sky watchers, the Hunters Moon is your gateway to fall; it will be visible on Sunday, October 9, 2022, at 16:55 EST, based on the data provided by NASA.

Legend has it that Native Americans inspired the Full Moon's name as they prepared for the winter. They would start gathering provisions to get them through the winter. The October full moon is the first full moon after the Harvest Moon. According to the Old Farmer's Almanac, the moon occurs when the season for hunting many game animals begins. That crisp, fresh, colorful time of year.

Autumn is a time to gather, to prepare for early darkness, a time to plan for the holidays, a time to re-examine your opportunities, and a time to give thanks. It is after Labor Day, and the California beaches are quiet once again, with the local surfers feeling the chill of the Pacific. This past Sunday, the crowds disappeared while we cruised the coast on our bicycles along the Oceanside boardwalk. You could smell the salt of the Ocean as the waves crashed among the large boulders that guard the roadway.

For Lori and I, it's a time to celebrate. This year we will celebrate our 34th wedding anniversary at one of our favorite spots on earth, Yosemite National Park.

We are fortunate in California; our temperate climate allows us to participate in many outdoor activities. So, get outside and take advantage of the cool, crisp fresh air, the morning glow, golden sunsets, and the glorious colors of the changing trees.

Goodbye to summer.

I'm Patrick Ball; thanks for listening. I'll see you in the next episode.

Comments

The Gopher Problem and the High Powered Solution

Vacationing in Maine this week, just a short drive down the coast from Freeport, it is hard not to think about the outsized impact one frustrated outdoorsman had on the gear we all use today. Bad equipment can ruin a perfectly good day on the water or the trail, but it takes a special kind of vision to turn cold feet into a century-old empire. This is the story of the company we now know as L.L.Bean, but more importantly, it is a masterclass in integrity, learning from failure, and standing behind your work. In 1912, Leon Leonwood Bean faced a persistent problem: returning from expeditions in the Maine woods with cold, wet feet. Instead of complaining, he got creative. He had a local shoemaker stitch waterproof rubber soles onto the flexible leather uppers of a hunting boot. He called it the Maine Hunting Shoe and mailed a flyer promising perfect satisfaction. Then reality arrived. Ninety of his first 100 pairs failed when the rubber separated from the leather. Not an effective product...

On Becoming Real

Some things get better with wear: old shoes, old friendships, and old books. Especially old books. A new volume arrives with crisp corners and a spine that hasn’t yet learned to bend. An old one has been somewhere. It has traveled through time in the hands of people who may no longer be around to tell us what they found inside. The copy of The Velveteen Rabbit (first published in 1922) on my desk is one of those books. My friend Don Hanley gave it to me. This late-1950s Doubleday edition features William Nicholson’s original illustrations and cream paper boards softened by age. Worn corners, a split spine, and colored tabs mark passages worth revisiting. Don didn’t hand me a keepsake. He gave me homework. When we talked about the book recently, he pointed me straight to the nursery conversation between a young rabbit and an old Skin Horse. The rabbit had noticed the mechanical toys around him—the ones with internal gears, bright paint, and stick-out handles that seem terribly impressiv...

A Dog, a Beer . . . and the Ghost of 1912

Whenever you step into an American cathedral of our National Pastime built before modern ergonomics, municipal zoning, or crowd-flow dynamics, an unspoken understanding forms, creating a welcoming, timeless atmosphere. You trade legroom, sensible corridors, and personal space for the privilege of communing with ghosts. Last week, Lori and I made our pilgrimage to Fenway Park to watch our Chicago Cubs take on the Boston Red Sox (a taut 0–2 contest that felt spiritually tied to their 1918 World Series meeting). Staying just across the Charles River at the Courtyard Marriott in Cambridge gave us one immeasurable tactical advantage: we walked. While the automotive gridlock around Kenmore Square took on the character of the Siege of Yorktown—horns echoing across the asphalt like musket fire—we simply strolled across the Boston University Bridge, enjoying the river breeze and feeling smugly superior to everyone trapped behind a steering wheel. Fenway, built in the spring of 1912, holds rough...

Paris – the End of Silence

✈️ In this special episode: Paris – the End of Silence Sometimes, connection arrives in the most unexpected form—not through grand gestures, but through a quiet voice carried by technology. In a Paris apartment, I finally understood my family’s words . . . and felt my mother’s presence in every sentence. Since I was a little boy, France has been both a beautiful and frustrating paradox in my life. Every six to nine years, my mother, Mauricette, would take my brothers and me back to La Rochelle to visit our French family. The moment we arrived, the air would fill with a sound I loved but couldn’t share in—the rapid-fire, musical rhythm of French. My aunts, uncles, and cousins would warmly sweep me into hugs and kisses, their words flowing like a lovely melody I couldn’t quite catch. I’d smile brightly, trying to communicate with my eyes and hands. But as soon as we stepped off the plane, my mother and her sister-in-law, Joséan, started talking animatedly. They were gone, chatting h...

On The Fly

Search This Blog