Tom Ryan's Blog

We rose before dawn, made our way to a little-known forest path by the river where the hunters never go, and eased our way into this troubled world. How strange it was to see daybreak but have only a white sky. This is how tragic and wide-sweeping the fires out west are. Smoke is traveling 3,000 miles in this strangest of years. I can only imagine what it is like in the western skies.

Unlike out west, the breathing is still easy here. This morning was cold and crisp, like an October apple. I wore a hat and gloves, and my fingers were still cold. This is the result of the hundreds of winter peaks Atticus and I traversed years ago.

I ran hot in those years, often hiking without jacket, hat or gloves, even when the temperature was below zero. Of course I was bigger then and had more insulation. Now, though, my fingers remind me of a my bouts with frost bite.

We were out so early today that after our walk we took the drive up through Crawford Notch to the Littleton Co-Op. We get there every month or two, traveling an hour each way to pick up items our local grocery stores don’t carry. Going mid-week makes it easier now that it’s September and there aren’t many vacationers.

Not much color change yet, not even north of the notches where it always comes first, save for a few rusty trees. Everywhere we looked, that same surreal white sky offered an ominous backdrop to the mountains. It was a world without dimension. I’ve never seen it like that.

After shopping for Japanese purple yams and golden beets, we took a detour and drove to Robert Frost’s house, now called The Frost Place. It wasn’t open, not that we ever go when it is.

I like to sit on the front porch when no one is around, as the great poet used to, or we amble about in the garden behind the house.

Looking north, above the property, we saw our first and only blue sky of the day.

Samwise led Emily and me along the short Poetry Trail in the back. We stopped, Sam and Emi sniffed about, while I read the familiar poems. I even recited some not posted along the path. When we finished we daydreamed on the front porch for a spell.

I’m not certain how many more times we’ll visit this enchanted New England site in the future. We leave here for our winter adventure in December (COVID-19 and COVIDiots allowing), and when we return home, it will be with an eye toward eventually moving to rural Vermont. Two books should be nearly done then, and I am picturing a house, not unlike Frost’s—modest and small, surrounded by ten acres on a quiet dirt road,

Atticus and I frequented The Frost Place during off hours when we first moved north and lived on that side of the mountains. Sitting on that porch and looking across the road at Cannon Mountain and the Cannon Balls on the northern end of the Kinsman Range, I always felt as if we were sitting with Robert Frost’s ghost, and he was fine with us being as long as we were still and respectful.

That porch is where I wrote my last letter to my father. Not sure why I remember that, but it feels fitting now. I believe Frost’s was the only poetry collection Jack Ryan had on his busy shelves.

On that autumn afternoon years ago, the foliage was in her ripest orange and red glory. A sweet breeze stirred the leaves against a dream-blue sea of a sky dotted with white clouds. A sky so different from the apocalyptic backdrop of today.

It was a scene from a Norman Rockwell painting. The simplicity of Northern New England—the innocence of a land and setting still quiet and peaceful. Perfection made for an insurance company calendar.

I realize how fortunate we are to live here at the beginning of autumn. We spend our days embracing tranquility in a slow dance with Mother Nature. That’s what I prayed about with Emily and Samwise and the ghost of Robert Frost beside me on that old front porch this morning. I prayed to offer thanks.

When we got up to leave, Emily’s leg was a little stiff for sitting for so long after two walks, and I noted my own ache—the sinking pang of a goodbye.

In her book Wanderlust, Rebecca Solnit wrote, “When you give yourself to places, they give you yourself back; the more one comes to know them, the more one seeds them with the invisible crop of memories and associations that will be waiting for you when you come back, while new places offer up new thoughts, new possibilities.”

Ah yes, that’s where I find my heart these days, in that bittersweet marriage of memories and new possibilities.

It makes for a rich stew.

Thank you for reading, y’all.

Onward, by all means.

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PS: Our December departure date has been moved up to the 11th. A few friends know our itinerary, and I am so flush with anticipation, I’m tempted to share it with you here. But I think that my original thought of letting each stop be a surprise to you works best. Goodness knows, we all could surely use the joy of bright surprises in this troubling year. How grand it will be to share our adventures with you as they occur.

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Four years ago, once he was pressured for honesty, a doctor told me I had between five and ten years left. That was a few months after my kidney, heart, and lung failure; the blood clots; anemia; and the stroke.

“You insisted I be honest. I could be wrong, but with what you’ve been through, I’m surprised you are here at all. I think you know I am not the only one. You did not just have one life-threatening illness. You had the perfect storm.”

He hadn’t wanted to answer my question, but I pestered him until he did. I believe he felt a burden lift when he responded. It’s not too often a patients wants the hard truth.

The picture on the left was two years ago, two years after the conversation. I was twenty pounds heavier than when the doctor gave me his prediction. I would gain another twenty-five pounds.

That doctor’s honesty and matter of fact comments did not motivate me. Obviously. If anything, I believed my demise was ordained.

So I comforted myself with food, the very addiction that brought me to my dance with the Lady in Black in the first place.

Here’s what I understood during my five weeks in the hospital: I could have crossed over at any time. It felt like I was wading in the afterlife, and she (the Lady in Black) was patiently waiting for me to choose.

Life or death? It’s up to you, Tom.

I am one of the lucky ones—I got to choose.

I was so far gone some friends came to the hospital once and decided not to return.

“We knew you were going to die,” two told me. “We did not want to see you that way.”

I was not just gone physically. My head was elsewhere. But I was calm, and not the least bit worried. Everything felt like it was moving in slow motion. And yes, in my madness, there really was a Lady in Black by my side the entire time no one else was in the room.

She and I had lengthy conversations. Although I admit to doing most of the talking. She was a good listener—genial, gentle, with lips and eyes that expressed kindness, humor, amusement.

The hallucinations eased. Our long philosophical conversations and confessions faded. And so did she.

By the end of my stay, I no longer saw her.

But here’s the thing. I know she is never far away. Still.

Once you make friends with Death, there is no leaving her. Once you know she’s there, it’s actually a comfort.

I consider it a super power. Knowing death, I mean. It helps a person see things more clearly than before.

These days, she no longer sits with me awaiting my decision. But during quiet moments I feel her gaze and can sense her listening. Sometimes, I feel her in the forest, gliding from birch to hemlock, just out of sight.

She’s in no hurry to grab hold. It’s not like that at all. If anything, I’d like to think we came to an understanding.

I’d also like to think I will now live longer than what was predicted. Alas, one never knows. But I have given myself a fighting chance. Food, which nearly killed me, has now saved me. It took me two years to come to that understanding and to revolutionize my way of thinking about what I was eating.

Doctors we’re limited in what they could do for me. So I did it for myself.

During this winter’s upcoming trip, one of the aspects I’m excited about is the challenge of eating a healthy whole-food, plant-based diet while traveling. Unlike most vegans, I don’t eat out. Burger King’s Impossible Burgers will do me no good. I avoid all oils, and I minimize salt, fats, and the vast majority of processed foods. Restaurants are mostly out of the question. Grocery stores are my thing.

I’ll continue on the Esselstyn plan, although it’s not really called that. Dr. Caldwell Esselstyn’s son, Rip, is the originator of the Engine 2 Diet. Rip’s plan is called plant strong. While Rip refer’s to his father’s plan as plant perfect. Yes, it’s strict, but it’s the only diet scientifically proven to help reverse heart disease. Hence, the name.

It led me to get off of my blood pressure and beta blocker medications. I’ve lost 143 lbs. My resting heart rate today is 51 beats per minute. My current blood pressure is 96/66. My sleep apnea and pre-diabetes are gone.

Next April, I will turn sixty. I have not felt this good, or this young, in decades.

I promise not to evangelize my way of eating, but some of my posts during the trip will touch on the food and how I’m eating. Some of you may find that interesting. Some of you, I know, are in a similar boat with a history of health issues brought on by eating the Standard American Diet.

I’ll close by telling you how good it feels to still have a choice about sticking around. I know she likes to stick in the background, but you’ll notice I keep an Adirondack chair open for in the yard.

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PS: I had the rear brakes replaced on Clarence this week. While he was in the dealership in Portsmouth, I had them detail him. It’s been a grand week for grooming. Samwise and Emily has a spa day, and so did Clarence. Heck, I even shaved on Thursday. I took the photograph of Chocorua this morning, on our way to retrieve our steed.

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The adventure begins December 15!

You’re invited to follow along through words and photos here, and on our Instagram account @tom_samwise_emily.

The goal of our trip is to see the world while we still can. Our current year has taught us not to take anything for granted—things can change in a blink of an eye.

We are headed to open horizons out West where Jo…

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In this year of uncertainty, something we’ve all been robbed of the joy of anticipation. Concerts, sporting events, dining out, travel, even the most basic intimacy of hugging a friend have been impacted by the pandemic and our country’s handling of it. Few nations have managed it worse, and we are all paying the price for it.

Yet, with my announcement the other day, I find I’m energized by the very thing most of us have been lacking. There’s nothing like the sensation of dreaming and planning a tremendous adventure

Travel for the three of us has always been different. Considering Samwise and Emily as peers and not pets, our journeys are designed with equality in mind. What can we do that will make all of us happy?

Thankfully, that’s already how we live our lives. I forgo several past pleasures because they no longer fit into my life. We move as a pack. Each time I book a hotel or an Airbnb rental, they must allow dogs, and they must be allowed on the furniture. (We’ve rented a couple of houses that welcomed dogs. Only to arrive finding orders to keep them off the furniture. I don’t mind that folks have restrictions, it’s just better when they state them in the rental agreement.) It also means doing online searches for local trails where Samwise and are allowed to walk off-leash.

It’s time-consuming, but it’s also an aspect that builds anticipation.

Planning a trip out west during the pandemic, the challenges are multiplied.

What I’ve discovered is that the houses we’ll be using out west have strict protocols in place. And the hotels we’ll be staying in to get there and back also are protective of their staff and customers. It’s been heartening to read these measures.

Lastly, I have to keep up to date on state and local COVID-19 regulations. Things could possibly switch at any moment.

Before jumping in on the idea of a trip, I researched hotels. It seems they are pretty safe, especially if you are not mixing with groups. The individual traveler is safe. Nevertheless, I will be taking a stash of KN-95 masks, gloves, hand sanitizer, disinfecting wipes, and caution.

It was helpful to reach out to friends who have been traveling. They’ve offered helpful feedback.

Our lives won’t be very different than they are here at home. We’ll stop for gas, use grocery stores, and take walks where and when people are not around. That was also how we roadtripped pre-COVID.

Something else bringing me pleasure is knowing I’ll be sharing updates on this blog throughout our trip. A month into our last cross-country adventure, I stopped sharing our experiences on Facebook. The flood of unsolicited advice was suffocating. That won’t be a problem here. (Comments can always be turned off, if necessary.)

I love knowing that some elderly and disabled folks will get to travel along in spirit. Our posts will be sent out more often in some areas, and there will be extra posts when there are few words and many photos.

I touched on a few of these points the other day, but it was during the holiday weekend.

Knowing Emily will be back at full strength makes this all possible. She’s been doing well. I stagger days. After there miles yesterday, she’s only going for a couple of fifteen-minute walks today and tomorrow.

You can judge for yourself how she’s doing in this video. She has another ten weeks on a leash, and you can tell she needs to regain her strength and confidence, but that’s to be expected.

Tom Ryan @TomandAtticusThe Divine Ms. Em continues her on her long road back from cruciate surgery. Alas, she won’t be ready for the Patriots’ opener, but she will be returning for the playoff run.

September 8th 2020

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Samwise is a constant I don’t need to worry about. But I do take into account what’s important to him. At one point, I considered a winter trip to the beach for a week or two, but he gets bored without trees and rocks around.

We’ll be traveling where folks are not, for the most part, but there will be wildlife sightings. Who knows, maybe we’ll seek out more bison. Sam would not mind another kiss.

I’m Keeping our itinerary private, for now. Besides, it will be more fun for you to follow along when mystery is involved! What I will tell you is we’ll be heading out in the middle of December.

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One last challenge: I eat a strict whole-food, plant-based diet with no oils, nuts, avocado, minimal sodium, and no processed foods. On past treks, I took advantage of the Whole Foods Markets’ salad bar, but they are not available during the pandemic.

I’ll bring along an Instant Pot, a blender/food processor combination, and a no-stick pan for dry-sauteeing.

In my unhealthy days, part of the fun of a road trip was junk food. Now, the only time we stop at fast-food restaurants is for plain baked potatoes at Wendy’s and blueberry oatmeal at Starbucks.

In the spring-summer of 2019, while on a seventy-one-day trip, I lost twenty-two pounds. I know how to eat clean while away from home, but that also takes a lot of thought.

What fun!

Adventure awaits!

PS: I’ve turned off the comments. Unsolicited advice has already started coming in, from people who state, “I know your not looking for it, but…” .

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It was 48 degrees when we entered the forest this morning. Shorts, gloves, hooded fleece top, socks, and hiking shoes. There was a crisp autumn bite in the air. Should have worn a hat.

Samwise picked up the scent of a bear early on and put his pink nose to the task. Emily so wanted to keep up with his zig-zagging, but was held back by her leash. In his frantic tracing back and forth, Sam spooked a family of grouse, which frightened him equally.

He jumped back with a start! Mother and father rustled off in opposite directions with a rousing commotion, leaving a youngster behind crying out. The wail sliced into my heart, and I apologized.

We hurried away, with Samwise’s pink snout back to the ground. That prodigious probiscus led us to a grove of crab apple trees where the bear had feasted, and left a large pile of scat.

In the past, Emily would have sampled it, but thankfully she’s left her shit-eating ways behind. Ah, if only all of us could move on from our bad habits.

Yesterday, I took the air conditioner out of the window and closeted it away. A rite of passage that happened earlier this year. And when we returned from our walk this morning, a pot of my new favorite chili became my focus. The recipe comes from the good folks at Mastering Diabetes. (I choose to go with fire roasted corn. The Trader Joe’s version is fabulous, but you can also throw frozen corn on a hot skillet. Works just as well.)

Meanwhile, Vivaldi’s Autumn from his Four Seasons played, and I chopped and diced to the notes while at the kitchen counter. I also washed and stabbed two sweet potatoes and began baking them. The chili goes well over anything, butbthere’s something in the chilly air this morning that calls for sweet potatoes.

While cooking, and looking out the window at the rush of none-stop tourist traffic rumbling by, I thought back to the quiet of the woodland earlier. After we had startled the grouse and left behind all traces of the black bear. While traipsing among the wood nymphs and elves in the dark forest, we were serenaded by the call of a flock of Canada geese passing overhead. All three of our heads craned toward the treetops. We were draped in that sweet shared wonder soul friends (actually, I prefer the Gaelic term anam cara) find in nature.

It was that familiar harsh and exciting song that first led me to Mary Oliver. Her Wild Geese took hold of me when I needed it. She urges the reader to step back from society’s silly rote ways in order to reclaim a childhood sense of wonder.

I had recently given up my job as a chronicler of Newburyport’s characters, sold the Undertoad, dropped out of the mayor’s race, and followed Atticus to the tranquility and the wild of the mountains. I was broken, worn down, tired of the busy-ness of an ego-driven world. I longed to simplify our lives.

“Whoever you are, no matter how lonely, the world offers itself to your imagination, calls to like the wild geese, harsh and exciting—over and over announcing your place in the family of things.”

Lordy! Is it any wonder why her poem shook me then, and why the three of us stopped and gaped at the flock’s half-hidden flight through the overstory this morning?

Never has the sacrament of communion nourished my soul more.

“Whoever you are, no matter how lonely…”

Amen—a hundred times over.

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I am well aware that many of you out west are suffering record heat this week. I hope today’s post offers you a glimpse of autumn cool, and some refreshment in this feverish world.

Also for our western friends, don’t be surprised to see us joining you for a spell this winter. Adventure is calling, and we long to go where people are not. January in the high desert, or in the snow amid the stately Ponderosa Pines, knowing rattlesnakes are asleep, but being on the lookout for roving wild javelinas.

Yes, adventure awaits, and the coronavirus will change the way we travel. But we are well-suited to it, since we make a practice out of avoiding folks. Which is one of the reasons we’re leaving the Mount Washington Valley at the beginning of ski season.

On top of the ski crowds, in winter the number of trails we can visit without leash has always been limited, but that’s even more the case due to the influx of the wealthy COVID-19 migrants from southern New England. The places we roam freely have been cut by complaints of dogs being off-leash in places they’ve always been off-leash. Alas, gentrification has come to the mountains of New Hampshire. Add those restrictions to the snow depth on mountain trails and all I desire is to find a place to walk with ease in the wild. (While keeping an eye for javelina, of course.

You'd like it here today. Rain showers coming and going; the comfort of dark skies and cool air—a sign of times to come. This morning, on our walk along the former train tracks, it began to rain. It was one of those fine rains you realize you enjoy getting stuck out in because it's short-lived, and you know you won't get soaked. 

Under that falling rain,…

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There was a mischievous wind playing with the trees in our backyard this morning. It was a mix of strands of cool and warm music. The pulse of it enlivened both Emily and me.

First thing each morning, by the time I finish carrying Emily down the stairs, Samwise has already traversed the lawn and is disappearing into the woods that lead to the river. Emil…

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Oh, how I love living on the edge of a fairytale! Like J.R.R. Tolkien, J.K. Rowling, C.S. Lewis, and E.B. White, I find solace in my imagination. We are fortunate that the forest and its magic, is across the river from our backyard.

Under an overcast sky, Samwise and I splashed across the chilly Ellis River at 6:30 this morning and entered our own little…

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“We walk down the stairs and cross the yard to the bear path that descends beyond the high grass into the tall trees and ferns until we get to the river. We rock-hop to the other side and we’re in a magic realm. Within minutes we enter the White Mountain National Forest, a place the size of the state of Rhode Island. Trails spider-web out from there for over a thousand miles. We visit with wild things as often as possible, and occasionally wild things spill out of the forest, across the river, and up into our backyard as well. You see, wild goes both ways.” ~ Will’s Red Coat

That’s from the opening of the book. It also tells how Samwise and I begin half of our morning walks each week. This Monday morning we entered that cherished realm, in the same way that Aragorn, and the other bears, used to come and go back when Atticus lived here.

By now, you probably know the bears don’t come around anymore. When Atticus was alive, we’d get between five and a dozen regulars every year. They came so often, I named them. Among my favorites was Butkus, Walter, State of Maine, the Jackson Five (a mother and her four cubs). Aragorn was the most constant, and he used to sit with us in the backyard as he is in this photo. We were closest to him.

Atticus had a connection with wild things that was mythic. I would not believe it had I not lived through it. What’s more telling is how after he died, they stopped coming around.

Well, Aragorn did come one last time. It was the night of my birthday in 2016. I was sick and not sure if I could go forward with the Will’s Red Coat book tour. Late that night, Samwise grumbled and growled. For some reason, I walked to the door. Outside was Aragorn.

When I said his name, he looked up at me.

”I’m sorry, but he’s gone…But you already know that, don’t you? But there’s another. His name is Samwise Atticus Passaconaway. The last name is inspired by you. It translates to Son of the Bear.”

As I spoke, with the door open and the fully-grown Aragorn looking up at me, his eyes swam into mine. I don’t know why, but I knew he’d come to say goodbye.

It was raining and I invited him to spend the night.

This was all new to young Samwise, of course. When I looked for him, he was down the hall, mostly hidden, with his head peering around the corner.

I closed the door and watched Aragorn sit down, his enormous rump against the glass door.

I gathered cushions from the couch, grabbed pillows and our comforter from the bedroom, and I made a makeshift bed on the floor against the glass door.

Lightning flashed, and when it did, I could see that Aragorn was lying down, curled as Samwise was. But while Samwise was behind my knees, Aragorn’s eyes were looking at mine. We fell asleep that way, our faces inches away, separated by glass but connected from a past that included Atticus and Will.

Thunder rumbled through the night. Rain drummed against the roof of the house and the porch above the bear’s head.

When we awakened, the storm was gone, and so was Aragorn. It would be the last time we ever saw him, or any of the other bears in our yard. Interestingly, my flu symptoms were also gone.

That was three years ago.

Strangely, we often see bears when we walk on the country ski trails out back. Only one this year so far, however, but there are plenty of bear signs.

But it is not lost on me, that of all our morning walking routes, this is the one that excites Samwise to the point of dancing and leaping when he sees we are headed down Aragorn’s path to the river.

After a mental health morning hit me from out of the blue yesterday morning, things are back to normal today. I decided to visit the magic kingdom that’s outside our back door. Because we were trekking six miles, Emily stayed home in her crate.

This is how our walk begins.

Tom Ryan @TomandAtticusBeginning our morning walk, from our backyard.

August 24th 2020

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Here’s one of our stopping points along the way.

Tom Ryan @TomandAtticusA regular stop along our woodland walk.

August 24th 2020

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Where we cross over into the White Mountain National Forest.

The sun begins to rise above the trees and paints the river a shimmering gold.

Tom Ryan @TomandAtticusAnd another...

August 24th 2020

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Yesterday, I wrestled and was undone not just with everything that is distressing in our world, but by how it’s become normalized by millions. Apathy is a sin in a lifetime that is already too short. To see folks not just accepting all that is dysfunctional is bad enough, but actually having so many co-opted to argue for the wrongs reveals much of what our society has devolved into.

I know there’s little I can do, but live my life as I see fit. So I allow myself a few hours of despair when needed, but have faith that I will rise again. This morning, I am back to where I typically am.

I empathize with those who wrestle with stress and depression on a constant basis. God bless you—for you endure much.

As I wrote yesterday, don’t feel you always have to hold it together. It’s admirable to realize when you need to give into grief. These are tough times. If we are to make the most of this life, make the most of what our world can be, it’s important to pace ourselves.

We may enter and leave this world on our own, but the only way we can make it through this marathon is by realizing we’re all in this together.

As I wrote yesterday, if you are struggling, please realize you are not alone.

I leave you with one more photo if Aragorn on our little porch, and these words from the great Wallace Stegner.

Onward, by all means.

“It would be easy to call it quits. Occasionally I have these moments, not often. There is nothing to do but sit still until they pass. Tantrums and passions I don't need, endurance is what I need." ~ Wallace Stegner

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Thank you for reading. I appreciate your support in this new medium. With each post, I now reach far more of you than I was reaching on Facebook. And no, I do not miss FB. I’m only sorry I did not make the switch sooner.

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These are dreadful days. Deaths from COVID-19 have passed 170,000 in our country. The temperatures in Death Valley reached 130 degrees earlier this week. (This appears to be the hottest temperature ever recorded on Earth.) Rare winds ruined the lives, homes, and businesses of many folks in Iowa. Wildfires rage in California like something out of a horro…

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