It looks like a beautiful evening up in Piscataquis County, Maine.
The sun will be setting soon, after having the sky to itself all day. The night will be clear and cool (low, 40 degrees). Season and weather would be perfect for camping next to a pond in the forest and mountains, getting rested before a day’s hiking.
And that is what I had hoped to be doing this evening. There might even have been time, after the day-long drive from home to Baxter State Park, for a pond-side walk to listen out for loons and spy for moose.
I think it was on Saturday that I finally accepted that the trip would not happen. My big hope for a serviceable left knee – even just temporarily – was a cortisone shot. I had it on Thursday morning, and waited for the miracle. By Saturday morning, I was convinced the doctor must have injected me with his tea by mistake so unchanged were my symptoms.
This morning, when I should have been driving north, I instead called Baxter to cancel my six nights of camping. Now, compared to the pain and sadness that can afflict humans, my missing out on the north woods this year is small potatoes. Unlike some pain, mine probably has a cure. I am off to speak to a surgeon about that tomorrow.
It is a pretty evening in Connecticut too. I am going to limp outside to enjoy the last of it. Maybe I’ll find my wife already out there. We won’t hear a loon, but maybe an owl.
Perspective and compensations, but disappointment nonetheless.