You know what they say about even the best laid plans.
The best laid plans never work. Ever.
I think it's the overplanning.
Overplanning causes you to be hyper aware of every minute detail, which in turn creates an infinite number of additional things that can go wrong.
Like weddings. Some brides want to get everything exactly perfect, down to the Kelvin number of the lights that are illuminating the hand carved swan sculpture that is adorning the raw bar with the beluga caviar and the fontina ciabatta crisps that are golden brown but just shy of amber.
I may -- possibly, I can't quite say for sure -- be guilty of overplanning. Occasionally. If I overplan at all, which is still open to debate.
I returned from Alaska on Wednesday evening. I left Saturday morning for Washington, DC. (I have a fun event at The Yarn Spot on July 4th from 10-2. Come! Have coffee! Pet yarn!) I transferred all of the remaining pictures from my trip to Alaska to my cloud storage so I could access them and finish telling you about all of my near death experiences and all of the awesome cake I got to eat.
But the files won't open. I blame the overplanning.
So you'll have to be content with these until I get home.
I have never experienced forest like this. Minnesota is no slouch in the tree department -- we have over two million acres. But this is a temperate rainforest, and the amount of moss and lichen that grows on everything is impressive. I think I took 500 pictures of moss.
It seemed like a good idea at the time. Red moss, green moss, gold moss, brown moss, silver moss, black moss. I have it all well documented.
But of course, I cannot open the files from my location near the nation's capital right now. I know this is very upsetting to you, you were just thinking a few minutes ago about how what you're really suffering from is a dearth of moss images.
The forest here is astonishingly quiet. The velvet veil of silence closes behind you when you enter, and the ground, damp and spongy, doesn't encourage the pop of sticks or the crunch of leaves beneath your feet. You don't realize how much noise you're accustomed to until it's entirely removed.
I took another 500 pictures of the color of the water. I wish I could live in a house swathed entirely in this green-blue. I would never leave, and you would find me 100 years later, covered in moss.
I took this picture shortly before meeting a ferocious bear. Just think, this was almost the last picture of mine in existence.
This was a total fluke, I didn't even realize I'd gotten this shot until I got home.
I think I'll have it printed to remind me that sometimes the best stuff happens when you're not planning it.
I'll be sure to share it at my next overplanner's anonymous meeting -- which does not mean I have a problem, thank you very much.
It's scheduled for July 17, 2023 at 11:09 am central time.
Room 3 in the library.