Ski the Farm!

Well that title is not quite accurate, but the deal is we are not local and for MLK weekend we were considering a ski trip or a trip to Tryon Farm.  We managed both by driving from Tryon up to Bittersweet, a ski area about one hour north in Michigan.  Our mostly novice crew had a fine time.  The ski hill is not large but neither is the lift ticket price, and you end up as invigorated, and fatigued as you do in Colorado.  Stopped at Timothy's at the Gordon Beach Inn on the way home, where they offer ten different entrees at $10 each on Sunday nights to pull folks out of their homes on cold nights. Skiing generates a powerful appetite, which Timothy's sated.  We retreated to 31 TFL where the radiant heat from the floor and the radiating heat from the wood stove lulled us in to that deep apres-ski sleep. (2/19/2014, Noonans at the farm, 10)

Barn Hill

Barn Hill has been made over and things are swell. In is the new swimming pond.  Out are the gravel drive, and the housekeeping areas--that means the trash and recycling. New grass is in the front, and the field out back is kept trim. When the barn doors swing open and the strings of lights are on, it is alfresco dining perfection, particularly when the pizza truck pulls up.  I recommend the purple pig--yes that is a pizza--some local microbrew, and a little green salad.  Now tip back and look at the stars.  (10/13, Noonans at the farm: 8)

The second Tryon Farm Run took place on May 18th, and attracted about 260 runners, including yours truly, who cooked pork, tended trail and ran 5K.  There was a bit of chaos at the start, or rather before the start, so my brother suggested I start out on the trail to see if I could follow it.  I made it about 2K of 10K before the first 50K runners blazed past led by my brother, and I can report that all was not entirely clear, but I soldiered on marking things and then perched at a particularly confusing spot to guide people.  Not being experienced in these matters, I did not realize that getting off the trail is part of the deal.  I soon learned that the standard answer to most lost runners is some variant of "You weren't going to win anyway"  or "Your time can be adjusted" or "Speak to my brother".  Some part of the confusion is the trail, and some part is human lemming behavior as they all follow someone who decides to ignore a directional arrow.

After deciding that the first 50K runners now had been through the course once, or were hopelessly lost, I headed up to the barn in time for the 5/10K start, which had its own issues as part of the crowd is cutting off half the loop to get the lesser distance, and a significant subset of both groups of runners has headphones or ear buds in so they hear nothing.  As the crowd thins out and we enter the woods where the trail narrows, we run like Indians, through mud, over logs, ducking limbs.  The finish is through the prairie back to the farm, where beer, water, and pork sandwiches provide fuel, and a horse trough provides cooling.

Respect and admiration to the 50K people, a sturdy and good-humored lot of all ages and sizes,  rather than  the Nike-clad gazelle-robots I expected.  Kudos to my brother for making the race happen.  (Noonans at the farm for the race: ten, including me and all my siblings, a fivesome that is not complete so often.)

Running Wild

If the pinnacle of running boredom is the treadmill, then the polar opposite is trail running.  You get the beauty all around you, but also the focus required by a natural landscape that will trip you up if you do not pay attention.  Mindless trudging is not permitted.  I do not run often, but I run the trails at Tryon.  I focus on the footing that changes from prairie to woods to dune.  I spot the occasional creature--box turtle, snake, deer.  There is something primal about it that is pure, and the primal setting is a lot easier on the joints than pavement.

Want to take a lap?  The Tryon Farm 5/10/50K is May 18th.  More information is available on the Tryon Farm website. (Noonans at the Farm: three now, but lots more for the run.)

Take nothing for granted

I have been looking at Tryon Farm for 15 years.  It was my great joy to look at it last weekend with two couples who were seeing it for the first time. None of the flaws I see were visible to them; instead, they were overwhelmed by the land, the architecture, the setting. the barn, and perhaps the Noonans.  It was a good lesson in vision--do not lose perspective, do not get too close, the farm is a special place. (Noonans at the farm for the weekend: ten)

Rising Waters

Here in the Northeast we are contemplating waterfront property with a different perspective post-Sandy.  The waves breaking in front of the house are nice, while the waves breaking the house are not. Interestingly, some of the new thoughts on shoreline protection look a lot like the pond at Tryon--wetland areas with vegetation,  controlled slopes below the waterline, and a careful consideration of how the water will flow rather than trying to stop it from flowing.  So the lesson is, in small things like the pond and in large things like how we build our cities, that we must adapt to natural forces as our world changes, and give up patterns of living that no longer work.  (11/4/12;  Noonans at the Farm: 2)

Natural Swimming Area (cont'd)

We did not swim before Labor Day.  Perhaps I meant the next Labor Day.  In any event, the work has commenced.  There is a large hole (Olympic-size, Mr. Lochte) and a large liner within it that some skilled craftsperson is seaming, if that is the word, or sealing the seam, if that is the phrase.  In any event, the goal is that the water stay where it is put, except for some splashing and circulation over plant life.  We are making steady progress, subject to delays for two weddings in the barn, which I am told will proceed on separate weekends despite the unscheduled descent of the barn chandelier.  (What, your barn has no chandelier?)  I won't say never a dull moment, but I will point out that our dull moments are enlivened by the croaking of frogs, the chatter of chickadees, and the leaping of the deer through the prairie grass, and soon the splashes of swimmers.