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What? You haven't heard what's coming down next month?
It starts with a polar reversal — the sun will rise in the west — spurring cataclysmic earthquakes, giant tsunami and volcanic eruptions.
Then things really start to go south: ferocious fires, melting nuclear reactors, crashing buildings, howling winds, collapsing bridges, choking dust...
It's all true! Not according to some crackpot preacher who wants you to send him money, or a bed sheet-garbed doomsday prophet shouting on street corners, or to some other crazed lunatic such as Karl Rove, but according to the Mayan calendar — and after all, who has more credibility than an ancient Mexican-Central American civilization that collapsed 3,000 years ago?
Acolytes regard Dec. 21, 2012 as the end-date of a 5,125-year-long cycle in the Mesoamerican Long Count calendar devised by the Mayans. Evidently the Mayans didn't bother continuing the calendar past then because the world is going to end that day. What's the point?
I, for one, am mighty p.o.'d about this, mainly because now it's clear I wasted hours and hours and hours — not to mention all that wear-and-tear on my back — building two woodsheds and stocking them with more than 10 cords of wood.
I won't even have gone through half a cord by Dec. 21.
I also wasted weeks building deer-proof enclosures around my vegetable garden, blueberry bushes and a mini-vineyard I planned to plant next spring — except there won't be a next spring, let alone another harvest. Damn!
I could have been kicking back with a few brewskis and a barrel full of Doritos instead of digging post holes, lugging rocks and assembling metal fences.
Speaking of Doritos, I've spent decades turning up my nose at Big Macs, pepperoni pizzas and the entire KFC menu, choosing instead to gnaw on granola, raw veggies and tofu, in the mistaken belief that it would prolong my longevity. Had I known earlier on about the impending doom I might have indulged in a few more treats.
Imagine: I'll be checking out the same day as Rush Limbaugh! Arrrgh!
Here are a few other things, in no particular order, that I wish I hadn't done:
-- Run all those stupid marathons.
-- Climbed all those stupid mountains.
-- Kayaked all those stupid rivers.
-- Swum in all those stupid lakes.
-- Skiied all those stupid trails.
-- Sailed, skated, sledded, hang-glided and otherwise moved around in the stupid great outdoors without the use of an engine.
Instead, I could have been learning how to drive a snowmobile, ATV or Jet-Ski, or how to shoot a rifle — in other words, becoming a REAL outdoorsman.
Oh well, with only a month to go there's no point in changing horses in midstream — or more accurately, now that I've almost almost reached the other side.
I might as well go back to my dish of yogurt with a side order of bean sprouts. If I finish in time there may still enough light to split a few more logs.
Midway up the staggeringly steep Wildcat Ridge Trail in New Hampshire’s White Mountains earlier this week, after my son, Tom, and I had postholed up to our knees 487 times through rotten snow despite wearing snowshoes, we began...
The hummingbird hovers, sparrow flutters, tern dives, duck flaps frenetically, but in the avian world the eagle soars majestically, barely moving its enormous wings while wheeling effortlessly through the heavens.
I don’t know about you, but I was extraordinarily excited to hear about plans to build a gondola tram that would take visitors 1.6 miles to the floor of the Grand Canyon in 10 minutes – way faster and less strenuous than...
The instant the whirring drill bit pulled free from the trunk of a maple tree behind our house the other morning a splendid stream of sap began oozing before I had a chance to pound a metal spile into the half-inch-wide hole.
Traipsing on snowshoes the other day through, over and around waist-high drifts in the woods behind our house I crossed a veritable superhighway of deer tracks that meandered among the rhododendron, laurel, pine, spruce and fir, and...
After being battered by 70 mph winds, blinded by whipping snow and nearly frozen in temperatures that plunged to 20 below zero and beyond, Kate Matrosova must have realized early on she had no hope of completing her solo climb of four of...
After shoveling a path to the woodshed the other day for the 138th time this season (or so it seemed) and lugging what certainly felt like the 862nd load of logs to the house and the 243rd bucket of wood stove ashes to the distant pit,...