Archive | March, 2013

Hike #4 Sand Gap Trail

11 Mar

When I hike alone, the process is usually about discovery, solace and hope. I approach the woods in stealth mode, hoping to spy some member of the animal kingdom, paying attention to types of trees and what bird calls I recognize, and relishing the quiet time alone.

Yesterday’s hike with two of my best friends was more about relief, celebration and delight. It was a social time of catching our breath, reflecting on the huge changes going on in our lives, and preparing ourselves for the unknowns that lie ahead.

IMG_9091We went to the Red River Gorge in Eastern Kentucky after a weekend of physical work centered around the fact that I recently got a contract on my house in Kentucky, and so Mary and I are preparing to move on to different living situations in the next month and a half. I chose the trail in Natural Bridge State Park that was the first one I went to for refuge last summer not long after my mom’s funeral.

It’s the 7.5 mile Sand Gap Trail, but don’t get excited; we only went 3 miles. Some of my favorite aspects of this trail are its changing terrain – sometimes shrouded in deep thicket and other times offering wide vistas across ridges with glistening streams below – its many moss-covered rocks and older trees, and the solitude it provides.

My modus operandi on Sand Gap is to start at the bottom, from the Sky Lift parking lot, and hike “up.” Normally, unless it’s high season, I never run into a single other party because any traffic coming “down” the mountain would have had to have taken the chairlift up, and then chose to come down the 7.5 miles (or picked the trail inadvertently, as I’ve seen folks do). I occasionally find others who, like me, will hike in on this trail and just pick a turn-around point, but even this is rare unless it’s peak hiking season.

Alone out here, I’ve sneaked up on groups of Pileated Woodpeckers, hearing their high-pitched warning calls and watching them flee once my presence has been made known. But today, I knew they’d stay far off the trail, hearing our good-natured banter long before we approached their nesting grounds.

The weather was exquisite, between 70 and 75 degrees with a gentle breeze, the streams were running fast and furiously with new rainfall, providing an aural backdrop that could only signal the coming of spring, and, no, we didn’t see another soul.

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Sometime before my house closes in late April, I’d like to do the full 7.5 miles of Sand Gap down from top to bottom. The Sky Lift doesn’t begin operating until mid April, so fitting this in around moving to North Carolina could be dicey, but I’m willing to commit to it if someone wants to join me.

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Distance traveled: 3 miles

Difficulty: easy to moderate in places

Trees of note: Beech, Sugar Maple, White Pine, Hemlock, Oak and Hickory

Guest photographer: Joseph Lamirand

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Editors, the conductors of the publishing world

6 Mar

I was recently asked by a potential employer to describe the editor’s role within the publishing process. I immediately thought of Swiss conductor Mario Venzago, former Indianapolis Symphony Orchestra Music Director.

mariovenzago001_webEach time I have attended a performance by a symphony orchestra, most memorably those directed by Venzago, I have sat through most of it in tears. Whether Bruckner or Wagner, Schubert or Liszt, Dvorák or Ravel, the music always moves me deeply. But the emotion comes more from the fact of identifying so strongly with the conductor, and seeing what he does as the quintessential metaphor for what I do, and what others do, when we are editors in every sense of the word.

We put it all together. We choose the material. We set the pace. We communicate and network with all the community stakeholders involved. We choose the players we feel can contribute the most effectively to our ensemble.

We coach others on minute details of their style and performance and somehow keep them feeling not criticized, but motivated because we are working together for something greater than us.

mariovenzago003_minWe hear and see the big picture of how everything needs to come together in the giant whole of a publication. And yet we orchestrate every single detail of everyone on the team pulling together to make it all happen as perfectly as possible.

We cross t’s and dot i’s a lot of the time. But we also plan, prod, goad, think at 20,000 feet so others can focus on smaller parts, coach, mentor, teach, challenge others to reach their potential, juggle all the balls at once – all the while keeping time for the entire group.

Even now, having gone several years without seeing Venzago in action, without hearing the product of his amazing vision in the musical realm, I’m still stirred and motivated by remembering the times I was in his audience. And although he was released unexpectedly and inexplicably from his duties in Indianapolis, I know I join throngs of others in wishing him well as he continues to inspire those fortunate enough to see and hear him in Newcastle, Bern and beyond.

mariovenzago004Not long after being asked to reflect on the editor’s role, I attended a networking luncheon in Asheville, North Carolina. After everyone took turns delivering one-minute introductions, a woman came up to me and provided the name and e-mail address of someone she knew in publishing. “He might not be much help, though,” she said. “He’s just an editor.”

Just an editor? No, I thought. No one is just an editor. Our role is akin to that of Socrates, whom Plato described in his Apology as having said, “I am that gadfly which God has attached to the state, all day long… arousing and persuading and reproaching… You will not easily find another like me.”

Perhaps like Mario Venzago, I continue to be amazed at our current economy and life’s unexpected crescendos and diminuendos. But in the face of uncertainty, and when I wonder what comes next, I know one thing, and that is that I am proud to be an editor.

We are the conductors, the visionaries, the directors and the gracious gadflies of the publishing world.

Learn more about Mario Venzago.

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