When you were a kid did you ever let a balloon accidentally slip from your hands?  An object of whimsy and delight suddenly is a source of sadness.  Perhaps it is the reversal of fortunes that makes that drifting balloon caught in the trees so tragic - what was just so happy is now so 'gone'.  Do you remember the feeling of someone retrieving that lost balloon for you? 

 There have been two "balloons" retrieved for me on this trip. 

 "Balloon" #1 

 I have this walking stick.  I gnawed it out of the White Mountain National Forest several years ago with my Leatherman tool.  It is a particularly straight piece of sycamore that I have whittled a bit.  In a moment of rare inspiration I put the letters 'NANCY' into it so that I could take 'Nancy' hiking with me.   This meager romantic act seems to have particularly pleased the real live Nancy.  Other than that it was pretty much just a stick.  Anyway, the stick has become of greater value with each mileage notch. 

 Hiking on Cadillac Mountain I lost it.  Left behind on the much-traveled summit it most surely would be picked up and discarded. 

 The next day, after discovering my oversight, we drove back to the summit just to check - with little real expectation of getting 'Nancy' back.  She wasn't where I left her.  A ranger said that no walking stick was turned in at the booth.  My last shot was the gift shop - as unlikely as that would be.  I almost didn't bother.   

"Did anyone turn in a lost walking stick?, I asked the very busy clerk feeling embarrassed to be taking up 30 seconds of her precious time.  She could have been ringing up postcards of the earliest sunrise in the USA. 

 "Did it have initials on it?", she asked.  My heart lept.  "Nancy" was only a "NAN" at that time. 

 There she was tucked into the back room. She must have been found by someone who thought she might be missed and turned in to a clerk who took the trouble to stow her and not just throw her out.  "NANCY" is back and happily hiking through the northeast with me.

 "Balloon" #2 

 Great little hike today.  Mt. Hedgehog is a "tester" for me in that it is short enough to do no matter what shape I am in but it is steep enough to tell me if I am ready for something bigger.  I felt great!  It was a dry, sunny day and the trail was clear.  In fact the only people I saw were with an extended family from Buffalo whom I forewarned about some missing markers on the trail. 

 Afterwards I took a swim and read for a few hours at the campsite. I set about collecting the AA batteries from my "toys" for recharging.  I went to get the batteries from the GPS strapped on my pack. It was gone.  Somewhere in the last 5 miles of rocks, roots and crevasses it had dropped off.   

Mind you that this is not just any $160 toy.  This is the contraption that connects to the laptop and allows Nancy to navigate while I drive.  Without this devise Nancy will be watching my driving.  This is a level of inspection and source of anxiety no marriage can withstand.

 Off I go to the trailhead with paper for a bulletin board note and two fresh bottles of water.  I tell Nancy that even if it is still up there I have little chance of finding it.  Furthermore, I'm not sure how much more hiking I have in me for this day.  "Damn, it's gone."  I'm so sure that I almost decide not to even try to find it.

 As I pull into the trailhead parking lot there is but one car.  That family I met on the trail was still there recuperating with a few Labatt's Blues. 

 "Hey!  Did you lose a GPS on the trail this morning?"

 Yep, they had it.  Found just a few yards after the spot at which we spoke, they wondered how they would ever be able to return it to me. 

 I wondered what if we hadn't had that conversation on the trail and I was just some passerby?  What if they hadn't spotted it?  What if they didn't have that one out-of-shape hiker to slow their departure from the area?  What if they had run out of Labatt's Blue? 

 I slipped a reward to the 10 year old 'finder' and assured him that good deeds are doubled when they are returned. 

  It is good to be a kid - still.

 Life is good.