Gorp and Other Revelations

We spent the last official weekend of summer camping in the scenic northwest corner of Connecticut. It was quite the weekend for birding, and we are not generally known for dialing B for Birder. As we set off on our first hike along Macedonia Brook, we followed a bluish-grey heron, who was close enough that we could hear his mighty wings pumping as he worked at evading us. Below is our destination, the top of Cobble Mountain, from which you can see the Catskills in New York in the far-off distance. If we would have been more Johnny-on-the-spot with the camera, this picture might include the two hawks that were riding the breezes just behind me. This is also where Johnny sampled his first gorp. I was shocked and horrified to discover that he's such an incorrigible city kid that he'd never even heard of it. He thought the name, an acronym (as everyone knows) for "good ole raisins and peanuts," was so lame he didn't believe that I hadn't simply made it up. Intent, as always, to prove him wrong, I consulted wikipedia. It turns out that gorp is an old English verb meaning "to eat greedily," and that the acronym is actually just a folk etymology (a new and delightful term for me ... a linguistic old wives' tale). So anyway, here's where we gorped our gorp: This is the view to the east of the more gently rolling Taconic Mountains in Connecticut:
This was our first camping trip with bikes (thanks to Rachie's Recycled Xmas present of a car rack), of which we took advantage to complete the arduous journey across the state line (~ two miles away). The country roads in New York were surprisingly empty, and passed by some quiet little farms:
Two people who hail from America's Dairyland and the city known as "hog butcher to the world" have no cause to be enchanted by farm animals. But New York hosts some charming cows.
We also spent some time hiking along the Appalachian Trail. We reached this hike, along the Housatonic River, by driving out a gravel road for several miles. This gravel road also happens to be part of the AT, and the through-hikers, loaded down with their backpacks, gave us the stinkeye when we passed by in our Hummer. Suckers.