I have just returned from the annual meeting of the League for Leaner Loins, or LLL for short. This bastion of exclusively male society was founded by my husband’s maternal grandfather, Leon Keach, and has as its motto, “There is no exercise without sweat.”
The LLL consists of Keach descendents and their friends. All are, or have been, adventurers. Everyone is, or has been, a hiker but sailors and climbers are represented as well.
I am not a member of the LLL, though for the past 20 or so years females have been allowed to attend the annual meetings, which consist primarily of a meal and the sharing of pictures and stories of the past year’s adventures.
Not that I’ve ever been asked, but if I were nominated to join the LLL I think I would politely decline. There is still a place in this egalitarian world for men-only or women-only clubs, especially if we still get to share the food.
During the journey to and from the meeting spot at the Whistling Swan in Sturbridge, I thought about the meaning of adventure and why some people need it. What I came up with, and this was echoed by Phil, was that it is a stress-reliever.
When every step is an effort and you are working against the weather, the clock, gravity, or all the elements of nature to achieve a goal, your focus becomes very narrow and there is no room for the mundane worries that plague us all. Some people zone out in front of the TV or at a sporting event, the result is similar, but there is no argument that a sail, a hike or a climb in the outdoors relieves stress while providing exercise and a better perspective on one’s place in the universe.
I love to hike and I’ve climbed all of the New Hampshire and Vermont 4,000-footers but as my livestock collection continues to expand it is ever more difficult to get away for an adventure that is more than a few hours long. Have you ever tried to get a sitter for 80+ animals of six different species?
So my adventures are generally closer to home and my adrenaline gets pumped when the cow gets out or a sheep gets her head stuck in the fence or the baby chicks disappear into a crevice and can’t get themselves out. I wonder if I can rescue them by myself, and when I do there is a similar sense of accomplishment to scaling a mountain, though it is definitely harder to explain.
In general the livestock tends to cause more stress than they relieve but there are two things that calm me and warm my soul. One is standing in one spot in the barn where, right after evening chores, I can hear the contented chewing of horses, cow and sheep, all with their slightly different rhythms. The other is after securing the chickens safely in their coop at night, if I quietly pause for a few moments and listen I hear the happy sounds of chickens “singing,” which is more like humming, as they settle down to sleep.
Relatively few people scale mountains, but I bet even fewer get to hear the evensongs of chickens.

Up until four months ago, I had spent 33 years involved with the journalism business. I started with newspaper production, eventually moved into proofreading and editing, and finally I became a writer.
This was a weird career for an incredibly shy person, who throughout her school years could hardly bear to have her teachers read her assigned papers. But writing turned out to be addictive and the need to have one’s name in print became strong. People I’ve met in the past two decades probably would not believe how hard it once was for me to talk to strangers and to pick up the phone and make calls. Over the years I’ve gotten so I can call anyone and ask nearly anything, and strangely enough, they’ll answer me. Senators, sports figures, Bishops and judges, I’ve learned I can talk to anyone. It’s all been very empowering and I’ve loved it.
The writing gig became serious when I started covering sports for our local area paper. Later I moved into covering town and school district politics and finances. Though dull subjects to some, it was what I felt was the most important. Perhaps inspired by Woodward and Bernstein, I always felt that getting information to the people was a noble endeavor. While I’ve never suspected the local officials I’ve covered of Nixonian tricks, I have always maintained that having the press in attendance only helps to keep them on the straight and narrow.
Unlike many reporters who would rather write features, which allow some degree of personal expression, I enjoyed keeping my personal views out of my stories. The greatest coups came when I would receive compliments (or criticisms) on the same story from people on both sides of the issue, each saying that they “knew I was on their side.” Of course I have my own opinions, some very strong, but news writing was not where I expressed them.
So now we come to the blog thing. In August the paper I had been associated with for the past 23 years “merged” with its competitor. Merged is a huge misnomer. Their writers, office, editors and style were retained. My colleagues were allowed to apply for rather nebulous jobs, which few chose to do. Our office is closed, the staff is dispersed and there is little trace of our paper in the “blended” publication.
So after years of cranking out hundreds, often thousands, of words per week, I was left with no outlet except for the Ashfield News, the monthly all-volunteer publication of my town.
Fans have encouraged me to keep writing and my husband, Phil, has been nagging me about starting a blog. I’ve always thought of blogs as rather self-indulgent and largely uninteresting to all but those near and dear to the blogger and I expect that this will not be widely read. But after years of keeping my personal opinions to myself, I realize I have things to say and so I’m going to say them. I expect that my entries will range from rants on local politics to stories about my farm, but the discipline of writing has been missing from my life for several months and it’s time to get back up on that horse.
Thanks for indulging me. Feel free to make comments or criticisms.