(spring is an adventure for the senses )

portraits of nature 
( spring is an adventure for the senses ) 
by “porcupine pat” mckinney 

an introduction: portraits of nature is a new feature to this publication, kindly contributed by patrick mckinney who is known to many across berks county as “porcupine pat” of the schuylkill county conservation district where he serves as an environmental education coordinator. mckinney does environmental programs for the berks county parks & recreationdepartment in the warm season as well. he is also involved in schuylkill vision and schuylkill on the move. as an avid lover of the outdoors and a fine appreciator of all things nature-swept, mckinney readily advocates time spent soaking up the good of life-minutes spent enjoying all of our earth’s gifts. portraits of nature will be included here for readers as often as mckinney is able to contribute the valuable messages of his words southward into this nugget of pennsyvlania. 

the switch has been thrown on the great engine that powers the transition of the seasons. our area’s forests, fields, and various water habitats—such as ponds, creeks, and rivers—rev up with natural events that make up the tapestry of winter transitioning to spring. 

( “porcupine pat” mckinney sits in gratitude of his space & the opportunity

 to rest here near the roots of the sacred oak tree in oley, pennsylvania ) 

late winter brings sap rising with its warmer days and still cold nights. our state is well-known for its tasty syrup boiled from gallons of sugar maple sap. in a bit of doctor-speak, if you by chance happen to have access to a stethoscope, listen to the sap rising from below the frost line as it gushes to the far reaches of the tree’s bud tips. it sounds like your stomach rebelling in hunger.

soon, the calendar will say that spring has arrived, even if the weather does not feel so spring-like. every season has its own sights, sounds, and smells, with the transition from winter to spring being the most exciting for the outdoor and nature enthusiast. it seems as though we slide into spring with early signs of the season beginning even in the first days of february as the constellation leo peeks up above the evening’s horizon.     

spring heightens your sensory awareness. here are ways this stimulating season can tune up your five senses:
 

·    sight: see birds hopping on your lawn or landing atop the branches of trees. look for colorful sweeps of flowers such as yellow coltsfoot or purple dead nettle. 

·    sound: listen to the spring peeper announcing its name: PEEP PEEP. listen to the rain falling as the water nurtures the soil in preparation for planting. hear the beckoning calls of migrating geese. 

·    taste: try some pennsylvania-made maple syrup on a tasty stack of flapjacks. open your mouth in the rain, and go ahead—taste a drop on the top of your tongue. dust off that grill, and enjoy some delightful grub grilled outdoors.

·    smell: smell some soil and then the air after a cleansing spring shower. smell flowers. use that olfactory perception well; breathing in breaths of beauty is a plus for the body, too.

·     touch: feel spring’s blustery winds on your face. close your eyes, and face the sun to feel its warming rays. touch an earthworm who ventured out to take advantage of the wet conditions.

 

can you think of more spring-things to sense ? treat yourself to some time each day to connect with your natural world. you’ll feel so much more alive !

( purpled aches )

a creative nonfiction essay from spring of 2006
by jennifer hetrick

once the boys are back from the car with a set of clothing in a plastic grocery bag, tammy pulls the tiger t-shirt out, holding it up by the shoulders of the fabric. she lays it neatly over our mother’s body, which is already in the costume of hospital bed sheets. shifting the cotton sleeves around to get the right look, tammy works her last adjustment, the tiger’s paws resting on our mother’s belly. a fleece hat is next, and we do not lift her head, so it sits atop her scalp as if she were a doll stuck in a box—all of us anxious for her to be dressed in clothes we might recognize. we want to see her stepping out of her car, waddling over to us at our family owned & established garden center, smiling, shaking her fist and chanting that she is a survivor and that she has brought us some fudgesicles. extra short stretch pants follow to fit her extra short legs puffed with fat, her five foot stature hiding from us in this place that never was her home.
    
“she looks like a snowman,” i say once the outfit is finalized.

tammy peers as at me wide-eyed and yells, “mom heard that ! you better watch what you do now; she’s going to be able to watch you all the time now.”
   
everyone in the room laughs, “ohhhhh, jenny !”
   
my voice is weak and wet with tears that have been pushing out for the past few hours. i curl my face towards its middle, crying out the words, “well, she does !” as everyone continues laughing at my half-joke, offering arms to my trembling shoulders, i notice something my siblings do not want me to notice. i am almost twenty-one years old, but i will always be the baby of the family in the eyes of this room, and even if i should somehow grow up, visions of my mother will always up, visions of my mother will always be stained a heavy purple. setting her clothing over her body has lifted up the blankets warming her icy hands—each finger turning from creamy lavender to a hot and lifeless plum hue. she will not use these tips and prints to test fruits for their ripeness in freed’s produce aisle, wrapping a twisty-tie around a blurry and crinkling plastic bag, locking in each bit of tree-made flavor. if she taught me how to check for fruit that is soon ready to eat, i do not remember the rules she gave me. i will feel helpless in grocery stores as summer approaches, as i crave a centerpiece basket of nectarines, grapes, grapefruits, but mostly plums. 

*

 

in the most unlikely of worlds, fire is not quintessentially of reds, oranges, and yellows trailing down to some fierce blinking of blue melting to white, but a color scheme of thick-stretching purples and baby-bottom soft lavenders. each stem of heat is a billowing blanket of warmth and comfort moving through late april blooms of the eastern redbud. we will rip twigs and branches off for ourselves and keep to the road of life that is shoving us forward still in quilted sadness, even though soon our actions will make every tiny flower fall away from us, the season itself repeating the pattern we’ve perpetuated—a death we’ll want to call premature. but that will be what it is despite our selfish craving to control the meaning built behind our lives, and in spring, the bursting color so contradicting to the rest of the green-set brown landscape around us starts out in the name cercis canadensis. we will be reminded of rebirth. we will better know that all we love eventually returns to the humble ground of earth to sprout again, whether or not we are familiar with its newest forms, and the gentle push of palest purple is always spelling this out—if we could just move our eyes upward to its many mapped resting places. 

( lost love apple salad )

a doctor-keeping away recipe
by jennifer hetrick

this easy & especially quick-to-make recipe stirred its inspiration from co-workers’ creations & a more iceberg-swept menu item at ron’s original bar & grille in exton, pennsylvania.

you will need:

•    2 granny smith apples
•    a knife for slicing them
•    a good throw of gorgonzola
•    honey balsamic vinaigrette
•    dried cranberries
•    protein-savvy pecans

instructions: 

slice the 2 apples (sour-types are a must for best flavor-ways) into tiny bites. mix together the rest of it all with as much of each ingredient as you like; shake up, like elvis. enjoy swimmingly.

( learning to love tomatoes late )

a creative nonfiction essay from february 2010
by jennifer hetrick

for 23 years, i can almost say that i firmly avoided letting my tongue touch the taut, sun-kissed red skin and gush-filled bite that is a tomato.

i hesitated, my taste buds recoiling when my mother held a salted half-slice of the cherry variety in her fingers only inches away from my face.

we sat at the kitchen table, with her telling me, “try it ! just try it.”

although our picky eating habits often overlapped, she had an avid fondness for tomatoes while i simply did not. once or twice, i licked the wet and soft-seeded layer of a cut piece of the quasi-fruit, the vined vegetable. but the flavor did not suit me as a child, and i felt helpless to keep my distance, never allowing one to grace my plate.

my mother’s main meal, while out to dinner, generally consisted of a cheeseburger and fries. no other toppings—no lettuce, onions, pickles, mustard, or sauces. but she would nod her head yes in asking for a sliver of tomato to take a seat between the bun and the rest of the business. no ketchup either.  i volunteered for the role of ketchup dipper when the fries needed eating.

throughout her entire life, my mother also refused to eat pizza because her first episode with it involved a mean case of trickery. in the early 1940s, before pizza had taken the u.s. fully by storm, her neighbors in spring mount, montgomery county invited her to their house for one of her favorite sweets—cherry pie. little did she know that in fact, something called “pizza” was the culprit fooling her in that initial chomp. the neighbors buzzed with laughter while her young face squirmed in pure dislike.  

me, i do eat pizza, but only if the sauce is not too heavy or reminiscent of sugar.

in the past few years, i raised tomatoes in my modest townhome garden, outlined in a c-shaped paver wall with the soil sloping down at one side to meet the blotchy grass of my backyard. i’d stretch the hose as far as i could toward each wriggling stem, spraying water to the roots from a short distance.

some days, i’d come home from work, noticing the wilting demeanor the leaves had taken on in my absence, and i knew i was a bad plant-mother. water does much for a quick reprieve though in scenes of vanity and the green.

as the seasons passed, with each new summer greeting the market pack of nine tomatoes i’d bring home, and the stalks reaching skyward almost as tall as me, i began to envy the idea of what it must began to envy the idea of what it must like to enjoy such an aesthetic, ripe vegetable. they looked as if they’d taste nothing short of phenomenal. with caution, i licked yet another slice of tomato again but felt nothing.

i wanted to be able to say what i’d grown was delicious. but instead, i tried to just be grateful that i was at least evolving toward admiring tomatoes somewhat from a previous perch of nadda.

at the age of 24, i tried again. it began with caprese at an italian restaurant. i dared to absorb the mingling essences of my endeared mozzarella (the words “cheese” and “no” do not occur in my voiced sentences), cuts of basil, drizzles of olive oil or balsamic vinaigrette, and slice after slice of rounded tomatoes. but this time, my taste buds whirled.

success—the flavor of something as basic as a tomato finally made sense to me. this kind of relief is practically impossible to appreciate unless you can deem yourself a picky eater from birth.

soon, it will be four years since my mother ate her last tomato. it will be four years since the earth pulled her away from us and into an imperfect powder form via a crematorium owned by ruggiero funeral home on collegeville’s main street.

i hate that they burned her. 

i feel guilty when i look into a black kitchen pot on my stove, seeing that i’ve burned the skin of tomatoes in my attempts at crafting a basil-fresh soup during the crisp and chilled days of the last season she knew before she signed into the hospital, not making her final exit on foot.

but life is about burning sometimes, and if not that, then tomatoes.

i can’t tell her that i now eat the one vegetable she loved so much while she loathed most vitamin-rich greens. nonetheless, i feel better knowing i do, with how much she craved them weekly despite the fussy nature of her palate. how ecstatic i become knowing my rarely devoured cheeseburgers will don cuts of a single tomato is something i can only hope she senses in the glee of my shifting palate, bite by new bite.

( the whimsical way of water )

by jennifer hetrick

henriette alban knows, loves, and respects the intelligence and memory capabilities possible in water. as a doctor of naturopathy, based in the city of reading, she uses natural and holistic approaches to help people steer more clear of not so amiable societal constructs and far from nutritionally valuable foods (what she calls non-food, in fact) that keep them from being happy and healthy. but she also uses her wholesome energy to encourage people away from the especially tenacious influences of  culturally conditioned mind-anchors of negativity that hold many down today.
    
her biography on her website summarizes it well. it reads, “an early desire to see people free from bondage in mind, body, and spirit has shaped my life. out of this grew the quest to be a beneficial presence in the world.”
    
and water is just one of the ways alban reaches out to others to share the positive in what she’s learned through her studies. she gratefully takes the opportunity to recognize the possibilities in water, when it comes to people, and strives to help them understand its value to human life well beyond simple hydration.
    
alban follows the work of a japanese scientist known as masaru emoto who writes extensively on the subject of the spirituality of water. many may look at water as something basic, plain, and simply an element of the natural environment. but alban easily advocates that water is so much more.
    
“we know that water is life-giving, and we are 90 percent water when we’re born, but in our later stages of life, it’s more around 70 percent,” alban says. “nevertheless, water courses through every cell and every part of our organs.”
    
explaining that water is full of energy and information, alban is enamored with this knowledge and what it can mean for people.
    
“the information that water shares with our body, whether we’re aware of it or not, is one of wholeness, sacredness, continuity, and aliveness. water is alive with energy and information,” she reiterates.
    
“emoto decided to look into water by freezing water collected from different sources, photographing its crystals in a 20 to 30-second window,” she elaborates. “water that is very pure and clean makes for really gorgeous crystals. some of these crystals are very beautiful. they’re usually hexagonal.”
    
alban mentions that the crystals themselves are a testimonial to how much energy and information for beauty and love exists in the love exists in the universe. regarding water as a substance that is contained within the human body and knowing, through emoto’s research, that it responds to vibration, love, and words says a lot more for the potential of what it can do and be in the world if positive energy is embracing it through even the phrases we voice.

 ( several of masaru emoto’s books are in the berks county library system )

    
details on experiments about how water reacts to positive language, negative language, and being ignored are a part of emoto's writings.
    
“the longevity of things that are loved, be they animate or inanimate, be they people, animals, plants, or food, is inevitably clear,” alban says.
    
“when we consider that we don't like someone, each other, or ourselves, and we have these nasty thoughts about us, how does that affect the water in our bodies, our clarity, and our way of being in the world ?” alban poses in question. “how does it affect the water that is meant to bathe our organs, reproduce cellularly, and carry our blood as plasma, in this case ?”

( visit masaru-emoto.net to see a variety of photographs 

of crystals and their beautiful forms in response 

to positive words and music, while hateful and unkind 

music forms no crystals but angry blurs in pictures )

her reverence for water is effortlessly something she sees strong value in sharing.
    
“so the thought of the idea of having water as a spiritual medium becomes powerfully clear,” alban reflects.
    
“there are always people who say, ‘well, i can't get over the fact that i can't stand this person who is horrible’,” she offers. “what if we didn't focus on the person and their behavior. what if in passing anyone, we would just say ‘i love you’ to the water inside of them?”
    
consider this, too. “think of the water in your body, and let that speak for you,” alban says about love of the self in front of a mirror. “it's like a healing—from the inside out.”
    
to find out more about alban’s work, visit www.henriettealban.com.

( renowned barto painter julie longacre: celebrating 15 years of her community art show )

by jennifer hetrick

since 1984, berks county artist julie longacre has kindly brought her well-cherished paintings out into the open at her art show she hosts every other year at the fire company in bally. her latest show joined the community this past december.

longacre is most known for her awe-stirring local landscapes and historical renderings, often asked to do commissions of nature-struck scenes and heritage-rich buildings around the region.

“i found that people felt more comfortable in a room full of paintings with family and friends rather than going to a gallery in a more formal setting,” longacre reflects about why she chose to bring a show to her hometown community, on her own terms, several decades ago. “i wanted a show where everybody felt not just comfortable but at home—i support them, and they support me.”

longacre has had her pieces in galleries and exhibitions and appreciates those opportunities but likes to bring her works directly to her own people who value her artistry and heart so much, as her paintings are highly sought after, and this fact only grows.

in the summer, she celebrated 70 years of time spent mingling the love of painting, family, and appreciating many a moment on this earth, so she shared lots of cake with show-goers also, to tie even more festive angles into the event. longare estimates that 1,200 people attended this latest show, and while it has always had a great turnout, this one appeared to see the most door-swinging seconds before guests perused the aisles of her many years of expression on canvas.

 after working in color for so long with her paintings, julie longacre 

realized she had a large amount of black and white paint leftover 

years ago & soon delved into a long stretch of time spent exploring 

the possibilities & perspectives in black, grey, & white pigments 

in her works; this piece is inspired by trails near her second

 home in cape breton, nova scotia, where she spends 

about three months out of every year, although 

not in one consecutive span of time

many know that longacre is also an author. at her show, she released a sketch in time, which is a collection of her handwritten journal entries, with paintings whisked into the pages. the hand-bound book is now for sale at yellow house hotel along routes 562 and 662 in douglassville, longacre's dairy bar on route 100 in barto, schwenkfelder library & heritage center on seminary street in pennsburg, and gehman's store on route 100 in bally.

her previously published books are known by the titles of the dirty old ladies' cookbook, plentiful with heartily pennsylvania dutch-swept recipes, and the place i keep, which incorporates not only pictures but poems.

“i could see farms all around through the windows in the house where i grew up in gilbertsville,” longacre notes about what has had a strong draw on her inspirations translated through the paintbrush so often moving in gracious strokes by way of her fingertips. in her lifetime, longacre has felt a powerful sense of gratitude and gravitation to agricultural sweeps and the buildings so integral to farms, like barns.

“friends know the angles of what i like and send me photographs,” longacre says. while it’s hard to describe in easy language, good friends have learned from her paintings what sorts of views catch her vision well, and they’ve helped to support her art through mailing her pictures they’ve snapped here or there in their travels along roads around the region.

chase longacre, 7, of hereford township, excitedly helped

to hang his grandmother's paintings for the first time in december

“an illustrator can draw anything he sees,” longacre explains of words she penned in her latest book. “a painter can paint anything she feels.” longacre, with a great respect for understanding the distinct role of her experience as a woman and of her fellow women, has given a lot attention to the intellectual shapes that play a part in how she has come to examine lives in the world throughout her years taking in what it is to be a person today.

“painting is soothing. it’s therapy. and in another way, it’s demanding,” she says, knowing she is often driven to paint what catches her artist’s eye, having trouble giving herself any option to say no to the creative ingredients in her that respond to a persistent pull and push to recreate the scenes of compelling beauty around her even in today’s busy, all-too-rushed days.

“my paintings interact with the light in a room,” longacre points out in what is unique to her pieces and how magnetically painting tugs at her heart. “and most people choose a lifestyle or career, but this was a matter of a career choosing me. art always won out. it was almost as if it were challenging me, with no other choice.” and yet she knew to embrace it for all the positives in the opportunity to create through paint, showing living through her eyes.

to glimpse more, visit www.julielongacre.com.

( schuylkill on the move keeps the educational footfalls pushing onward )

by jennifer hetrick

hikes in the beloved persuasion of the outdoors are all the more fruitful with schuylkill on the move, as the group weaves educational aspects, often historical and environmental, into each of the scheduled trail-escapades it offers every month.

the initiative known eye-stirringly as schuylkill county’s vision is behind schuylkill on the move’s existence, but thanks largely in part to a partnership with the schuylkill county conservation district. environmental education coordinator “porcupine pat” mckinney with the conservation district is one of the hiking group’s main leaders who began organizing hikes almost 20 years ago when it had the moniker schuylkill county nature club in its early days.

schuylkill county judge john domalakes, environmental education specialist for tuscarora and locust lake state parks, robin tracey, and naturalist mike centeleghe contribute in helping to lead hikes for schuylkill on the move.

hikes can sometimes have up to 50 or 60 people on them, often with visitors traveling from different counties around this portion of pennsylvania. but of course, the locals are known for valuing this healthy mix of learning while on foot, too.

those who have had the delight of hearing domalakes speak while guiding hikes know well that he passionately carries a great amount of regional historical details in his mind on a regular basis and thrives happily on sharing what he can with others as the group makes its way down trail paths throughout schuylkill county but also often at history-rich hiking spots around surrounding counties.

one hike schuylkill on the move ventured out on in the past year served as a charcoal pits hike on blue mountain in the weiser state forest stretch in port clinton off of route 61. mckinney and domalakes explained how a charcoal tender who would have preferred or enjoyed a solitary life would live in a small hut, no more than a couple of phone booths’ wide, handling the burning mounds of wood once the trees were cut down centuries ago, unfortunately not being replaced with newly planted ones since environmentalism with newly planted ones since environmentalism and sustainability took a bit longer to sweep into the picture of humans and their living. 

  

“porcupine pat” mckinney & john domalakes discuss the former charcoal pits 

on the blue mountain in port clinton, standing over the lightly visible indents 

in the ground where they were once a part of the hillside

in december, the group visited to the former mahanoy plane site in frackville, exploring the long ago let go national anthracite industry marker. the plane served as a part of the reading railroad system with coal transportation from 1862 to 1932. still visible coal chutes and parts of the operation, made of stone, are a reminder of this once bustling stretch on the hillside in frackville.

 
the schuylkill river trail’s sections in hamburg just over the border 

in berks county are well-liked by schuylkill on the move goers

mckinney and those who help him to run schuylkill on the move do their best to offer at least one hike per month but do have a few months per year of more than one hike in a 30-day period—a gracious gift to those who value the unique approach to the group in tying together healthy time out in nature while learning about the particulars of the county.

he estimates that throughout the past two decades, he’s led hikes at 50 different locations around the region. in winter, hikes are generally shorter because of the biting winds of the chilly season. in the months with more forgiving of temperatures, tracey is known to lead longer hikes up to 10 miles.

“we are designated impoverished and rank 64th out of 67 counties with regards to health and wellness,”  mckinney says about schuylkill county. this is yet another reason schuylkill on the move is such a special part of this sweep of pennsylvania. “and we have areas that are devastated, we have abandoned mine lands that are reverting, but people in schuylkill on the move love how the mountains are here with these rolling hills.”

upcoming hikes—

sunday, january 27 from 2 to 4 p.m.: “frackville foray.” hike leader john domalakes showcases the grave of frackville founder daniel frack and then an impeccable overlook of the mahanoy valley. meets at saint ann roman catholic church on north line street in frackville. (3 miles; easy)

saturday, february 16 from 1.30 to 3 p.m.: “tuscarora trek.” robin tracey leads a walk on the old log trail to enjoy winter scenery. meets in the upper beach parking lot of tuscarora state park. (2 miles; easy)

saturday, march 9 from 2 to 4.30 p.m.: “tree trail—locust lake.” robin tracey returns with a hike on a trail that features the beautiful terrain in the locust lake state park. meets in visitor parking lot. (3 miles; moderate)

for the full 2013 hikes schedule, reach pat mckinney at porcupinepat@yahoo.com.

( chris’ cranberry creation-- an autumn recipe )

kindly a courtesy of gillian slater

ingredients—

1 12-ounce bag of fresh cranberries, cleaned

1 cup of water

1 cup of sugar

1 granny smith apple, peeled, cored, and chopped

grated zest and juice of 1 lemon

grated zest and juice of 1 orange

1/2 teaspoon cinnamon

3/4 cup chopped pecans

 

cook the cranberries, sugar, and water in a saucepan over low to medium heat for about 5 minutes, or until the skins pop open. add the apple parts, zests, and juices, and cook for 15 to 20 more minutes. remove from the heat, and add the nuts. adding the nuts last will prevent them from becoming too soft. let cool, and serve chilled.

this is most suitably served with vanilla ice cream. i personally use it on my turkey as a replacement for gravy. i’ve always been weird that way (the good kind of weird, according to editing fingertips !)

i first made this with my mother (chris of this recipe’s making) during my sophomore year in college. a novice in the kitchen, i wanted to undertake this recipe at the hands of her careful guidance. the first thing we did was chase dad out of his domain, the kitchen. this was girl-time. she had made this a year before when i immediately fell in love with the recipe. though back then, i could hardly be bothered to concentrate because i decided that i wanted to make this for my then-boyfriend who i was over the moon with at the time. mom kept telling me to focus so my cranberry creation wouldn’t burn and turn into super sour baby mush. in the end, the cranberry medley of palate affection became so very worth the nagging.

( spokes to spark the heart—a love of the almighty bicycle )

by jennifer hetrick

it’s easy to keep pedals pushing forward when you love bicycles as much as the laird family and their dedicated employees in their stretch of the historic downtown schwenksville scenery. in 2005, joe laird bought tailwind bicycles from a good friend, the man who first opened the shop in 1977.

“i remember dissecting bicycles on my parents’ porch when i was a kid,” joe reflects. “it seemed like it was always coming back to me.” a passion for the persuasion of pedaling on two wheels has had a healthy hold on joe for decades, and it translated to his family, too.

his son owen plays a large role in the shop as master bicycle mechanic and store manager. his daughter rachel joined the shop in february of this year and brought to it her skills in bookkeeping, sales, social networking, and coordinating community bike rides.

joe himself tries to ride at least two or three times each week, and as might be expected, has several quasi-museums of classic bicycles, with some dating back to the early 1900s and others stemming from the 1940s and 1950s.

when joe and his team propped a buy-sell-trade sign outside of the shop, the front door began swinging even more than before with new footfalls saying hello to tailwind bicycles.

“we had so many people coming in for used bikes after we put that sign out,” rachel says. “and we’re not buying walmart or department store bikes.” only very decent-quality and well-made bicycles are taken in trading efforts.

and bike rentals are greatly appreciated, too, especially thanks to the perkiomen trail visible from the back of the shop. bicycles for rent cost $30 a day.

rachel points out that she’s noticed summer camps renting out bicycles frequently, but retired-age people are also great admirers of the chance to spend a day renting a bicycle to wheel away on the trail behind the storefront.

and while the bicycle rentals were something offered at the shop for years, a jump upward in interest for the opportunity has been very obvious and well-gleaned by the laird family and their employees who thrive from riding on their own and seeing others enjoy the recreational perk, too.

joe remembers when a man once brought in several very dilapidated children’s bikes that looked hopeless, with especially dry chains. after bringing those little bikes back to life, the man reacted in such glee and thankfulness, joe recalls. he soon brought his wife back to see the shop and enthusiastically bought two new bikes as well.

when so many people abhor the idea of going to the gym, riding bikes out in the fresh, open air makes a lot of sense to a good amount of souls out there. and just how much bike-riding is loved today is clear—despite how such busy weeks and rushed days encompass so many a life—by the spokes stirring fast on so many trails around the area when the weather is warmest and even sometimes when it’s chillier.

joe’s skill in custom-fitting and sizing bikes is a lot of why bicyclists value the shop so much; when people have painful bodily issues based on not riding so comfortably and ergonomically, joe brings in his background with understanding the skeleton, its muscles, and how to properly adjust a bike to each person’s best fit, helping them with improved mobility.

at tailwind bicycles, gratitude for time out on a matching set of wheels is easy to hug in the mind but also while taking in the open air around trees and out in the world away from so much structure elsewhere in life.

to find out more and to see about getting old bikes fixed up for a second existence, visit tailwindbicycles.com and search for tailwind bicycles on facebook.