Matthew Dickerson: Green River State Park is a find

The haunting and beautiful duet of a pair of loons cut through the thin fabric sides of our tent. So did the chill evening air.

The reaction was instant. At the sound of the splash, my heart began to race. I could feel the rush of adrenaline as my head whipped around toward the sound. 

Who is that fellow playing left field for the Red Sox this season? He bats left-handed and throws right-handed and is hitting .327 with six homers and 22 RBI after a slow start and has led the Red Sox recently on an eight-game win streak — and has hit saf … (read more)

The first rapids we hit is known as Surprise. “Because,” as our raft guide Linc told us, “when you come into it, it catches you by surprise.”

When Middlebury’s Angus Barstow won the “Hills are Alive” Tournament in Stowe last September he took home the top prize: $297.00.

The morning began with a rainy drive of a little less than an hour along the western edge of New River Gorge National Park in West Virginia.

I confess that walking around a wildflower preserve does not jump to the forefront of my mind when I ponder outdoor activities.

I don’t actually remember my first game. I was too young. But I can imagine it, the incomparable thrill of it, because I have been similarly affected every time I have gone to Fenway since.

“The Bat” sits prominently on the windowsill in the office of Middlebury College softball coach Kelly Bevere. It’s a crummy old bat really, not much good for anything now, worn out, pretty much out of hits, but assuming a deservedly honored spot. 

I’m standing on the snow at Rikert next to my wife Deborah, clicking my cross-country ski boots into my bindings.

The image of a baseball scout in the popular mind is that of a wise and wizened veteran of the game, the way scouts are portrayed in “Money Ball,” for example, or like Clint Eastwood in the movie “Trouble with the Curve.” Well, the game has changed.

The same climate change that is dramatically shortening the season for outdoor skating across the north — including places like the Rideau Canal Skateway — is also opening up new habitat for Burmese pythons to move northward.

This weekend is the 100th Middlebury Winter Carnival and I find myself absorbed, perhaps ironically given the above, by Middlebury ski history and culture.

As soon as I hit “send” on last week’s column, I began pondering various works of literature that illustrated the virtues of walking and which have inspired me over the years to be more appreciative of the practice.

I love watching movies with my kids, now adults. These days, that usually means watching from home in a darkened living room on the big TV, without phones and other distractions.