PeterHogenkampWrites

On September 6, 2017, Hurricane Irma--the strongest Atlantic hurricane ever to make landfall--battered Tortola with 215 mile per winds. Six months later, my family and I flew down to see how Tortola and the other 'Nature's Little Secrets' of the British Virgin Islands had fared.  Look in one direction (above) and it's hard to believe a catergory 5 hurricane devatastated Tortola less than six months ago. Look in the other direction (below) and it isn't. 220 mile an hour sustained winds were hard on this palm grove. Neither motor boat nor monohull was spared from the tidal surge that stacked the boats at Soper's Hole up like plastic toys. Since the mangroves were decimated, a school of minnows is using this inboard boat for protection. Nature is clever. If you are trying to calculate the cost of this storm, this 28 foot inboard boat goes for about three hundred thousand dollars; it's a total loss, and there are hundr...

I can't honestly tell you how many times I have hiked Pico Peak. A lot, let's leave it that. The number isn't important, and neither is the number of steps, stories and calories taken, ascended and burned along the way, but I kept track of them anyway. What is important, after a long, hot summer, is the crispness of the air that feels great on my skin and the soft crunch of the dessicated leaves underfoot. My constant companion Hermione, a feisty Cairn Terrier, sprints after a chipmunk and disappears into a covey of ferns. Further up the trail, Herm resurfaces from the forest and stops on the trail to lift a tiny leg in the direction of a stand of birches. A minute later a brace of grouse explodes into the air and disappears into a spruce thicket. Two-thirds of the way up we break out of the green tunnel and merge with a ski trail (see pic above.) Herm and I sit on a rock and sort through the various sundries I have stored in my backpack. There's an apple I forgo...

  The Saturday Evening Blog Post. This Caribbean Life : A Walk on Tortola The wind stops blowing about halfway up the ridge, and even the palm fronds have the good sense to stop moving. But not me; I am going to get to the top of that hill no matter what, because that's what I do--I walk. (How are you supposed to see anything if you just sit?) I clear the crest of the hill and Soper's Hole reveals itself, a dazzle of blue in the bright sun. My water is gone by now, so I just pant and sweat and start down the other side of the hill, making sure to avoid the loose gravel slicking the dirt track someone had the audacity to call a road. A dozen driveways break off from the road on the way down, a dozen dirt tracks cutting across the pitch to homes obscured by the lush vegetation. A dilapidated truck comes by, kicking up dust that hangs like a cloud in the air, and I wait in the shade of a massive bread fruit tree until the light breeze disperses it. The driver stops and a...

Like a lot of other things, The Summer of Chicken and Biscuits started innocently enough, on a whim. It was a Wednesday night in June, and, with the sun still high in a cloudless sky, it was a nice night for a drive. We hadn't been to the Wheel Inn in Benson, VT for a spell--where they cook up the best chicken and biscuits in Vermont on Wednesday nights--and so we hopped in the car and set off. Those of you who have taken an evening drive in these parts about this time of year will know that the peonies are blooming, the tree canopies are swaying with the light spring breeze, and the smell of lilacs perfumes the air. (Those of you w ho haven't should get around to it pretty darn quick.) What with all the sights and sounds and smells the ride sugared off nice and pleasant--even with my kids in the back seat. Yessiree, things were good when we pulled into the driveway of the Wheel Inn there on the four-corners of Benson--God's Country. There was even a spot in t...

Let me the set the stage for you: it 's mid-July and my wife and I have just started a fabulous week at her aunt's villa on a hill high over Long Bay Beach, Tortola, British Virgin Islands, on e of th e nicest stretch es of white sand you are going to find in the world. So, what to do to get our vacation started off o n the right foot? Yu p, you guessed it: slip on the hiking sandals and trek up and over the ridge of volcanic rock that runs lengthwise over the entire island. T he obvious choice, right? Might I also mention that there is where the store is, and our condo wasn't stocked with coffee. (Please don't ask what happens when there is no coffee.) So, off I went, as my wife settled into the lounge chair by the pool. (She didn't want to come, can you believe it?)  Anyway, when I g ot home, drenched in sweat, hot as Cuba (my b uddy Bill says that) and reall y, really thirsty (who hikes in dew points as high as these? ) I decided to create this pict...

It was thirty-four years ago when I walked into his classroom, and although I have only a scattered recollection of the works we studied, I will never forget Dr. Edward F Callahan, Professor of English at the College of the Holy Cross for over thirty years. He was a short, stocky man with a squarish head and thick-rimmed glasses, with a predilection for button-down shirts and cardigan sweaters. Nothing memorable there. But his lack of being memorable ended there, as soon as the door closed and he began consulting the list of students who had signed up for his class.  "Herr Hogenkampf?" He pronounced my name with a distinct Bavarian lilt. I nodded. He lowered his glasses and peered at me. "What kind of name is that?" "It's Dutch." He scratched his forehead. "Sounds German to me." I shrugged.  Ed left his glasses low on his nose and looked around the room, filled mostly with female students I didn't know, ...

 Cheers all. I haven't posted a chapter of #theintern in a while, but good things have been happening on that front and I wanted to catch you all up. First, check out the new cover, which an inspired reader created for me. The more I see it, the more I like it--hope you like it as well. Secondly, the editorial board at #Wattpad selected #theintern for the Featured titles list. Now, I realize that this honor and 5.95$ will get me a grande latte at Starbucks, but it was nice all the same. I posted the first few pages of Chapter 7 below, and here's the link to the whole thing. Thanks again for your support: A Spinal Needle in the Heart April died a cold and dreary death, and May bloomed warm and sunny, filling the streets of Manhattan with life. Maggie dodged a gaggle of German tourists (Who else who would be wearing Birkenstocks with powder blue socks?) and mounted the steps to the library. Howard was on time--he was always on time--sitting on the top step reading his IP...