We’ve been back in the United States — in Brooksville, Maine — for two weeks. Every day of those two weeks has been packed with people and activity; a wedding, a birthday, my father’s interment, the annual family meeting. We’ve had 7 adults and 5 kids in our house. Another score or so were staying across the street at the family’s summer compound, Sea Winds. That crowd created a lot of conversation, a lot of kid chasing, a lot of meals, a lot of laundry and no time to write. The house cleared out yesterday.

About a half hour ago I took my lunch out to the workshop to spend a few minutes chatting with John and watching him do whatever it was he was doing. He was repairing a large window screen that two 4-year-old boys ripped last week while experimenting with a long, galvanized framing nail they’d found in the bushes. The boys discovered that raking a nail across a window screen yields three results; long slashes in the screen (very satisfying), a stern scolding from parents and grandparents (to be expected) and no chocolate cake for desert (serious remorse). Today, as I perched on a chair and ate my yoghurt and blueberries, John bent over the damaged screen and used a skinny plastic roller to press new netting into a channel that ran along the edge of the frame. John worked with his back toward me. It’s a very familiar view and one that I like. As I watched John move, I was reminded of a thought I’d had on one of our hikes in Norway, and of a blog I wanted to write.

There is something very sexy about competent and active old men.

Our sexy old men; Doug, Jed, John and Vincent

Let me take you back about three weeks to Sota Saeter, Norway, a 100-year-old cluster of sod-roofed log structures at the end of the road, far up a glacial valley about a day and a half’s drive northwest of Oslo. Once a working summer dairy, Sota Saeter is now part of Norway’s extensive hut-to-hut network and offers hikers and tourists narrow, but comfortable bunks and three filling meals a day. We – a group of 9 for this segment of our round-the-world trip – stayed at Sota Saeter for two nights.

Our plan for the one full day we spent at Sota Saeter was to hike up the valley about five miles to the next hut in the chain, eat lunch and then retrace our steps. The weather report called for cool temperatures with a mixture of rain and sun, so we packed our lunches and rain gear and set off. The valley undoubtedly once spawned tales of trolls and goblins; lush and green at the lower elevations then transitioning to fields of gnarled, lichen-covered boulders and sheer granite cliffs. Waterfalls large and small cascaded across the slopes and fed a glacier-blue river that churned down the middle of the valley.

The Sota Saeter valley.

The trail started out OK, but we soon realized that to get to our destination we would need to cross every creek and waterfall coming off the mountain. And there were dozens. The smaller and shallower tended to have stones close enough together that we could cross in relative dryness, even with our less than gazelle-like leaps. As we went along, however, the rivers got deeper, wider and, sometimes, a lot faster.

An easy ford.

Fortunately, we had in our midst, four competent and active old men, who are chivalrous to boot. When we hit a torrent with the middle section of its bridge unhinged, twisted and hanging by a few tenuous boards, Vincent and Doug ventured into the unknown to test the structure’s trustworthiness. They survived and then positioned themselves in strategic locations to help the rest of us cross. As we gathered on the far side of the broken bridge and laughed about our collective near-drenching experience, I was struck by the energy and attractiveness of this group of old men.

Broken bridge over raging river.

When the rivers became so wide and deep that keeping dry was impossible, the men stripped off their shoes and socks, rolled up their pants, waded in and lent steading hands to anyone who wanted them.

Vincent lends a hand.

And when the boulders grew to the size of cars and maneuvering though the field required concentration and agility, the men provided useful services.

John holds the poles.

When we women lagged behind talking, we had sexy backs to follow.

Sexy backs.

And at the end of the day, engaging (and versatile) companions with whom to share the sunset.

Vincent and Lise. (photo by Robin Downs)

  We know we are lucky to be connected to these competent, active and sexy old men. We also know that they are equally lucky to be connected to us; competent, active and sexy old ladies.

Chris, Anne, Pam, Robin and Lise.