Going Out Like A Lion

What a storm we had last night!  All the birdhouses balanced on our fence posts are blown over, and the front yard is littered with branches. 

 
The wind howled all night, unrelentingly, and this morning there was a thin coating of ice and frozen snow on the deck.  And the wind is still blowing strong.

It being March 30, I think this qualifies as "Going Out Like a Lion."  And next week?  Dare we believe the forecast? 

Mon Mar 31

68^°

41^°

Sunny

Tue Apr 1

70^°

42^°

AM Clouds / PM Sun

Wed Apr 2

73^°

46^°

Sunny

Sun and Snow

The predicted snow did not materialize this morning, other than a thin coating on the deck and some stray flurries throughout the morning.  So it seemed like a good day to finish cutting up that big log on the log pile and splitting just a little more firewood.  Highlands Roadrunner becomes by necessity Highlands Woodcutter from time to time.

It is always a careful balance this time of year as the firewood supply dwindles.  Ideally, this stack on the back porch should run out just when it is no longer needed:

That is good husbandry, perfect management of resources:  to use the very last piece of firewood on the last cold night, so that you don't have to carry several armloads off the porch, far away from the house, where firewood is stored over the summer.  Even more ideally, there should be no firewood left to store over the summer whatsoever. 

As I worked on the log, sawing and splitting and carrying, I realized how much I enjoy this simple uncomplicated work, stopping to stretch from time to time, listening to the wind howl up on the ridgeline, feeling at ease with saw and maul as the supply of firewood accumulated step by step.  It is very much like running a long race, one step at a time.  And then it began to snow again, and at one point I realized that I was cutting firewood, and the sun was shining brightly, and it was pouring snow.  Snow swirled around in the bright wind all around me.

A typical Highlands Spring!

False Start

Races sometimes have false starts, and I think this has happened.  Temperatures soared into the 60s on Friday and Saturday, but today there is a cold rain drizzling down - a good day to watch basketball and light a fire in the fireplace.  And dig in for just a few more days, because (really?) this is in the forecast for Tuesday:

So, back to the starting line everyone.  As Wallace Stevens once wrote (in a slightly different context), "It was not yet the hour to be dauntlessly leaping."

First Day of Spring

Everywhere, daffodils are blooming, and bright forsythia greets the eye around each corner.  On a long drive through the countryside this time of year, it is not unusual to see a cluster of daffodils along the road but no house nearby, or not any longer.  Perhaps there was a house here decades ago, a home where people lived and loved and raised children, and of course planted daffodils, leaving not even an old chimney behind.  As the Bard famously said:

"The cloud-capp'd tow'rs, the gorgeous palaces,
The solemn temples, the great globe itself,
Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve,
And, like this insubstantial pageant faded,
Leave not a rack behind." 

 But daffodils?  They will still burst through the cold ground every Spring, reminding us of new life.

Last Day of Winter

I had been thinking of all the little mishaps that had occurred on Tuesday when it dawned on me what the big and lovely thing was that was trying to be born:  Spring! 

Today is the last day of winter, and I awoke early with an unexpected feeling of energy.and purpose.  After exploring the settings menu on my DirecTV DVR, I realized that the number it had been calling, and failing to connect with, had apparently been inoperational for some time.  When I changed it to another number, it worked perfectly.  Thus it turns out it has been our DVR trying to call on our line, and not a problem with the FAX line at all.  I did my morning exercises, and everything just felt right - the complete opposite of yesterday.  So I decided this would be a good morning to run Bearpen.

Rain that was mere mist at our house started coming down harder on the way to Town - cold rain, in the 40s, perfectly suiting the last day of winter.  So I went to the post office and the hardware store (to replace the broken pull-chain receptacle in the closet), waiting a little for it to clear, and it tapered off just a bit, so I parked and began to run.  What a magical uphill journey!  The higher I ran, the more it began to clear, and my cold fingers began to warm up.  The summit was socked in with fog, but I could see the glimmer of light overhead - perhaps it was the beautiful first day of Spring tomorrow, waiting to be born, a big and lovely season of transition, growth, uplifting new beginnings.  I realized that whatever the mishaps that may occur, there is always an opportunity - especially significant in this lenten season - of repair, renewal, regeneration.  As I started back down the back side of the mountain, I realized that I had reached another kind of summit, and the rest of the day would be all downhill. 

So let's put winter behind us.  This quote from Socrates arrived in my inbox yesterday:

"The secret of change is to focus all of your energy, not on fighting the old, but on building the new."

Something Big and Lovely

It's a peculiar thing that, from time to time, an entire series of events seem to go wrong.  And that's what happened today.  First, the new telephone line for the FAX machine installed last Thursday, seemed to be doing unusual things:  people were trying to connect to the FAX machine, even though nobody had the number yet, and while talking on the other line, you could hear someone dialing out.  A nice young Frontier technician showed up, checked everything, and failed to identify the problem; he said he could only find the problem if he was there while the problem was occurring.

The afternoon went downhill from there.  The power went out for three hours while I was in the middle of a domestic pursuit of some complexity.  The DirecTV satellite kept losing its signal and failed to power up again upon resumption of power.  We discovered a drinking glass was broken.  Then I stubbed my finger on the woodstove, which had been opened up during the power outage (the fire had gone out, of course).   And when I went to pull the chain on the light in the sunroom closet, it jammed and would not operate.  At that point I just stood there and laughed.  Could anything else go wrong?  Martha, who has been having trouble with her computer anyway, told me to stay out of her room for fear I would somehow infect it with the cloud of mishaps gathered around me.

Lee Bowman, our preacher, recounted in a recent sermon a story by Anne Lamott in her book Traveling Mercies about a woman named Carolyn Myss, a world-renowned lecturer on healing:

"Myss had flown to Russia several years ago to give some lectures, and everything that could go wrong did—flights were canceled, overbooked, connections missed, her reserved room at the hotel given to someone else. In all of this she tried to be a good sport, but finally, as she was traveling by train to her conference on healing, she broke down and began to vent to the man sitting next to her about how infuriating her journey had been thus far.  It turned out that this man not only worked for the Dalai Lama but knew him very well.  He responded to Myss in gentle tones, as he gave her an extraordinary insight. We believe, he said, that when a lot of things start going wrong all at once, it is to protect something big and lovely that is trying to get itself born.”

What could that something big and lovely thing be that is being protected?

Days of Glory

Today Martha "pinned" a picture on Pinterest that had special meaning for me.  It is a picture of a particularly brilliant, glorious day, somewhere in New England.  Something tells me that the little band-shell in the park may be in Milford, Connecticut, I don't know why.  Perhaps my Mom or Dad told me that, or more likely it said so on the side of the box, because this is the scene depicted on a large picture puzzle that they worked out years ago, and then enjoyed so much that they had it mounted and framed.  It hung in their house in Florida for years, and then in my Mom's house here in Highlands before she moved to Indiana.  What a glory it must have been to gaze upon that picture on some hot, sultry day in Florida where they went to live in their retirement, and to remember that cool, crisp day sometime in their youth.

And what a glorious day that must have been!  They rarely "vacationed" when I was growing up, but nearly every Sunday afternoon, and especially in the Fall in New England, they would get in the car, packing us all in with them if we could be persuaded, and we would ramble up Route 7 to Canaan, on into western Massachusetts, even into Vermont, often returning well after dark with a little bag of apples, or some Vermont Maple Sugar purchased at a roadside stand along the way. 

Remember this candy?  Memories are made from such glorious days:  the brilliant red and orange leaves still on the trees, the golden carpet all around, the crisp autumn air.  And this sweet, sweet candy from our youth.  Days of Glory.

Saturday Long Run

Saturday was nearly a perfect day for running, temperatures in the low 40s and little wind.  We had a good group this morning - perhaps 12 or 15 in all, including Paul and Fred just finishing up when most of us were starting, and including two visitors from Nashville.  I saw several in our group that I had missed lately due to the layoff due to surgery, and it was good to get caught up again.  But my Saturday "long" run ended up at only a little over six miles.  That troublesome right leg stiffened up again - too much time sitting at this desk? - and I thought it best to stop before it worsened.

That must be one of the hardest parts about training:  we are always pushing a little more, a little faster or longer or steeper, and we know that this is the way of fitness, of strength.  Hard effort places stress on muscles fibers, and the body responds with strength.  But push too hard, especially when you are an aging runner, and that effort can result in injury.  So there is always this careful balance at work:  Two steps forward, one step backward.  A hard day, and an easy day.  Telling the body what to do, and listening to it attentively.

Rest day tomorrow.

Another Front Passes Through

Thursday's snow never materialized, but the wind howled all night long.  The moon was almost full (March 16) and the sky was absolutely wild - clouds sailing past so quickly, the tall trees all around our house dizzying to watch.  I could not sleep at all, and woke at 4:30 a.m. to compile a list of things that needed doing, from the trivial to the serious, in no particular order.  Instead of running, we ended up moving furniture all around the house and fishing the new FAX line installed that morning up through the walls to the upstairs room.  Today I managed two miles down Sassafras Gap Road, and that seemed enough.  Perhaps the 10-day layoff from running has had a greater effect than I thought.

Now the front has come through and it is cold again, although each warm spell lasts longer.  Rain is in for forecast for the weekend - or perhaps snow?  We never know in March.

Snow on Daffodils

It sounds like the first five-syllable line of a haiku:  snow on daffodils.  And it seems so unlikely when Spring has been upon us for so many days, when we have singlets and shorts hanging up to dry from yesterday's run rather than tights and gloves, when we are still a little pink from being outside.  But it is March in Highlands, and anything can happen.  The hourly forecast shows a nosedive from the balmy 62 degrees on the back deck right now (4:00 p.m.) to snow showers by 7:00 p.m.

Snow on March 13?  Does that date ring a bell?  See older posts - Tuesday, January 7.  How many people in Highlands today remember the Blizzard of 93? 

So Martha decided it would be a good idea to pick the tallest of the daffodils which, almost overnight, have sprung up along the stone walk on the west side of the house where the sun has begun to shine more and more abundantly in the afternoons, so that we enjoy them.

As for the rest of them, they might very well complete another March haiku by tomorrow morning:

Snow on daffodils:

Winter still holds onto Spring's

Sweet affirmation

DEFPOTEC

The past two days have been absolutely lovely!  "Is this not a day that God made just for running?" I asked a couple of our runners, and they agreed.  The temperature on Monday soared into the 60s, and this afternoon on our deck it reached 72.  We actually sat in the sun for awhile and have visibly "gotten a little sun."  So I got out the light running shirt Monday, and my singlet today, buried in the drawer where it took shelter since last year.

I enjoy running with friends, but sometimes it becomes a little boring running the same route (3.15 miles) at the same pace (as fast as some of us can go) every afternoon.  I like to vary the pace, vary the terrain, and especially vary the route.  So yesterday I ran almost two miles with the afternoon running group, but then took a left-hand turn off-course and rambled all over Town - down Spring Street, back up the middle of Main Street, and around the lake.  Soon traffic will be so congested that it will not be safe to run up Main Street.

Today I turned off even sooner, heading up Big Bearpen from Chestnut Street after the first half-mile of camaraderie.  It was dusty on Big Bearpen Road, so I turned on Upper Lake Road, went out to Bowery Road, looked out over the Eastern Continental Divide on the Horse Cove Road, and headed back down Main Street from the opposite direction as yesterday.  I do enjoy company while I run, but I also enjoy simply rambling wherever I want, and these days that means I am usually alone with my thoughts, with the aromas of Spring,with the gentle breeze, the sun and the shadows, and especially with the sharp, sharp images all around me since my cataract surgery.  Visual acuity is a wonderful thing!  It is a blessing!  Yesterday at Dr. Secosan's office I found I could nearly read the bottom line (20/20) of the eye chart:  DEFPOTEC.

Daylight Saving Time Discoveries

So what did I discover yesterday, after all?

I discovered that I could run a little over nine miles for the first time in several weeks and still feel pretty strong at the end.  And I discovered how much fun it is to get off the beaten track, as Bob K. and I ran a couple of extra miles up Holt Knob and around Holt Circle and back.  I discovered that his daughter will begin a new job Monday.  And I discovered dozens of other interesting details about the friends I ran with.  I hope Tanya has a good time horseback riding!  I discovered that I really don't care what time our Club members choose to run in the afternoon.

This morning we got in our Mini and took a trip down to the Nacoochee Valley in Northern Georgia to ramble just a little.  I discovered that it is possible to wander out into a beautiful and worshipful Sunday morning simply enjoying being out of doors.  We stopped at one of our favorite places, the Sautee Store, and stocked up on Farmers Cheese. 

 I discovered that it was a wonderful day to simply enjoy the daffodils along the way, the sweet sweet sun, and the good company of Martha:

We discovered a great place to hike, too - Anna Ruby Falls, which you reach by driving through Unicoi State Park just past Helen.  The paved trail is short but steep, but the double-waterfall is well worth the hike:

And this evening, as I look out my window tonight at nearly 8:00 p.m. and still see light in the western sky, that I discovered that despite the ridiculous custom of Daylight  Saving Time that nobody seems to like, I do enjoy immensely this extra little bit of light in the evening, especially when it is becoming warmer and Spring is drawing just a little bit closer, the long shadows lingering in the cool of the evening.

Discovery

I ran across this wonderful quote today from Runners World:

“It's important to know that at the end of the day it's not the medals you remember. What you remember is the process – what you learn about yourself by challenging yourself, the experiences you share with other people, the honesty the training demands – those are things nobody can take away from you whether you finish twelfth or you're an Olympic Champion.” – Silken Laumann, Canadian Olympian

These words really resonated with this Roadrunner!  Certainly there is nothing wrong with running merely in order to keep our weight down, or to "stay fit," or to enjoy the company of friends.  But how much deeper and more meaningful an experience running becomes if we approach it as a way to learn more about ourselves, to make ourselves not just better runners but better people.

So I'm looking forward to my first Saturday long run in four weeks tomorrow morning.  What will I discover about the friends I will be running with, the sights and sounds I will be taking in along the way?  What will I discover about myself?  If I discover nothing, then I haven't been paying attention.

Wintry Mix Again?

The forecast for tonight is "wintry mix," that description that we all dread.  Morning can bring anything from a six-inch snow to ice-sheathed tree limbs and a deck more suited to ice skating than to Tai Chi.  The weather is supposed to be rolling in this afternoon, so I decided to take an opportunity and run this morning while Martha was in her yoga class.  I dressed out in shorts and a long-sleeved shirt, and  the instant I stepped out of the car in the Town Hall parking lot I thought, "Jeez!  What was I thinking!"  A cold wind was nipping at my bare legs, and the sky was overcast. 

March 6.  And despite the daffodils spotted down the road on our walk the other day and the forsythia blooming on the dining room table, winter has not yet lost its grip on Highlands.  I decided to run 400-meter intervals again, my first since the cataract lay-off, to try and stay warm if nothing else, and I did pretty well, putting in an extra mile down Main Street to the Bascom and back again.  On the way back, the wind was in my face and I was getting seriously chilled.  All I could think was, "Perhaps this is my last day this season of being truly cold on a run!"

Could it be so?  I think not.  We still have a long way to go.

Bearpen in the Fog

Today I decided to run up Big Bearpen - the mountain which Fred told me that I should not admit to enjoying so much.  This was my first ascent since my 10-day layoff, and although I realized that I have lost some fitness, I was curious to see how easy the climb would be. 

One of those temperature inversions for which Highlands is known so well was upon us - the temperatures cool and slightly foggy in Clear Creek, but warming as I traveled up the 1200 feet in elevation to Town.  I passed through thick fog on the way, which turned brighter and brighter, until it suddenly cleared just below the Eastern Continental Divide.  The sky was almost clear overhead, and I thought that from atop Big Bearpen I might have one of those magical experiences that occur here from time to time where blue sky breaks through and fog lies all around below, with area mountains poking up through this bright blanket.  I climbed with increasing enthusiasm and strength!

But alas, that was not the case at all.  Instead the fog grew thicker and thicker, and at the very top where that unusual perspective of Whiteside Mountain never fails to thrill, this was my view:

What a Wonderful World

Today was the warmest day we have had in some while, up in the 60s.  The forsythia that I cut about two weeks ago and placed in a vase on the dining room table have bloomed, a beautiful and aromatic wonder and a harbinger of Spring:

And finally, after 10 days, I went on my first run - only a little over four miles, but a wonderful feeling to run with friends again.  Apparently the hiking and the visits to the gym have kept me from losing all that hard-won fitness.  Martha ran too, and it was a good day.  For the first time this evening it was warm enough to have appetizers out on our deck.  Surely Spring is just around the corner!

Hunter Coleman preached this morning in our church, and he talked a lot about being mindful, of paying attention to the Kingdom on this earth, here and now.  He quote those lovely words of the Louis Armstrong song, "What a Wonderful World":

I see trees of green,
red roses too.
I see them bloom,
for me and you.
And I think to myself,
what a wonderful world.

I see skies of blue,
And clouds of white.
The bright blessed day,
The dark sacred night.
And I think to myself,
What a wonderful world.

The colors of the rainbow,
So pretty in the sky.
Are also on the faces,
Of people going by,
I see friends shaking hands.
Saying, "How do you do?"
They're really saying,
"I love you".

I hear babies cry,
I watch them grow,
They'll learn much more,
Than I'll ever know.
And I think to myself,
What a wonderful world.

Yes, I think to myself,
What a wonderful world.

Oh yeah.

Satulah Mountain Hike

This morning I went on another ambitious hike:  to the summit of 4543-foot Satulah Mountain.  Screened by trees, this is the mountain in the shadow of which I start every morning practicing Tai Chi on our deck, nearly 1900 feet below.
 

From the parking lot of Highlands Plaza, it must be about a four-mile hike round trip, and I realized that I had not climbed it in many months.  What a treasure, here within an easy hike from downtown Highlands!  I wondered why I did not hike it more often, or even run to its summit, though the ascent would be considerably steeper than Big Bearpen.

The climb follows Satulah Road and Worley road, along incredible rock walls that have been in place for nearly a century - a lesson in good stonemasonry:

The views back down to the downtown business area, and Harris Lake around which we run nearly every day, were breathtaking:

The road is private but and the signs say so, but they bear an acknowledgement won through the efforts of the Highlands Land Trust that it is open to foot traffic, a perpetual easement for hikers granted many decades ago by the farsighted men and women (and stonemasons) who settled here.

Several years ago, Martha was invited, together with other members of the Highlands Historical Society, to a picnic on this summit, wearing the kind of clothing that picnickers would have worn when they traveled here by horse and wagon:

When the pavement ends, a path winds through this enchanted canopy of mountain laurel through which this tall hiker had to duck:

And then past the ruins of the old Rock House, just below the summit, still a favorite place for some to camp:

And finally the big, flat rocks and spectacular unimpeded views from the top:

And somewhere down here, slightly west of south, is Clear Creek Valley, and through those trees barely visible the deck on which I stand and gaze upward every morning: