Poem Along the Trail

It seems that I need to learn again and again this simple life lesson:  small miracles are rare; never let them slip past, because they will be gone forever.  Just as we started up the Alum Cave Trail Sunday, I stopped to tighten my boot-laces, right in front of a large group of 20 or so hikers.  Eager to get started again in front of them, I hurried my lacing and started walking, and just then Martha spotted something tacked to the trunk of a River Birch tree:  a small piece of green paper containing a poem.  It was a Walt Whitman poem, and I should have stopped right there and read it from beginning to end, and photographed it, miracle that it was to see a poem on a tree on this trail.  But I did not, and on the return trip we looked in vain for this little unread poem.

What beautiful free spirit had posted a Whitman poem on this tree?  Now it is gone, and someone else has perhaps taken it down and marveled at it and put it in a pocket.

I think it may have been the beginning of this poem:

Song of the Open Road

Afoot and light-hearted I take to the open road,

Healthy, free, the world before me,

The long brown path before me leading wherever I choose.

Henceforth I ask not good-fortune, I myself am good-fortune,

Henceforth I whimper no more, postpone no more, need nothing,

Done with indoor complaints, libraries, querulous criticisms,

Strong and content I travel the open road.

The earth, that is sufficient,

I do not want the constellations any nearer,

I know they are very well where they are,

I know they suffice for those who belong to them.

And now I am inspired to print one of my own poems on a scrap of green paper the next time I hike this trail and pin it to the rough bark of a River Birch.  For anyone to stop and read who has learned the lesson.

Sizzling With Zeal

For months I have carried mail to the Post Office in a blue canvas bag that Martha picked up at a thrift store in Dillard, Georgia.  This Tuesday morning – as I prepared to run 6.2 miles, down Cullasaja Drive, back up Foreman, legs still a little sore from a 10-mile hike up Mt. LeConte on Sunday, but feeling as if I needed to push just a little bit more as my recovery continues – these words jumped out at me, printed on the side of the bag.  It was like hearing the Presbyterian chimes pealing out Now Thank We All Our God right on cue at the end of a great run, and it perfectly suited a cool, breezy morning on the second day of summer, the Strawberry Moon shining full the night before.

“I fairly sizzle

with zeal

and enthusiasm

and spring forth

with a mighty faith

to do the things

 that ought to be done

by me.” – Charles Fillmore

After climbing Mt. LeConte Sunday, Foreman Road did not seem very steep at all.  And the soreness in my legs from Sunday faded quickly away.   

And so I sizzled with zeal as I descended and ascended hill after hill, giving thanks this morning for living in Highlands.

Mt. LeConte

Martha and I arrived later than planned at the Alum Cave Trailhead – every parking place was taken on this Sunday, one of only two days during the week that the trail is open while improvements are being made, and we had to squeeze the Mini into a little unofficial place alongside the road.  A perfect morning for climbing this mountain – cool, clear, but seemingly shaded by clouds on those parts of the trail that might have been hot.   

The climb went well as I led uphill with my left leg, downhill with my right, so as not to flex that still-tight right knee any more than necessary.  I was pleasantly surprised to be able to hike 10 miles, with only a slight problem on the descent from an inadequately filed toenail.  A good day!  And the trail improvements thus far are well-done; we saw some excellent dry-stacked stone steps and water diversions, everything retaining the character of the trail.  And so many wonderful people along the way! 

Steak dinner in Gatlinburg at the Cherokee Grill after the hike, and what a culture shock to return to obesity and cigarette smoke and the foul smell of funnel-cakes in the air.  But it was a good way to celebrate Fathers Day - my 29th climb up this singularly beautiful mountain - and the first day of Summer on Monday.

Saturday Rest Day

It felt unusual this morning to remain at home and not meet the running group at 9:00 as I do most Saturdays.  But after a 20-mile week (and continued recovery from injury), including a tough hill run on Monday and mile repeats on Wednesday, I decided to take a rest day before tomorrow's planned Fathers Day hike up Mt. LeConte.  A trial hike up Whiteside went well, although I had to be careful not to overflex that knee on the descent.  And the new Oboz boots are broken in nicely now.

I am an inveterate record-keeper, and like my race book, I keep a little diary of my hikes up this glorious mountain.  I note that my last ascent up LeConte was on June 14, 2014, with Martha.  It was my 28th climb and Martha's 8th.  "Perfect weather," I noted at the time, and we ate at Cherokee Grill after the hike, which we plan to do this time as well.  The unusually hot weather has turned cool and breezy, and those conditions are predicted to prevail over the next two days.  What a balm it is to feel the cool breeze in the morning!  The Alum Cave trail, which has been closed for construction for two years during the week, is open Saturday and Sunday and we are curious to see what improvements they have made.  Some portions of the trail were in dire need of improvement but I hope it has not been improved to the point of some other area trails, like Whiteside Mountain, which now seems like a gravel road in places.  Surely they have not replaced the steel-cable handrails on the steeper portions with "real" handrails? 

But I know that whatever they have done will not interfere with the unique splendor of this mountain, climbing through river birches along Alum Creek, crossing it many times on logs (which I hope is still the case!), higher and higher past Alum Cave into a maple and hickory forest (the dead hemlocks long-since fallen), and then finally rising above the hardwoods into the delicious aroma of the Frasier Fir Christmas-tree forest at the summit!  We are looking forward to our 29th/9th climb. 

Running in the Cool of the Morning

I never complain about the heat in Highlands.  One day several years ago, I did complain, while I was running in something like 80-degree heat with somebody who had just returned from "Hotlanta" - Fred maybe? - who promptly informed me that he had run the previous day in the upper 90s and humidity so thick you could cut it with a knife.  I never complain.

But hot weather is here, or at least as hot as it gets in Highlands, and I have been enjoying more than ever my conversion to morning running.  As I posted on Facebook last week:

"57 degrees at my house this morning (colder than that up in Town - Art and Vicki put gloves on for the second loop!) 80 degrees at my house this afternoon. This is why I am a morning runner. And thankful to live in Highlands."

My morning run this morning was a return to the old rambling days when we used to run all over Town.  I ran all the way down Main Street, past the Post Office, and then climbed Holt Knob, in nice cool shade the entire way around the Knob and a lovely breeze blowing.  Then I ran through the covered bridge at the Bascom, stopped for water, and continued down to the Mirror Lake Bridge, back along Cullsaja - the cool, still lake down below, dragonfly-green, reminding me of the Psalmist being led beside the still waters.  I must have been in shade for well over 90% of this route. 

The cool breeze, the long shady miles.  I never complain.  I shall not want.