Christmas at the Beach

The first day that we ran here, east along Highway 58 toward Fort Macon, we were surprised to find a unique fragrance perfuming the air - pungent, sweet, and reminding us of Christmas:  Christmas trees, deposited all along the road, and at the Fort Macon Picnic Area a large stack.  The recycled trees, we remembered from last year, are used all along the coast to help preserve sand dunes.

There was only one tree today at the designated place, but on our first run there must have been 20 or 30 of them; several had little decorations still tied to the branches, and at least one was still attached to a red plastic tree stand.   Even though it is January 23, we suppose that there are collection places up and down the ocean road and they are periodically hauled to this place.  Last week two State Park workers were loading them onto a small ATV and taking them out to place on the sand dunes.

It is a wonderful fragrance, and one that reminds us both of the memorable hikes we have taken to another place we love:  Mt. LeConte in the Great Smoky Mountains National Park, its 6500-foot summit far above the hardwood line covered almost entirely with Frasier Firs.

So when we run here we think about and give thanks for having experienced these two diametrically opposite places that we love so much:  this wide, flat, rolling ocean here at sea level, and the high swirling mists so far away on top of the world.

"Wave after wave, each mightier than the last 
'Til last, a ninth one, gathering half the deep 
And full of voices, slowly rose and plunged 
Roaring, and all the wave was in a flame." 

- Tennyson, The coming of Arthur.

"Now I understand why the old poets of China 
went so far and high into the mountains, 

then crept into the pale mist."

 - Mary Oliver