Unlike Any Other

My last post was about the rain and so is this one.  After such a long drought, it is wonderful to hear the rain on our roof during these December nights, to spend days gazing out the window at fog and drizzle. 

This morning I was doing my Tai Chi on the deck in light drizzle.  The early morning light cast a dim bluish light on the foggy yard below me, but midway through my morning session - I think I was at "golden rooster stands on one leg" - I became aware of shadows moving down through the yard:  two deer, strolling through the apple trees, turning to look at my slow movements but unperturbed by my presence.  I counted myself fortunate that they did not gallop off in terror, as if they thought I was a part of the natural world, like the hemlock boughs gently moving up and down in the breeze. 

My early-morning Tai Chi is such a part of my daily life that I look forward to going outside first-thing, regardless of weather conditions, curious to see what I can see.  If it is raining harder than this morning, or if the deck is slick with ice, I will stay under the overhang of the porch.  Each morning is completely different; each day is unlike any other.  Often I see a thin wash of bright golden light along the northern horizon where the sun is already beginning to fall on the side of Satulah and Brushy Face above Clear Creek Valley.  The school bus with its bright flashing light rolls past at precisely 7:20 a.m., brakes hissing in the curve below our house.  Sometimes I see snowflakes gently floating down.  I have had memorable mornings on sandy beaches watching the sun rise over the Atlantic.  But I am seldom rewarded as I was this morning by seeing these graceful creatures below me, so close and magical.

As I drove up the Walhalla road, I could see fog lying in the valley below, the trees along the road finally bare of leaves by mid-December, the rhododendron glistening with what had now become light rain.

I wondered if anybody would show up at for our Saturday-morning run and was pleased to see Bob in his car; we started off quickly, sensing that heavier rain was on the way.  The rain was really not very heavy - I have run marathons in much worse conditions, something Bob and I laughed about.  We passed two runners we did not know near the School.  And then Sam came up behind us and we rain together, and he had a story to tell, too!  He remembered running his first marathon while loudspeakers were telling people to take shelter from the thunder, lightning, and terrible downpour at the starting line.  And then the gun went off.

I know that drivers see us out in conditions like this and are certain that we are lunatics.  But if this is what lunacy feels like, count me in.  Each day is unlike like other; each run is completely different.

Sweet November Rain

I decided several years ago not to complain about weather conditions, and although there has been a little bit of grumbling and backsliding from time to time, I have not wavered far from that decision.  I recall one day several years ago when I was running with Fred and complaining about the "heat" (by which I meant temperatures in the 80s); he informed me that he had just returned from Atlanta that weekend where it was a very humid 98 degrees.  There really is nothing to complain about up here where runners from Louisiana and Savannah and Florida and "Hot-lanta" escape and join us during the summer for a little relief.  (Runners in those places begin their daily runs at 5:30 a.m.)  On the hottest of days, we run "The Shade Route," down to the end of Fifth Street, up Chestnut, and back around unpaved Lower Lake Road in the cool of the rhododendron, under the shade of towering trees.

So I am the last to complain about the rainy cycle we suddenly find ourselves in, after weeks and weeks of drought - 36 days without a drop of rain recorded at the Asheville Airport, and Gatlinburg in flames.  The wildfires have finally been extinguished, the water table is rising, the lakes are filling up again, and the mountain streams are gurgling under the roads where we run.  I ran up Big Bearpen yesterday morning (which I have avoided because of the dust), between the rain on Sunday and the rain this morning, and all along the way I could see little streams and waterfalls cascading down the side of the mountain.  It is a time of year for watching the weather radar, choosing the best opportunity to run, and perhaps actually getting wet again! 

After such a long drought, what a wonderful experience it is to get wet from time to time, the satisfying fragrance of fallen leaves all around in this sweet November rain, the Christmas lights sparkling in the fog, wet shoes squishing and splashing in puddles on the road.  And a warm home to which we return again in soggy thankfulness.

"He will give the rain for your land in its season,

The early and late rain,

That you may gather in your grain and your new wine and your oil."

 - Deuteronomy 11:14

Christmas Party

On Sunday afternoon, most of the local members of the Highlands Roadrunners Club braved a cold but very welcome rain and met for the Annual Meeting and a drop-in party at Mountain Fresh.  The side porch has a gas fireplace, and aside from the cumbersome picnic tables, it was a cozy place, the rain escalating from time to time to a downpour, then tapering off.  It was a time for seeing old friends who are not running at the moment, make new acquaintances, share memories and stories and plans for the future.  What a gift we share!  I counted 27 in attendance, including little Klara Wilmarth, nestled the whole time in a warm sweater at the chest of her father, Kevin, this future runner looking around with 8-week-old eyes at the commotion all around her.  We run for at least 27 different reasons, and many of  us spoke about what running means to us, and what Skip Taylor means to us.

In my newsletter I will write this:  "The guests of honor were Skip Taylor and MaryAnn Sloan, who will be moving to Tryon next January.  Skip was a Founding Member (AKA “Foundering Member”) of the Club and the Secretary for 20 years; he served in many capacities, helping with races, serving as Race Director himself, organizing the annual parties for the past two years, and raising funds for Scholarships and for the Kelsey-Hutchinson Founders Park.  He has been a steadfast friend and companion to many of us and we have enjoyed countless good miles out on the road with him over the years.  Both he and MaryAnn will be greatly missed by the Club, the Community, and First Presbyterian Church."

But that only touches the surface of our friendship, for we have shared many confidences during those long, deep, wonderful conversations out on the road, as the beauty of the world slides by and the road climbs and turns and meanders its way in deep shade and dappled sunlight, where ideas form and take shape.  There is little that compares to a genuine Running  Buddy!  I hope we will continue to meet from time to time and run some miles together.

Christmas Parade

Today was the day of the annual Christmas Parade in Highlands, so our Saturday morning running group was sparsely attended; only Skip, Bob, and Sam showed up, and I ended up doing the last five miles in my eight-mile run by myself.  I circled the block by Highlands School several times and noticed increasing activity every mile, and finally, by 10:30 or so, vehicles and floats were beginning to assemble over by Harris Lake.

There is nothing like a small-town Christmas parade! - lots of fire trucks and other emergency vehicles, the High School band (this year, inexplicably, the Franklin High School band marched), the Garden Club and their choreographed program, several vintage T-birds and Corvettes, many cute dogs attired in their seasonal best, the men of the free Dental Clinic dressed up like tooth fairies, and of course the Mayor up at the front and Santa in the rear. It is an interesting mixture of the secular and the religious (as, indeed, Christmas in America has become).

The Highlands parade also boasts something many small parades do not have - real camels, handled by three stalwart men from the Methodist Church, and Joseph leading Mary on a real donkey - "The Reason for the Season "  The camels are huge creatures, and somewhat alarming up close as they swing their heads curiously over the crowds lining Main Street. 

A Christmas Parade is not for the cynical!  Some years it seems as if there are more people in the parade than watching it.  But as I walked along Main Street, I found myself exchanging greetings of Merry Christmas again and again, with dozens of friends and neighbors and complete strangers. Of course it was bittersweet, tinged by memories of my Mom who used to enjoy these parades every year and my Father-in-Law who always drove the Mayor in his T-model, both of them gone and missed.  But life goes on and the parade takes place each year regardless of those who are no longer here.  That mysterious warmhearted suspension of everyday life this time of year that we call "The Christmas Spirit" began to materialize in Highlands this morning as Advent begins. 

Rain At Last

What a wonderful sound it was to hear rain on the roof all Monday night!  A gentle, sustained rain, just the kind we needed.  Tuesday it cleared off for the day, but then today a second wave came through, off and on, gently at times but at other times absolutely pouring.  And there is more rain (or snow!) coming Sunday and into next week.  It seems as if the great weather patterns which determine our daily weather, the jet streams and the high- and low-pressure areas, are finally converging into a period of prolonged rain and snow.

I had one of those perfect runs this morning, getting started a little after 9:00 a.m. before the rain came.  The streets were still wet from Monday, the temperatures warm, and after a mile, I decided there was no reason not to run fast.  So I turned in a 9:38 mile, and then a third mile pulling hills as hard as I could.  Might as well make a hard day as hard as I can, I thought, especially since most of the stiffness from these nagging injuries seems to be at bay for now.  I glanced at the sky and thought, it still isn't raining, why not go an extra mile?  I did, and finished up sore quads but that wonderful feeling of having done one's best.  I stretched, got in the car, and almost immediately it started to rain, and rain pretty hard.  Perfect timing!

I only hope that this same rain is also drenching the Great Smoky Mountains, where it is so badly needed.  14,000 evacuated from Gatlinburg, four dead, and many building damaged.  Douse those flames, O Lord!  For the same devastation could so easily happen here. 

"Drip down, O heavens, from above, 

And let the clouds pour down righteousness; 

Let the earth open up and salvation bear fruit, 

And righteousness spring up with it. 

I, the LORD, have created it."  

Isaiah 45:8

Thanksgiving

Running was easier this week because cool northerly winds kept most of the smoke from wildfires out of Town.  So Monday I was able to run six miles, mostly with Fred - he was doing some road intervals and I arrived just in time to join him - and today I ran six miles, mostly with Vicki.  Running with friends makes the journey easier, a little maxim that applies to more than just running.

And just in time for Thanksgiving, the weather forecast is suggesting a 30% chance of showers.  Wouldn't that be a cause for genuine thankfulness, if it actually materialized overnight?  Our parched land is so thirsty that even a few drops would be welcome. There is a better chance next Tuesday, and we patiently watch the progress of low pressure systems making their way across the nation, hoping that the moisture will not dissipate before it arrives as it has so frequently this month.

Tomorrow is a time for giving thanks, and despite this being a year of great loss - the death of Martha's Dad, other losses close and hard to bear, and perhaps even the loss of progressive government in these dark, parched times - we continue to remain hopeful and to give thanks.  Martha read about a wonderful idea this year:  a "gourd of gratitude" in the center of our table, a pumpkin on which we wrote all the things for which we are thankful.  "Rain" found its way on our little gourd, and "friends," and "running" (since this blog is ostensibly about running, after all), and so much more that we quickly ran out of room.

That's how it should always be, after all.  There should be so much thankfulness in our hearts that it overflows, so that there is not room enough for it all to fit, on little pumpkins or in little blogs.

Wildfires Surrounding Us

My friend Anthony took this photo of Germany Valley, clear as it should be in November on top, and under it the current view obscured by smoke from all of the wildfires surrounding us.

These are indeed frightening times!  We have just elected a completely unqualified and truly disturbing man as President of this nation.  And each day the long drought continues, as if it echoes the drought of reason and civility in our times.  It has not rained in a very long time, and the leaves are like tinder, crinkled and completely dry, waiting for the arsonist's match.  Because that is who has been causing the many fires all around us:  an arsonist, spotted here and there lighting these many wildfires.  Yesterday he tried to burn the mighty Bob Padgett Poplar Tree in Horse Cove, but fortunately they were able to put the fire out.  Who would do such a thing? 

We owe our firefighters a debt of gratitude as they have struggled to contain fires in Cliffside, Whitewater Falls, Lake Lure, and Warwoman Dell only 10 miles or so from our house, in rugged terrain.  The smoke blows over the mountains and it is hard to tell where it is coming from - one day it will be clear down here in Clear Creek and smoky in Highlands, and the other day just the opposite.  Running and hiking are risky in this unhealthy air, so we wait for relatively smoke-free air and get on the road when we can.  Last week I drove out to Zachary Hospital to get in a short run because it was so thick in Town.  On the satellite map it is truly a shocking sight.

So we continue to pray for rain, and for reason, and for the good that we have to believe lies in most of our hearts despite the hatred, racism, and bigotry.