Transition

We awoke to a strong wind this morning, heralding a transition to a new season.  We could hear it sifting through the crack of the bedroom windows, and something loud clattered sharply on a roof somewhere (I could find no damage on our property, and wondered about our neighbor's metal roof). 
I sat on the deck to drink my coffee, and the wind was making that deep, low whining sound all around that it often makes in this valley.  Leaves were swirling down from the tall tulip poplar out front, and suddenly a small maple leaf fell into my coffee - a little orange tea-bag that I carefully removed.  High clouds were moving briskly west to east, and the treetops were swaying wildly back and forth.  The world seemed to be spinning wildly into another season.

What a change from only two days ago!  Those maples next to the Presbyterian Church on Fifth Street are now completely stripped of leaves. 

I walked up to the top of Sunset Rocks again today, hoping to avoid the snarl of traffic in Town, only to find myself being passed along the road by three or four cars, Lexus and Cadillac SUVs.  I stepped reluctantly out of the way, but when I reached the top I excused the traffic; coming down form the rocks I encountered a tiny, tiny little hiker, perhaps only 9 or 10 months old, an elder on each side of him more or less floating him over the rocks, laughing and enjoying perhaps his very first hike.  It was a great day to be outdoors, whether walking or driving.

The view from the top was especially beautiful - the turbulent sky off to the west, the side that we properly call "Sunset."

The other side, "Sunrise," is not as well-known and is sometimes overlooked.  Horse Cove seemed quiet and peaceful, its green fields far from the bustle of downtown Highlands - two sides of a coin.

And so we transition from October to November, and I dig on the laundry-room shelf for my gloves and warmer shirt in preparation for tomorrow's run when the temperatures is predicted to drop from the unseasonably 70s and even 80s of this week to a sharp 34 degrees.  I am ready for it.

Fall Color

After a late start, the Fall color is finally reaching Highlands, creeping up the sides of the mountains from greens into yellows into reds.  It has been unusually warm - the warmest October I remember since living here - and there has only been one light frost so far in Town (last Wednesday).   We are also in a drought, which at the ower elevations is making leaves turn brown and simply drop off early.  But up here on the Highlands Plateau there is spectacular color here and there - the maples on Fifth Street are stunning, and the burning bush on Smallwood Avenue is a hedge of fire.

"Beautiful day," visitors will say as we pass them on morning runs.  I told someone the other day, "Absolutely!  We wait all year for conditions like these!"  A breeze springs up and suddenly there is a shower of golden leaves coming down all around.  Bright, clear blue sky for days and days.  Surely there is no better season for running than this, or for simply walking as I did this afternoon, up Sunset Rocks.  The color is just at its peak now, and it won't last long.

Autumn Breeze

Martha has run this early-October race in the Tallulah Gorge twice, if I remember correctly, but I had never run it before today.  I always seemed to be nearing the end of a marathon training program this time of year, with a 20-mile run the day before, and remember standing at the finish line taking her photo and feeling a little rueful not to be enjoying what she described as the most beautiful course she has ever run.  But there will be no marathon this year, and it was a fine day, leaves just starting to turn, temperatures in the low 70s and a little cloud cover, too - just perfect conditions.  The setting is indeed gorgeous, and the course follows the shore of Tallulah Lake and then a paved Greenway through the woods.

These days I am running according to that aging runner's dictum, "The older I get, the faster I was."  Slowed by the uneven path and its branches under the pavement, I ran a minute or so slower than expected (but still faster than my last race) and more importantly I felt strong all the way through the 5 kilometers, a first this year, I think.  It is indeed a good feeling to improve after an injury, to feel strength returning, as I have recorded in the pages of this blog.

While I passed a few younger runners (always a satisfying experience at my age!), I could not catch several others, including an amazing little boy who had no legs - no legs! - who was propelling himself forward by swinging rhythmically side by side on a little three-wheeled platform, pushed up the hills by his Dad who was running with him - truly incredible!  And as I neared the finish, I heard the sound of runners coming up behind me on both sides, left and right, and although I held on gamely I could not fend off two younger runners catching me at the line.  Martha took this classic photo:

"We are not now that strength which in old days

Moved earth and heaven;

That which we are, we are." - Tennyson

A New Season

Fall officially arrived at 10:21 Thursday morning, and it is beginning to look like it in Highlands.  The tips of those maple trees next to the Presbyterian Church on Fifth Street look like brushes whose tips have been dipped in crimson paint and are standing on end. 

The Joe Pye weed is nodding along the road, the jewel weed is flecking the woods with gold, and the burning bush has begun to blaze.

It is beginning to feel like it, too, cool enough in my chair on the deck this morning to see the steam rise in wisps from my coffee cup.  It is surely the best time of year for running, which is why so many races are held here in the South during these coming months.  We are eyeing some of them, starting with the Autumn Breeze 5-K on October 2.  And who knows what more?  It is a new season.

Buck Trott

I have attended too many funerals this year, and I wonder if that is normal for someone of my age.  Now Buck Trott has finally succumbed after lingering in Fidelia-Eckerd for a very long time, not knowing family and friends in the past few months, and I attended his funeral today at the Church of the Incarnation.

I knew him when he was a vital, energetic, hearty Mayor when I served as Town Administrator.  He knew every single employee of the Town by name, and would often visit the Warehouse on Poplar Street at lunch time to talk to them; he was a tireless advocate for good salaries and good benefits, and he appreciated (as did I) the important and often thankless jobs of the Electric Crew and the Sanitation Crew.  Well into his 70s he still had more energy than most of us.  I remember "fighting the good fight" with him on more than one occasion.  Once we left for Raleigh early in the morning to battle against some misguided folks down the river who were trying to thwart our plans to expand our environmentally superior wastewater treatment plant.  I remember him standing and passionately addressing whatever Committee it was - everybody in Raleigh knew Highlands when Buck was Mayor! - and persuading them by, I think, his sheer earnestness.  At the end of a long day we were driving back to Highlands, and it was growing late; I kept asking, "Buck, would you like me to drive?  Take a break?"  But taking a break was not his style.  "No, I'm fine," he would insist, and then embark on the next topic of conversation, looking at his instrument panel in the dark, as I imagined he did on one of those many missions he flew in Vietnam; I could almost see him gazing left and right to check his engines.  He sometimes attributed his good healthy and energy to his exposure to Agent Orange, which I decided might be a Fountain of Youth if a soldier could outlast it.

He did so much for the Boy Scouts and the Church of the Incarnation, and when he was no longer Mayor he stayed involved in everything.  He delivered home delivery meals to my Mom every week for a long time.  "How's your Mom?" he would always ask.  And, of course, he was the best Santa Claus anyone has ever seen.

Now he has flown his final mission.  And I will miss him.

Climbing into Fall

I have written in this blog before about climbing to the summit of Big Bearpen mountain.  It has become a weekly event for me on Mondays, and since returning from our trip out West it has paid just as many dividends as the weekly long runs and the intervals.  Two weeks ago, upset about the sudden death of my father-in-law, I even ran it twice.  You can burn up a lot of stress running up therapeutic mountains like this one!

We cancelled our planned trip to Cades Cove this year, too, an annual outing which had been scheduled for Friday (Alan's birthday) and Saturday (Jane's birthday).  It was surely not the right time to leave and we could not have enjoyed it.  But Anthony, Sharon, Vicki, and Art all went and Anthony took this gorgeous photo, which made us want to return to this magical place next September, or perhaps even sooner.  As I was on the way down Big Bearpen this morning, I ran into Vicki on the way up, and stopped to ask her all about the weekend; eventually, I decided to run with her to the summit again.  And by the time I reached the top the second time, all of the lingering fog had disappeared and you could see far into South Carolina, and around the back side Whiteside Mountain stood out clearly against a blue sky.  Leaves had begun to turn a golden shade on some of the oak trees on the summit.

And so I felt that I was climbing the summit of another season this morning, leaving behind not only the hot and humid mornings, the thick curtains slanting through green trees, but also the heartbreak and the sad memories of the past.  I felt that I was climbing with renewed strength into new possibilities, a place where the bright colors and the distant vistas grow clearer once again.  Climbing into fall.

Alan Lewis

I see that my last post on this blog was August 29 and it was called "A Little Suffering."  The rest of the week was very encouraging - Big Bearpen on Monday, a set of 400-meter intervals on Thursday, and 10 miles on Saturday as planned.

But everything can change so rapidly, in the blink of an eye.  Martha was talking to her Daddy on Saturday night a little after 7:00 p.m., finding out about his day.  It had been a good one for him, too, taking his King Midget to Town twice (pictured below with his friend Bill) - visiting with his fellow lovers of old cars on the Loafer's Bench on Main Street - and now he was sitting in his favorite chair watching NASCAR on television.  And then suddenly he stopped talking, and just like that he was gone.  "Out, out, brief candle."

The rest of the evening was a blur - the frantic dash to Town, the blue and red lights flashing in the dark, the EMTs there in less than five minutes working as hard as they could to bring him back - but Martha knew in her heart that he was already gone.  His 86th birthday would have been September 16, and now there is a large void left where this decent and gentle man used to be, his wonderful sense of humor, his devotion to his family and his church.  We miss him so very much!

But he always insisted after all that he was living on borrowed time; his own father, a Methodist minister, had died in his sleep at the age of 51 of a heart attack.  And surely this is the way he wanted to leave this world, with absolutely no suffering and no pain, as if God had tapped him gently on the shoulder and led him away in a moment when he was supremely happy.  Immediately after his death, the house was filled with an astonishing outpouring of love and support for Jane and the family.  He was buried on Wednesday, a sunny and unseasonably warm day, family and friends filling First Presbyterian Church and then gathering at beautiful Highlands Memorial Park to celebrate a life well-lived. 


And I will miss him, too.  I ran hard yesterday, and although he was not a runner he was with me every step of my run.  And now he has crossed the final finish line.

Rest in peace, Alan Lewis.