Llama Poop!

Yes, this is going to be a different style of post than what I have written before.  Trust me.  The title has special meaning to my daughter, Rebecca, and I.  So please forgive that this is a throw-back to June of 2012.

As you have figured out by now, I like to hike.  I like it when my wife and daughter go along.  Unfortunately, while I know my limits, I sometimes forget theirs.  This was the case on our family hike up Mt LeConte in Great Smoky Mountain National Park.  Even with planning, and training, the ups and downs of a mountain hike can be a greater challenge to one's stamina than expected.

We started our hike up the mountain like every other hike up Mt. LeConte.  Everybody has to have their picture taken at the trailhead sign.

Didn't we look happy. We had our reservation at Mt LeConte Lodge for the night, we had done extra hiking to build our endurance, and all we had to do was make our way up to the top.  This is where our adventure began.

I had done the trip the year before with my brother.  It was an adventure as well, but that is a story for another time. Let's just say that my wife's adventure up the hill was a bit more than she expected.  That adventure up the mountain was capped off with her being hit in the head by hail.  It hurts when you get hit by hail, even when it is small.  I honestly wondered if she was going to sit down and quit right there, but she was a trooper.  After few minutes to gather ourselves, we got back moving. We finally reached the top, trudging through the rain.  Just so folks would believe the hail part of the story, the video taken at the lodge shows that it started hailing again.  Fortunately we were under a porch roof. 

So, we made it to the top.  To my wife, while there was a sense of accomplishment, there was as much the dread of having to go back down the next day.  She did not like the Alum Bluff Trail.  I was observant enough to recognize that she did not want to go back down that way because of fear of some of the narrow areas below Clifftops.  So while we enjoyed our time at Mt. LeConte Lodge, we started planning to take another route down the mountain. We discussed it with the others in our group, and it is decided that the next day, my wife, daughter and I would go down the Trillium Gap trail.  It is longer, but is not as difficult as far as ledges and such.  

So the following morning, we wake up.  We eat breakfast.  We take our photos before heading down the mountain.  We say fair well to the rest of our group that is going back down the way we came up, and arrange for them to bring our car to the trailhead where we will arrive at later in the day.  So down the trail we go.  There are five trails up and down Mt. LeConte.  The trail we chose to go down is one that is used to resupply the Lodge with perishables, clean sheets and the like.  Most things such as food, propane, etc. are airlifted in during the late winter. The Lodge uses llama as beasts of burden to haul stuff up and down the mountain.  The llamas are surefooted, and can carry a reasonable load.  They also do less damage to the trail than did the horses once used for the same task.  However, they do leave behind an obvious mark.  LOTS OF LLAMA POOP!

Well, as we went down Trillium Gap Trail, without a paper map; this was MY FAULT; we used the bandana map that my wife had purchased at the Lodge.  To entertain my daughter, I started pointing out LLAMA POOP!  It became a game.  As the trail seemed to get longer, as verified that we were going the right direction by flowing the LLAMA POOP! toward the trail head where our car would be.  Of course as we go down the trail we are looking here and there.  At one point, we here a noise ahead.  Suddenly, there appears this swarthy, bearded man followed by a caravan of llama. 

He told us to get on the up-hill side of the trail as the llamas aren't very willing to share the trail, and if your going to be knocked about by them, it is best not to be knocked down the mountainside. 

Well to make a long story a little shorter, we did get off the mountain safely.  My wife will still hike with me, but only on shorter hikes.  And as it turns out, LLAMA POOP has a special meaning for my daughter and me.  For most folks, if just sounds gross, but for us it is a shared memory of overcoming a physical, mental and emotional challenge.  So, when things work out for you, even when things did not quite work out as planned, you too can say LLAMA POOP.  It works for me.

Living in the Desert of Middle Tennessee.

All too frequently, on hikes in the outdoors of Middle Tennessee, we expect to see a mix of hardwoods and softwoods.  We expect to see wildflowers, or at least in winter, the dried brown remains of their former glory.  But within our generally well watered terrain, we occasionally come across those areas that are virtual deserts, where the soil is shallow, and the drainage is such that little water remains after even the most torrential rain.  When the sunshine of summer blazes over head, what little soil exists turns to dust.  In these desert like areas, little grows, but there is one local plant that makes a point of growing under these adverse conditions.  This plant, is the prickly pear cactus.  It grows where other plants cannot.  It stores up water within itself in preparation for the tough times ahead.  And because it is stores up for the future, God created it with thorns to protect itself from other who would appreciate it tender and delicious flesh.

As you see above, in winter the prickly pear cactus seems to hunker down, hugging the ground, while trying to capture the sun's rays for photosynthesis and warmth. This survival posture is its faith that better times are coming.  It is preparing itself to flower and bear fruit in due season.

When then the rains come, and the sun's course shifts northward, blessing the earth with energy, the time of waiting is over.  It is time to grow.  It is time to bear fruit.  It is time to make the world a more beautiful place.  But even in this extravagance, as it grows new leaves, it grows new thorns as protection from those animals who would devour it.  And as the flower fades, the fruit set, ripened, and cast off, it prepares again for the heat of summer, and the coming cold of winter.

At times in our lives we have plenty.  In other times, we are in want.  In some times we flourish.  In other times we must prepare for the tough times ahead.  We must be prepared against times of scarcity and those who would take what we have. I guess, like the prickly pear cactus, we have our thorns too. And those who would seek to get close to us must get to know us and recognize the risk. Often times, we go unnoticed as the world around us seems to try to put us down and starve us of that which nourishes our soul.  But when we are at our best, we brighten our world.

The Vibrant Greens of the Winter Woods

If one asks most city folks to describe the appearance of "the woods" of Middle Tennessee during winter, you will get answer something like, "It all brown except for the cedar trees.  They are the only thing green this time of year."  While from a distance this may appear to be true, if you look a little closer, you will find that a lowly division of plants, Bryophyta,  that hold there own, using the sun's energy to carry on photosynthesis through our winter months.  As I walked here and there on my last outing,

In spite of the winter's chill, these plants seem to thrive as the light of the winter sun, unimpeded by the now absent leave of the deciduous trees.  With light for photosynthesis, and warmth, these plants almost glow against the muted browns and grays of the winter woods.  

I  refer to the mosses that cling to the bark of standing and falling trees.  

The plants each fill a niche in the environment.  Each plant has a beauty of its own.  Our lives are like the deciduous forest.  At times are lives are as the woods in spring.  Our lives are vibrant and joyous with abundant life.  Sometimes, our lives are gray of our winter of our discontent. In those times we must look deeply for that of our nature that, in spite of the cold and bitter that presents itself in our lives, still glows with the beauty of life and vigor.

Up From the Ground - A Bubbling Pool

Well, upon further investigation, the wet weather stream, more accurately named an ephemeral stream, is not what it appeared to be.  My brother and I further explored the channel through the woods of Longhunter State Park on Monday.  We discovered it to be more than merely a drainage ditch.  The stream begins at a pair of springs. Depending on the height of the water table is either simply bubble up in a shallow pool

, or, at times of greater flow, seems to surge out of the rocks.

This little stream was not as it seemed.  Had I not turned aside at the little stream flowing across the paved trail.  Had I not gone back for a second look, I would not know the truth about this stream.  

How often, we look, but fail to see.  How often we jump to conclusions based on very limited information.  I did this with the little wet weather stream.  I have done the same with people.  To truly understand someone we must consider not only what we see here and now, but we must take the time to see from whence they have come.  You may be surprised what you find if you simply look up steam.  You can learn where they came from.  You can learn about what has shaped them.  And in learning these things, you will have taken the time to see, and, maybe yourself to be seen, the complexity that is the human spirit, shaped by life's origin and the things along the path that have brought us to this very place.

Trippin' on Rocks

I have been trippin' on rocks for years.  Each trip is an experience of sudden terror, a realization of things in the world that should be noticed, and, if it is a good trip I come down no worse for wear. Of course, I have had my bad trips as well.  These are trips where the sudden terror is actualized by physical pain of coming down badly.  Fortunately, I have not had a really bad trip.  Each year, there are those who die from those kind of bad trips.

That is not the kind of trippin' on rocks that I'm writing about today. Consider the rock above.   For Middle Tennessee it is just pretty typical.  It's limestone.  It's been eroded by by water.  Because it is in the woods and near a stream, it is in a shaded, moist area making it a prime location for the growth of moss.  I just love moss on rocks.  While rock themselves have color and texture, moss give rocks life, and enrich their character.  Unfortunately, all too often I miss seeing things on my hikes because I am trying to get from here to there.  I have "X" number of miles to do and only so much time.  I am so concerned  about falling that I stare so intently at the trail, and I don't really see of what the trail is really made.  Often times, the only time I really see is when my concentration is broken by trippin' on rocks. Then in that instant, whether a good trip or bad trip, I am suddenly a made aware of the beauty that can be found, and then I go, trippin' on rocks.

Regarding A Wet Weather Stream

What do you call a small body of flowing water within a channel whose channel is only filled with water when it rains?  My brother calls it a drainage ditch.  In the woods, one would call it a wet weather stream.  As my wife and I hike around Couchville Lake at Long Hunter State Park on Saturday, I noticed this wet weather stream that had sufficient volume to actually flow over the paved trail.



Upon seeing the first rivulet, and hearing the sound of turbulent water from further upstream, I was immediately drawn to trace its path up stream.  Every little bend intrigued me.  Every little cascade brought joy to my heart.

Our lives are like that little wet weather stream.  In good times, we are full, and the joy of our fullness can be seen and heard by those who would simply stop, look and listen.  In bad times, our vitality is gone, and, often, we go completely unnoticed.  Like that wet weather stream, we are the product of that which influences us.  Our path is turned by impediments as is the path of the little wet weather stream. Sometimes we fall with great commotion, only to rise to continue on in silence.  And while we may not look like much most of the time, when at our best, we have the power to change our little portion of the world.