Just Before the Snow. . .

I spend one morning out of thousands before me in Southern Utah, at the onset of winter. I found myself at one of the higher spots in Kolob Canyons. Rain had cleansed all views to clarity that of crystal, much like the sandstone that rose up in terrible might from the Escalante floor. A bitter front tore its way through Central Utah and was making its way here by now. To this vista -- where I sat exposed and waiting in meditative stance -- it sailed along Escalante, bending around Shuntavi Butte, rising up from the La Verkin ravines below and slammed into me. I sat, jacket removed, in the 40f morning. From where the wind came was gently sloping, lush-green hills below, which gave way to stolid redness, the canyons jutting impenetrably. I opened my tearing eyes to all of this, bright and sunflooded, while the torrent of air nearly froze my watery eyes and stole all sunwarmth. Though calm pervaded my being, the cutting ice on bare skin, winds so fierce on this frame, I was overcome and sought shelter after only minutes. Despite my stoic disregard for the cold, and attempting the inner-fire meditation which came easy in my relaxed state, I crumbled. The rock lying not far off endured it well, as it had for millenia.
The wind vanished, bringing artic winter back to S. Utah autumn after no more than a 2-minute walk back towards the canyons. Yellow dwarfed trees glowed content with the gathered light of the year, now waning. Redrock buttes, along with deep-green Junipers and Pines both scattered close up and lying like a thick carpet on the floor gave the most eternal feeling. A perpetual photo daunted time here, the racing, relentless madness of humanity set as a backdrop not even 3 miles away along Interstate-15. Travelers come here to appreciate the motionless-ness of this place, at least from a human time-scale. Many arrive, seeking, hoping, while slowly walking its sheltered crimson alcoves and azure skies, to take away a small portion of her timelessness, her wisdom. . . Back into our world of people and duties, where time is both friend and foe.

Temperance

You are as a tiny flower in desert autumn
Late blooms in the warm coolness, beautiful and so perfect,
Formed by God -- petal and pistil
Yet. . . I cannot quite pluck it up and keep as my own
It gives inspiration, a tie to God, and I return it the gift
Of breath, gratitude.

Wasatch Valley, Utah

My New Life

Before I commence this short declaration, I should turn to a statement I made almost 2 years ago:

There are times where we each must put away from ourselves that which seems a complete part of us. For this man, it was the life of a cowboy; and I, my traveling. And soon, I shall take to the road once more as an over-the-road trucker, which will be no less in-my-bones when the time comes to sever it.

That time is now. A cold breeze stirs off Lake Michigan. It causes my heart to bloom, filled with memories of Wisconsin leas and rock-outcroppings, and Michigan fruit arbors. A scent like sweet cherries drifts along the same wind that makes the leaves dance upon leaning trees. It is the sweetest July day I could dream of, all this in Gary, Indiana. I pause at the crest of a road, a small rise to the right covered in gentle grass green and tan, and the sun pouring through an opening to the left. I lean the bike beside the fence and stand upon it to see over. A dump to the left gives way to a wondrous pond bordered by marsh grasses, glittering in the late sun. What a tender day. You may wonder what of this land deemed the "rust belt" could hold my heart so, but I say to that, "We see the world not as it is, [We see the world] as we are." Mulberries are present and wild grapes are just beginning to form, reminding me of the sweet summer food that I will get to feel back in the Carolinas soon. I imagine being approached by a commissioner of culture police and asked, "I was called out here b/c of reports of attempted trespassing. What are you doing looking over that fence?". I imagine to reply, "Can't you see why? I don't believe its wrong to be connected to this earth and with all the beauty it has to tell. The vista from this fence is peaceful and worth a few hours of contemplation over. I don't need to go to a State Park to appreciate that. Its all around you. Look. See." I cannot imagine this would win much of a man of uniform, albeit he is just as human and able to feel as I, but that's another tale. I love this land of Lake Michigan marshland. This is the place where the Lord carved for me a new life. Feelings of safe-ness and gratitude abound in this heart. That, and God's creations and the beauty they share are very hard to erase entirely. Given as little as five years alone to its own ways, its vigor and virility triumphs. I'm quite ready to face it bravely.

So What Did You See?

Many miles passed under my bicycle in my travels -- approximately five hundred -- and marvelous were the things and faces I beheld! I wanted to list just a few:
1. A gravestone that contained the following word in Bold Capitals: FREE
2. Seeing crimson clover dead on the roadside one day and seeing it in full bloom the next. I was getting so much distance I was traversing climate zones!
3. Alpaca ranch in the middle of nowhere (remarkable how few people and houses there were).
4. One of the most desolate (and beautiful) places in South Carolina: Sumter National Forest in Tuckertown, under a big tall bridge. 10 cars passed in 6 hours
5a. Met a man in the parking lot of a miles-large strawberry farm in upstate SC. He was just finishing a bicycle ride with friends. We had met before, and he gave me a back bicycle light (mine wasn't working).
5b. 1 Pint of incredible red strawberries: sweetest I've ever had in my life.
6. Met the Twelve Tribes Community: A religious commune that had me feeling like I was living in the 19th Century! Helped slaughter 30 chickens my first day!
7. Bicycled nintey-five miles of the Blue Ridge Parkway in 3 days.
8. Went to a restaurant, near the end of my trip on the Parkway, and I could sit down for no more than thirty seconds and a big hug was given me of a middle-aged waitress named Connie (Another waiter said she hugged everyone. She was the most wonderful waitress I had ever met!). Money was tight, but I knew everything would be okay, and sure enough, she wouldn't let me pay for my meal!
9. Had a great meditation session led by a gentil man in Cullowhee, NC out of an Episcopal church!
10. Met this man a week later on the Blue Ridge Parkway my last morning. I got to read him my feelings on Richland Balsam (highest point on the Parkway, over 6000 feet!)
11. Getting a legitimate chill in the middle of June (it was cold up there at sunset). First time for everything, I suppose!
12. NC Arboretum. I took notes and pictures and thought on all the plants I saw that I'd love to include in my future permaculture garden, to help heal the Earth!
13. Hanging a hammock in a temperate rainforest for a night's slumber: Once on a mountaintop during a majestic thunderstorm, and for two weeks in Franklin.
14. Seeing a 360-degree panorama: Once from Mt. Albert (above the Coweeta Hydro Lab), and once from Devil's Courthouse (a few miles south of Asheville on the Parkway)
15. Coweeta Hydrologic Lab. So much knowledge and natural history, and they gave so much of it away as a gift.
16. Graveyard Fields: I visited once in 2008, and it was a desolate, soggy land with few denuded trees. Though it held an otherworldly kind of beauty. When I saw it this time, it was blooming full in Pink Azaleas and small trees. I was watching the land heal itself before my very eyes!
17. Cherokee
a. The bluegrass festival was marvellous, and although I think it being held in an RV park was illustrative of a lot of whats wrong with America, everyone was so kind and the manager let me hang my hammock in an open spot
b. The people, both native and "white-man" were VERY good to me. One man put me up in one of his hotels for the night, as well as had me over for family gathering, and watermelon afterwards (!)
c. I realized that the arts and crafts that were sold (also in the Folk Art Center in Asheville) helped the native people stay in the countryside, preserve their culture, and keep them out of the city (thus hindering globalisation). A great deal can be learned from the Cherokee people
18. The Scottish Tartan Museum: Learned about dye-making and the Scottish people -- who, incidentally, got along quite well with the natives initially, and many did not want to remove them to Oklahoma. I identified where John Muir was from on their map of Scotland. Again, a great deal of admiration for their culture, recognizing that its a big part of why I like the hills of Appalachia so.
19. Met a doctor from Nigeria, at the Greyhound in Indianapolis. She really appreciated my anecdote from a Dr. Who movie that illustrated the amazing gift that is given to the physician: to cheat death, to give/extend new life.
20. While in Pink Beds (North of Brevard on the 276), I ended up sharing a hike with a  mom with three kids, an ex-army, single mom who had such a great attitude and stoic fortitude. Her kids were so great and smiling, and they loved my company. She was an un-attached servant, willing to drive me back up to the Parkway. I think seeing her kids run around the picnic area with a bunch of other kids after the hike really gladdened my heart in a special way.
21. Ascending a stretch of the Blue Ridge Parkway one last time whilst listening to Come Monday, the evening before getting on the bus. It floated with the same dreaminess that the landscape did, billowing clouds emanating from the freshly-rained-upon hills below. It rained rained partway through the ride, with the sun shining just above the ridge. Glittering rain, hot sweat, cool refreshment and steaming, smelly roads, shining in the sun.
22. The rust belt: Chicago, Gary, and its environs (or lack thereof). It stood in stark contrast to the hills from whence I came. I am truly blessed to have come from the Carolinas. "A long time ago, I left my home, for a job in the fruit-trees. I missed those hills with the windy pine. Their song seemed to suit me" - Gillian Welch

God's Mile-High Garden

As my time in Franklin came to a close, I ventured to conquer the first 100 miles of the Blue Ridge Parkway. The field just north of the beginning of the Parkway and just south of the tight valley ascending to Newfound gap filled me with quiet memories of the winter of 2013, where I learned that I was capable of ascending an entire mountain-range. Wow, the day I proved to myself that I could scramble over 3,000 feet with nothing but two legs, a bicycle, and sheer grit changed how I viewed life. So it was then, so it would be in the days that followed. The climb was merciless and began immediately. Three hours passed with no reprieve other than "lookout spots" which themselves were not flat. I came to a field with the reddest rhododendron flowers to greet me, and I knew it would be my stopping point for the day. The harbinger wind was coming and within 10 minutes I was just finishing hanging my hammock and getting the tarp prepared. The next 30 was spent holding it up with my belongings between my legs so they'd all stay dry. I was stuck! I needed more rope from my bicycle pack, but I couldn't move at all, not even my arms, lest the run-off from the tarp would quickly soak my belongings. At first I was frustrated, but the beauty and sheer lovepower of the water drowned it out, and I began to imagine the wonderful jungle rains of old Disney movies, capturing the majesty of God's creations in animation film. The thunder shook, the rain blew, the cool water moved along the tarp, over my hands and into the earth, healing it. A lull in the rain eventually came, and I finished getting my tarp taut and close to the hammock, and nestled in with a dinner of granola and peanut butter for a surprisingly dry night! The morning was sunny, hot, and humid, but in my wooded paradise, the hammock rocking lightly in the new wind, I marveled at the beauty of the plants and grasses (some reaching the height of the hammock!), their smiling faces fresh with morning dew!
Later that day I did come to the apogee of my ascension, the highest point in the Parkway. I was so glad because I knew that after making the equivalent of two Newfound gap ascensions in forty miles, it would finally be almost all downhill until Asheville. I felt wild and serene, mirroring the petite blue blooms not a few inches off the ground and short grasses careening in the gentlest silent wind. Somehow, after I saw that and detected the austere silence that I have only felt in my soul at these climes, I knew I was close. All this plus the stark white stems and nearly black leaves of the conifers on the hill to the left gave the place a holy feel. The up-close slope held, in addition to these, brown lichens and interspersed rhododendron azaleas, in full splendor. The silence that pervaded all of this like an unimposing dream commanded the feeling that this stately garden at 6,000 feet was in the courtyard -- nay, even in the very interior -- of a temple.
I marveled at the cold, even in June. I set up my hammock, not but a few miles downhill, in the warm cloudlight of last day, and jumped back on the road. This was the day in my life that seemed not to end. So much memory wrapped up in a sweet nine hours of frolic and joyful labor. After all, the mountains tell most all their secrets within this last half hour of light, Nature's final song and twilight prayer. A tropical feel hummed in the bosom of a pinkish ambience. Rock outcroppings to the immediate left stood bare and glistening, above which stood and adorning arrangement of pink and fuchsia azalea flowers. Trees emerged in jungle-like growth from this shrubbery, twisting upwards in modest height and form, as if trimmed by a master hand. The colors were so lovely, reflected softly in my eyes through the pink cloudlight, and even the striking rocks shone in shades of purple, red, grey, and tan, enlivening the scene, creating a bold and noble frame to this garden portrait. How I treasured this gift, and thanked the Creator of my being for this mighty land!! How could one ever return even a small portion for all that He has given to us in Nature?! Could we perhaps make best thanks in not stealing it, taking it as our own, or corrupting it? 

I Need no Timepiece

I am restless as of now. The sky lends the gentlest hues and the hills glow in the way only the NC highlands can after a fresh rain. Healing rain. Jesus rain: Ye shall thirst no more.

When the storm clouds began to abate, I dismounted and sauntered down through the calming woods. The storm-tones died away, and, turning toward the east, I beheld the countless hosts of forests hushed and tranquil, towering above one another on the slopes of the hills like a devout audience. The setting sun filled them with amber light, and seemed to say, while they listened, "My peace I give unto you." - John Muir

I am doomed to share it all. Yet, at the same time, I cannot. One must obtain these blessings for oneself. Some things can only come as like father to son. It has to be felt with the open heart. I felt much like Everett Reuss in his torture of being unable to share the beauties of this world and how it affects me so. I also felt like him in this regard:

 I have been feeling so happy and filled to overflowing with the beauty of life, that I felt I must write to you. It is all a golden dream, with mysterious, high, rushing winds leaning down to caress me, and perfect colors flowing before my eyes. Time and the need of time have ceased entirely. A gentle, dreamy haze fills my soul, the rustling of the aspens lulls my senses, and the surpassing beauty and perfection of everything fills me with quiet joy and a deep pervading love for my world. 

In all this and before this, I have felt my world change. My bicycle rides up and down Shope Rd the past few weeks had me marveling at the gentleness and soft kindness of this land. Recently I began feeling the vast life-energy pouring into me, like a golden liquid flowing about me, as I listened to the birds in my meditation session, being aware of their life-force and feeling short swellings of joy upon each chirping-song. Yesterday an ant crawling in my hair was received, in my well-rested state, by a welcoming "hello, little friend," feeling him with a certain kindness and not agitation, as if my acknowledgement of divinity, and appreciation, and respect is expanding to all lifeforms, for certainly our Master reveres and enjoys all of His creations.

Yesterday, and today, I have nowhere to go. No stress upon where I shall lay my head come day-fall. Life has been a seamless sway between rambunctious get-up-and-go joy and cool, contemplative contentment, deep and gently roaring as the mountain stream. I had a moment of quiet pondering and reading at a churchyard, waiting for the rain. I placed a mixture of oats in my canister of water and happily ate as I sat by the creek, so happy, so grateful for my lot. So happy with so little (grains for meal and the woods for a bed) you might say? Rather, how to feel sad with so much?! I just relaxed then as the rain came down, back under shelter, and drifted off to sleep. I awoke to the sun, and returned to the stream, now glittering, reflecting the state of my soul. I thanked God for all that was mine. That evening, as the sun sank lower behind the hills, the after-rain fog grew more lush and beautiful in the dusky distance, and thousands of fireflies delicately lit up the meadow. These moisture-loving creatures created the same lovely effect as my nights in a canyon in central Utah: the cool, icy moonlight sent down upon the snow-covered crests; a twinkling, effervescent kind of light dancing in my eyes

I have found that this year, so far, has brought me to my knees in tears. . . expressing utmost gratitude, those tears being ones of joy! More than ever before, I seem to be living in the eternal now. I hope for the future, I glory in the past, but everything I have right now is exactly what I need, and what more is there than that?? My deepest thanks to all who have in recent times helped me to live in the present with their love and nature-like quiet kindness. I close with the words a favorite vagabond of mine:

Here, I seem to be in my element. . .More than ever before, I have succeeded in stopping the clock. I need no timepiece, knowing that now is the time to live. ~Everett Reuss~ 

One Year - Return Home

February is wondrous month for me. So many changes. I feel so different than I did a year ago, I arrived back in South Carolina in the warm sunshine, and soon thereafter entered a painful phase of finding my life apart from the constant traveling. The evening of this anniversary of my return brings a sudden change in weather, from cold still air to a warmer, even balmy breeze. I can't help but think of the Memphis wind flying along the Mississippi River on my Friday AM dark-hour walkabout through its empty streets, a vagabond who was completed by his wanderings, just for that night. It seems a congratulatory wind, a reward for returning not just once, but twice. Charleston is where I belong. My feet belong in the warm lowcountry soil, at least until fate uproots me and sends me away. All is comfy and generous-feeling. I still find daily joy in interactions with strangers, and am still developing the ability to find adventurous joy in all of my doings. I am largely happy with what I have, although it is little. I spent this morning in my sleeping bag dreaming of women and what is right and how comfortable my life is. I think of all the faces that made my journey, then and now, what it should've been and will be. Those kind, generous, trusting human beings that elevated and continue to build my soul, as I know I have built theirs. And to all those who fear the haunting impelling voice within them to venture as did I, think on this: Those who don't love you, or cannot accept you, can never change you. Even yourself, who you are. Only those who believe in you can change you, for the better. The divine wind will take you where it knows you must.

So blow big wind
Like a storm o'er the sea
So blow, big wind, You can't shake me