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?
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?
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