The Simple life of Childhood books

 

I’ve been thinking about children’s books and how they shape our dreams. I’m watching a youtuber read and talk about his first time through the Lord of the Rings. Listening to him made me remember my first time reading it, and how hard it was for me to wait for free time. I was in high school and all sorts of things got in the way of my reading, like classes and homework, tennis practice and sleeping. I would read in the car on the way to and from scho
ol, and way too late at night. But my first books, real books that I read were things like “My Side of the Mountain,” the Little House books, Nancy Drew books,  “Dove,” “Banner in the Sky”, and “Witch of Blackbird Pond.”  Most of these books had nature as a main theme, either the wide open prairies filled with various birds and wild creatures, or mountains to summit, or mountains to survive on. “My Side of the Mountain” is written in such a way I believed I could hollow out a giant tree and live inside if I needed to. Snuggled inside the tree home while the heavy snow fell outside, eating my acorn bread pancakes and tending to my wild hawk, these became my dreams as well. In the Little House Books Laura spends lots of time writing about the wide prairie, the empty woods, the sky filled with stars. I always wanted to live like her, out alone with my family, in the wilderness in the cozy home built by Pa, listening to the wolves howl and slapping bears during snowstorms. Children’s books tend to romanticize the life, and I’m certain if I had to live like Laura it would be best to do it as a child, and not as the hard working parent trying to provide a stable life. My husband told me I was born in the wrong time, and I think he is right. I am thankful for antibiotics, safer childbirth and vaccines, but I sure miss a dark night sky. I miss working in the garden with no sounds except the noisy sounds of nature, and the simple life, slow enough to walk to town or to school instead of driving everywhere.  I enjoy simple things, good food, good fellowship with friends or family, cool breezes and warm sunshine. My favorite foods are home grown, and my favorite hobby is walking. Sometimes I have to remind myself I can live a slower life, I do have a garden and I walk almost every day. My starry night sky is poor, but I have a car and I can drive to wilder places. When my parents lived in Montana I loved to sit out on their back porch and just stare at stars. I can’t even imagine what it would be like to have such a star filled sky every night.  

I have walked 19.2 miles for a total of 300.82.  On the AT some of the earlier hikers of each season use rocks to write out the miles in increments of 100.  If I were really on the trail I would have seen the 300 written out in stones. I would be back in NC, because the trail follows the mountains, and the mountains skirt along the TN and NC border. The closest shelter is called Jerry Cabin Shelter. I found a video of a hiker staying there, and for him it was day 35 of hiking from Springer Mountain. Trail hikers usually cover 15 or more miles a day.  I am averaging 2.3 or so. These last couple of evening walks I dreamed about Laura Ingalls and her life. I started rereading her books yesterday.  At least I can enjoy her life vicariously, which is why we enjoy reading. I may reread all of my childhood favorites, just inviting some little joy into my life. Reading, walking, garden, it is a good life.

Good Garden, Good Heat by Shelley Hopkins

Good Garden, Good Heat!

 This has been one hot summer, and the heat has limited my walking. I play tennis early, or work in the garden early, avoiding the heat, and then as the day warms, moving into upper 90’s or even 100, my desire to walk disappears. That is ok, my garden is booming and the evenings are enjoyable. I am so thankful for air conditioning. After I pick my purple hull peas and tomatoes, I come inside and take a deep breath. The cool air is refreshing. After mowing I come inside to cool down, the cool air of the house is life giving. I grew up without air conditioning, so I know of what I speak. Summer is hot, long and hard when there is no escape from the heat. It is easier to work outside when I know I can step inside for an hour or two and cool off. When I was a kid we spent many days in the library. We all loved to read, and the air was comfortable.  There is one thing I miss from my hot summer childhood. When the nights were hot I would move my bed closer to the open window, and set my pillow on the sill. I would lay my head on the pillow, my face next to the screen to catch every tiny cool breeze, and before falling asleep I watched the lightning bugs, the bats, the stars and the shadows. My familiar neighborhood had a different look at night, and I enjoyed staring out. I have never fallen asleep quickly, it usually takes over an hour, and when trying to sleep on a long hot August night it would take even longer, but I enjoyed myself. I watched late night neighbors return home, cars drive past, cats out looking for fun or trouble. I daydreamed of climbing through the window and exploring, walking the silent streets. I would listen to the cicadas and the tree frogs, and strain to hear the branches of trees moving with the longed for breezes. I miss all that. Now I lay in bed in a dark room, with only the sounds of the air conditioner blowing, and I wait to fall asleep. Sometimes before bed I sit outside, braving the mosquitos, to enjoy the night sounds. I am reading a book right now, and the author talks about moving her bedroom to the sleeping porch in the summer. Man, I want a sleeping porch. Some of the best parts of camping out are being able to listen to and watch the night pass. 

                                      my walking buddy taking a break

The other evening I walked, just as the sun was setting. Dog and I passed lots of dark patches under trees filled with fireflies. Nothing screams summer better than the screams of cicadas and tree frogs. The oppressive heat of the day is gone, and the air is soft, warm and comfortable. I remember when we were so hot all day, than the evening almost felt chilly just in comparison.  After writing this, tonight, I am going to have to sit outside and watch night arrive, enjoy the fireflies and welcome the symphony of the night creatures.

                            thank you pollinator, I am enjoying these beans 

I have measured 281.8 miles. Still in NC, but my nest stop will be Tennessee. The hiker I had been following on the AT ended up stopping. She and one daughter were hiking and trying to raise money for the people affected by Hurricane Helene, and once they reached an extremely high level of donations they sat down and talked. They both missed the rest of their family, the husband and three other siblings and cat, so they returned home. My dad is watching a family of 6 and they are almost finished, now walking the long section of Maine. I am still in NC, but that is ok. I hope to walk more as the temperature cools. At any rate, the walking I am doing is fun, good for me and dog, and uplifting in my moods. I wrote a couple of paragraphs that I deleted, and those sections were about depression. Walking is the best mood enhancer I know. For me it is life saving, and lucky for me I enjoy it completely.  I may do all the rest of the summer walks in the night, chasing lightning bugs and bats, but I will get out and walk. 

Nature is Joy! Nature is healing!

 

View from Max Patch

With very little walking this month I am just over 260 miles, which puts me between Lemon Gap, and Max Patch, and that brings up a good memory. Like many good memories, the good followed sadness, and the good helped to heal from sorrow. The fall after my mom died, my youngest two and I went backpacking, starting at Lemon Gap. I had not worn a backpack or spent the night on a trail since college, probably since I was 19 or 20 years old. As much as nature is my greatest joy and love, my religion and my healing, I took a nearly 34 year hiatus. Why? I wish I could say. I ached for nature, for long term time in the woods, for more than a glance at mountains through car windows. We did camp, mostly in commercial campgrounds, and I managed to have many days on trails over the years, but not one overnight hike for 34 years, until 2018. My dad gave me my mom’s backpack, and shared packs and tents with the kids. For this blog I am going to quote my diary, with only a few changes and additions. 

sign marker on AT

Oct 16, 2018

I’m so very glad my kids and I went backpacking. It was a wonderful and perfect weekend. I drove to Anna and Dathan’s house after work and arrived very late. Anna and Gray were gone, they  were in NC.  They visited with dad then drove close to the mountains to camp. The next day we met at the trailhead,( Lemon Gap). That was our first mistake, but it turned out fine. I drove, following directions and came to a dirt road. I was out of cell service. I drove 10 miles up the dirt road, winding and lonesome. I arrived first, and there was no way to reach the kids. They took the same road from a different direction, and their (section) of road was narrow, winding and crumbling in places. They were 20 minutes late, and they and I worried deeply until we were together. 

We hiked along the Lemon Gap trail in a deep mist. It was airy and beautiful. We meandered over streams and bridges. Abe (the dog) led the way on his leash. Anna had to take him far off the trail when we met people, but other than that he was a good hiking dog. We ate lunch at a shelter and then hiked on to the bald. (First) we set up camp among the trees. Poor Abe fell over in exhaustion and slept. Later we walked to the bald, a big beautiful bald mountain top covered in people. I would guess over 100 - 150, with 60 tents set up everywhere.  (As it turns out Max Patch can be reached by the crumbly dirt road and many people drive right up to the side of the mountain and walk up for the day).  One guy flew a drone. Kids tossed balls, people yelled, drank, and cooked food. It was overwhelming. We still enjoyed it, the views were amazing. We cooked our supper there and watched the sunset. 

Once dark the stars came out, millions of them. We could see the Milky Way. Walking back I felt like we were walking in the stars. As the ground sloped away it seemed like the stars fell under us and all around us. It was freezing, and we walked and shivered, one hand on the back of the next person so we could stay together without flashlights.  Back at the campsite we tried hard to light a fire, but only two days before a hurricane had passed over and everything was too damp. It was so cold, so we just went to bed. Dad’s sleeping bags were nice and warm, but the poor dog shook all night. I’d wake up, wrap a blanket on him and go back to sleep. 

In the morning after packing up we walked back to the bald and most people were gone.(It had been fall break for the Universities) We hiked around and ate lunch up there. The hike out was long, good, but then longer. I was very glad to make it back to the car. We all felt like conquerors. We did it and we loved it.

On a later diary entry I wrote the following:

Something changed in me after the backpacking trip. It’s like a switch was flipped and my mood was instantly improved. I can tell my attitude is more positive. 

I don’t really know how to end this blog. I want to explain the importance of doing the things we enjoy. I have heard women say, “My husband needs to live in the country,” or “my husband would never be happy in a neighborhood,” but no one says, “My wife needs to hike, my wife needs to live in the countryside.”   Is it always the women that give in to the men, or is it just the women that voice those feelings for their men?  How can I explain the importance of nature, of being in nature to people that don’t understand? How can I make others want to protect nature, to remember the value of unspoiled land when they don’t understand? When a beautiful cathedral is damaged, people understand the desire to rebuild, to protect. When a natural place is destroyed, do they see the same thing? Not only is a holy spot gone, but the wildlife that live in the area are affected. Its like the cathedral hosted the congregation, and once the cathedral is gone, the congregation is less protected and has to go elsewhere. Nature is church, nature is holy, nature is needed. On this one trip to Max Patch I was healed from not only a great loss, but from years of doing without, years of yearning for something.  We need to make sure the wild places are protected, and we need to encourage people to seek out and enjoy the beauty if it is in their personality to need it. But, we also need to limit the numbers at times. Good trail ethics and hygiene need to be taught. So, get out there and hike! And clean up after yourself. Enjoy!!

Rain, worms, bears, oh my!

                                                       

View from Mt. LeConte 

The walking I’ve done these last weeks has been either in rain, just before rain or just after rain. My garden is still under water. I ate one red tomato, but I can’t get to anything else easily. The grass and the corn are fighting to see who is the tallest. Hopefully this mornings heavy rain was the last for a bit. My yard is squishy, and earthworms are fleeing in mass. I played tennis with a few friends in the indoor courts, and a wave of earthworms slithered towards the courts. We picked them up and moved them back, and by the end of a game, they were slithering towards the serve line again. It felt like a low-key slow horror movie, Attack of the Worm. At one point, chasing a ball, I felt a squish underfoot, but I said nothing to my animal loving teammate.

                                        walking in NC by flooded river

One of the walks I enjoyed was in NC, while we were gathered for a family reunion. I love visiting with family, cooking and catching up, listening to others visit, all the chaos and warmth of family. But, the day after, I always need a quiet time, a recalibration of sorts, so dog and I drove over to a local park and walked. We started on a wooded path bordered by a large river. The river was high, brown, full of rapids, and very noisy. Once out of the wooded section we walked along the busy road, and turned into a swamp area with cypress trees, with their wide trunks and knees sticking out of the settled water. We walked to another park in town and turned back. Dog was extremely interested in every squirrel we passed, but as we finished the last mile she stopped trying to chase them. She drank water at every opportunity. Back at the truck, sweat dripping down my face, I gave her more water to drink. She was breathing harder than normal, and felt hot, so we cut the second part of the walk and drove home.  

                                        Walking by swamp in NC

Another walk I did during this time was short, but hopefully impactful. I created 6 postcards, addressed them to various senators and to the White House, wrote short notes about the importance of due process and saving National Parks, clean air and water. I walked from my house across the city park and to the post office, mailed my complaints, and walked back. I felt like a cranky old lady in a British mystery. I am happy to live in a country where I am allowed to express my opinions, to walk safely to the post office to mail my opinions and to not be afraid of the consequences of such. I hope it stays that way.

On the AT I would be on mile marker 259, just past Roaring Fork Shelter in NC. Soon I’ll be in Tennessee, if the rain holds off, anyway. Last week I wrote about some hiking memories in the area I was walking in, and this week I want to share a bear story. It took place on Mt. LeConte, just off the AT but near Ice Water Springs and Clingman’s Dome.  I was on a backpacking trip with my mom and dad, and we were staying in the Mt. Leconte  lean-to. We had just arrived, and set up our sleeping bags. The lean-to is a three sided shelter with benches for sleeping on, and usually a fireplace. When I was in high school the fourth wall of the shelter was simply a chain link wall, and we had to enter through a door, like the gate of a fence. I was tired after the hike and laid down on the grass in front of the shelter, closed my eyes and enjoyed the sun on my face. Nearly drifting off, I heard my mom say softly, “Shell, get up slowly and come in here.”  I stood, saw nothing but joined mom and dad inside the shelter. They had seen a bear in the meadow, not far from where I was resting.  We waited a bit but didn’t see anything else and relaxing we moved back outside. Two young men hiked in and joined us, and perhaps a couple more, I don’t remember. As we were chatting we saw the bear moving in among the trees, then he moved back out of sight. The two men decided to walk down to the spring and fill their water bottles. After they left the bear poked his head out from behind the lean-to. We moved back inside.  He disappeared, then poked his head out from the other side of the building. After a moment he disappeared, and poked his head out from the first side. We didn’t stop to think how strange it was one bear was moving back and forth behind our little shelter, we were just thrilled with watching. He poked his head out from the left side, and dad decided to take a picture. He opened the fence door and stepped out into the “yard,” camera held up to his face. Dad moved around, trying to get a good picture, and stood in front of the door, with the door hinged so it opened from the opposite side from where he was standing. Just at that moment the bear looked towards dad, stood on his hind legs a moment, fell back down and ran right at my father. Dad backed into the door, couldn’t get in, had to swing it open, mom and I grabbed his shirt and pulled him inside. The bear ran on by, and then we heard the loudest growling and snarling, like a giant dog fight. There had been two bears. We were caught in the middle, and my dad had walked outside right between them. Luckily the first bear was only interested in the second bear. After a few moments the losing bear ran out of the woods and took off down the trail. We struggled to calm down, and we all talked at once. “There had been two bears!  They were only interested in each other! I thought you would never get back inside the shelter!”  It had been very exciting.

        Shelter on AT like  the one in the story, but no longer with chain link fronts

After a few moments the guys returned from the spring with a story of their own. The losing bear had run into them on the trail. They knew nothing about the bear fight. One of the men said to the other, “”I read that the best way to handle a bear is to make noise and seem bigger than you are.”  They banged their tin cups, and yelled. The defeated, angry bear stood on his hind legs, and the two men scurried off the trail to make way.  We shared our stories, each group cooked and ate their suppers, and then settled down for the evening. One of the men said, “I'm going to step outside and look at the stars. Anyone want to come?”  I joined him, and as we looked around we saw, in the top of a tall tree, a young bear cub.  Here was the reason for the bear fight, and the reason we were quick to go back inside.  

                                             Backpack in shelter on AT

I’ve been watching videos of AT hikers, and I haven’t noticed any bear encounters or bear stories. I wonder if that is because hikers do a better job of storing food than in the past. It is regulation now to hang your food or use a bear box. I hope there are still lots of healthy bears out there.  Enjoy rain, enjoy sun, enjoy earthworms and bears. Protect and love the great outdoors, and especially our National Parks, the wild lands that belong to each one of us. 

gardens and waterfalls

 

This month we have had a lot of rain, to the point my garden was flooded. For a time the garden rows were little islands of plant and weed, surrounded by deep standing water and clay bog like material. Finally the rain stopped, and my husband and son created drainage canals.  I still had to wait for the clay to harden enough to stand on. Two days ago I was able to get in and weed and check on the plants. It was a mess, but I have a handful of little green tomatoes and two pretty tomatillos. I haven’t walked as much as I would like, with the rain and then the garden work, but I got in a couple of really good wa

lks. On Saturday my husband and I explored the Bankhead Forest. We walked in heavily grown up woods, with poison ivy growing up the trees and climbing hills like kudzu. We found a beautiful swimming hole, but didn’t want to scramble down the muddy track to reach the water. We also found a walk that led to a lovely Middle Earth feeling landscape with a waterfall that my dog and I enjoyed standing in. The water felt good, and the air was cooler.  It was hard to find the hikes, nothing was well labeled and the maps were difficult to read. We had stopped at a parking area labeled Sipsey Picnic area. We walked down to the water, again more poison ivy and mud, and watched some folks fish. We followed a trail but it seemed to be more of a fishing path, and it ended in mud. We returned to the parking area filled with cars. Where were all these people?  Finally I asked a woman standing beside her truck, and she pointed the opposite direction than we had explored. This turned out to be a nice trail, and the location of the waterfall. I hope to go back when we can walk further.  

More than walking I have been reading a batch of great books. I love it when that happens, when book after book is worth reading. First I read Art, Birds, Life. This book was written just for me. A woman writer and artist facing pending grief decides to take up and learn about bird watching. She follows another guy who sort of teaches her, and her biggest surprise is the discovery that some of the best places to find birds are in industrial areas, not deep in wilderness. The birds find the places most likely to feed and protect them, and they don’t care if the landscape is lovely. She learned to find beauty in the simple, in ordinary birds, and to listen carefully because a bird is often heard before it is seen. Her writing was beautiful, and I felt like she was writing to me. She reminded us the importance to “just be with nature.” I read a couple of memoirs, one by a woman who gave up a traditional life to work in the Tetons, and another who grew up very untraditional to become a food critic.  I also read The Darkness Outside Us, which was one of those sneaky books that looks like a simple fun story but is so much more. What is life, what is the point, how do we chose to live and find value in life? It was marketed as kind of a YA LGTBQ+ romance, but that is such a limiting description. It is a mystery, a sci fi book, and a thought experiment on how to face challenges on the meaning of life. Some deep reading. After these books I’m going back to some soft murder mysteries.

Since my last blog I have walked 36 miles. Some of the miles were here in the community I live in but some were on trails along the TN river. My dog loves river walks since she likes to jump in and drink the water.  On the AT I would be at mile 239, or near Davenport Gap. This means I have covered all the sections I actually remember walking on, such as Tri-Corner Knob and Ice Water Springs.  Next blog will have a story about a bear encounter, but today I have run out of space.  Enjoy, get out there and walk, and read a good book!

36 miles to a total of 239 this year.

Green Moss and crazy memories

 All of the pictures are from Mt. Collins to Mt. LeConte, when I hiked with two of my kids.

Today the walking I have done measures a year long total of 203.72 miles. If I was on the AT I would be staying at the Mt. Collins shelter, which is down a side trail not far from Clingman’s Dome. My parents and I hiked there in the 1970”s, and my main memory of that camping area was the deep green moss growing on fallen tree trunks. It felt very Middle Earth, almost jungle like and drippy with water. As a matter of fact it rained the entire day, and the day before, and drizzled on us while we sat around at the site. Dad always carried more than his share of weight in his backpack, and he was worn out, then the cold rain lowered his resistance. He began shivering even though it wasn’t that cold to me. I remember sitting on a damp mossy log and watching mom boil water to try and warm him up. He drank some soup for calories and warmth, but that didn’t help. It was summer, and we didn’t have hot chocolate with us.  Mom heated up water and mixed it with lemonade, and we all sipped on the sweet hot drink. At the time I thought it was the most creative and tasty warm drink ever. Dad slipped into his sleeping bag and finally stopped shivering, as he warmed up and rested. We had been planning on a week of hiking. 

Mom cooked some pancakes, and I ate them sitting on that wet log, and sipped my hot lemonade. In the morning mom and dad decided it was best to hike out, to go on home. The only problem was our car was in Deep Creek campground, on the other side of Cherokee. We were nearer to Gatlinburg, and would have to find some kind of ride to our car. I wanted to keep hiking, but that wasn’t possible with dad having suffered from hypothermia and all our blisters and wet socks. So, we packed up, and hiked down towards the Newfound Gap parking area. I think we arrived around lunch time, and dad set out trying to find someone to give us a ride. Mom and I rested beside our packs. Two Hari Krishna men in robes were selling books in the parking lot and I watched a man buy one, look it over and then demand his money back. While this was going on dad returned with the news, we had a ride. We walked over to a pick up truck, with an older couple in the front seat. We tossed our packs in the back and climbed in with them, and sat, backs against the cab of the truck. 

The man in the truck drove along the curvy mountain road, faster and faster, slinging us around in the back. Maybe he was a retired race car driver. I heard mom, over the wind, say, “At least we have identification with us if…” and dad looked at me. Mom tried to see our speed, but the man’s arm was in the way of her view. To me, a young teenager, the ride was fun. As soon as we reached the town of Cherokee dad banged on the truck, he stopped and we hopped out. We still had to cross through the town, walking on asphalt beside the road, but my parents felt safer walking beside the road full of tourists. As the truck roared off, we began walking, passing restaurants, tourist shops and gas stations.  One of the gas stations had a caged bear for people to look at. and maybe feed.  I was outraged and began yelling, “Let that bear go!”  “Cruel and unusual treatment!”  My parents told me to be quiet, the station owner was giving us angry looks. I walked on, stomping my indignation. Not long after that a van stopped, offering us a ride. We climbed in, and found seats in the carpeted and fringed decorated back of the van. The driver, a Cherokee, chatted with us and played really cool music. He ended up driving us all the way to our car, and wished us a wonderful day.

Many years later my two youngest kids and I went backpacking, and the second or third night was spent at Mt. Collins. I told them my strongest memory was how green the area was, and we all were happy to see it was still true. The camping area looked like giant trees from years ago had all fallen down, and moss had settled on the trunks, the ground, the roof of the camping lean to, and if we sat still too long, the moss would begin to settle on us. My daughter Anna celebrated her (I think) 27th birthday at that shelter. We sang happy birthday, and another camper heard us singing and brought over a cookie for her. It was a happy evening, and the next day we hiked up to Clingman’s Dome, leaving our packs at the shelter. 

This part of the trail has some of my happiest memories. I am so glad my parents took us backpacking, and I am glad my kids want to go with me. 

All my actual walks have been near my home, either in the neighborhood and park nearby, or along a trail along the Tennessee River. My walking buddy has mostly been my dog, and sometimes my oldest kid. It has been a rainy month, and we have walked through mud puddles and pond run off, but at the end of the day we go home, take off our wet shoes and settle down with a book and hot tea. I have discovered that hot lemonade is one of those treats that only tastes good on the trail.

Happy walking!

Joy is Resistance or Why I love NPR

 

                                                    Joy is Resistance

It has been about two weeks since I wrote last. I have been walking, some, and reading a lot and watching hiking YouTube. My favorite mother daughter hiking pair had an interesting video yesterday in which the mom talked about hiking gatekeeping. Just like in every group there are some people that judge other members, and she had run into that. If you don’t hike the trail the right way, or if you only do parts, or if you do only day hikes, you can’t call yourself a trail hiker. She talked about not paying attention to those types, to how these judgements usually are just on social media and not in person, and finally she said, “It’s not that deep. Just hike. You do you. Enjoy”  

I was substitute teaching one day and I saw a sign on the wall of the classroom. It said, “How to be a math person. Be a person. Do math.”  So, how are we a hiking person. Same advice, be a person and hike. If you like to read, read what you like. If you like to, fill in the blank, do the thing. Worrying about what other people think, or letting them steal your joy is a mistake. We are in this life, this one life, to find our own way. We don’t need permission from others to exist, and we don’t need the gatekeeping of others to determine our way. I just finished a garden class. I am not one of those people with neat tidy lawns, straight borders and long lasting blooming plants in my yard. I worried about saying I am now a Master Gardener because my yard is a little wild. But, I wanted to learn more about gardening, especially native plants, plants for pollinators and growing food. Working in the dirt makes me happy. I will do it my way.

                                                

Joy is resistance. I got very down watching the news yesterday, and then after watching the hiking video and going for a nice walk, I realized my joy in life is my resistance. I want to share something that brings me joy.  I love Public Radio. NPR is always on my car radio and I have heard the most interesting stories, great music and local public service announcements. Where else can you listen to a show called Philosophy Talks, followed by Moth Radio hour and then the history of Jazz. NPR makes me late to places I am going. I pulled into the tennis parking lot as an interviewer was asking children what they think about rules. I sat in my carport finishing a Moth radio hour talk about a man that had been in jail, and then found meaning in life. Last night I heard an interview with a poet, a Vietnamese American first generation man who described how he discovered that being a poet was a thing one could do. He went from reading the lines of a 16th century poet and asking which band he wrote for, to studying English in University, once he realized it wasn’t a degree for people wanting to learn to speak the language. The interview ended with him singing an old Appalachian folk tune that sent shivers up my spine because it was so beautiful. Where else would an interview like that exist, but for NPR?

No where else can I turn on a radio and listen to classical music. No where else can I turn on a radio and listen to Beethoven, Mozart, Hayden, and on and on. If I came from a family that only listened to pop music, or country and rock, what are the chances I might get exposed to such variety, to flutes and violins and explanations about the music and musicians? yesterday an NPR segment brought me to tears. I listened to Fresh Air with Terry Gross. She talked about the passing of her husband, a Jazz critic and writer. She interspersed the remembrances with actual music, quotes from his writing and stories of their life together. I have been listening to Fresh Air for years, it is one of my favorite programs, but this episode was special. I take Joy in NPR. I take Joy in PBS. I take joy in my public libraries. My first act whenever we move to a new town is to get my library card. The second is to find my local NPR station. 

These last weeks have been busy with the garden class and the volunteer hours that are part of earning the certificate, so walking has been slow.  In two weeks I walked 20.13 miles, some of them just walking back and forth at the plant sales I worked. This puts me at 189.44 miles, or at the Derrick Knob shelter. I have been there, in high school. The shelter before that one, Spence Fields, is where I saw skunks meandering through the campsite. During the night a skunk got into the shelter, and sat on me, on my sleeping bag. My parents were afraid to wake me up, because if I jumped or screamed the skunk might have sprayed us. Luckily he just sniffed around some and then ran off. I was glad I slept through it. Derrick Knob is a pretty section, so I am glad to (pretend to) be there. Happy hiking, happy reading, happy listening! Joy is Resistance!