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. 

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. 

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!

Walking, cranes, and gardens

 

Walking is a great time to think, but not so useful to think about things to write. I return from my walk and instantly forget all the great ideas and wonderful placing of words I had in my mind. Today I walked 2.48 miles, for a total this month of 19 miles. A through hiker would probably make 18 or 19 miles in one day. In my mind  have moved off of Springer Mountain and am working my way along the AT in Georgia, while I step along the park paths and roads around my home. I have walked in snow, wind and sunshine. Today I walked after taking my first Master gardener class, and I mostly thought about how excited I was to be starting this new adventure. Today we introduced ourselves and told what we wanted to get out of the class. I think every teacher, including me, does this. My goal was working with native plants, and helping local and migrating wildlife. Also I wanted to improve my home garden, and I loved the idea of garden education. Many people talked about service to community, learning more, and landscaping. We are all ages, male and female. I can’t wait. 

One of the leaders of the master gardener in my county is also involved with the Wheeler Wildlife Refuge. She had volunteered there yesterday, and I had walked and photographed yesterday, although we didn’t meet then. She told me they had counted over 20,000 sandhill cranes and 12 whooping cranes yesterday. I love seeing and listening to these birds, they make such a wild kind of cooing sound. I dreamed while walking of maybe getting the opportunity to volunteer at the Refuge. Also I just finished reading a book “Bicycling with Monarchs” and this book has really affected me. The author, Sara Dykman, is a wildlife biologist and adventurer. She biked from Mexico to Canada and back to Mexico following the general path of the Monarchs as they migrate. She stopped to teach classes at schools and to encourage people to protect the habitat that allows these butterflies to survive. She would get so discouraged as she watched people mow down milkweed plants, destroying eggs, caterpillars and the food source needed by the monarchs. She also ran into tons of people that cared, that were encouraging wildflowers, pollinator gardens, and native plants. Yesterday when I walked I saw no birds, no insects, hardly any people. I was passed by a yard care truck and trailer filled with chemicals. But when I got back to my house and sat on my porch I saw cardinals, wrens, a woodpecker and lots of other birds I can’t identify. My mood improved. 

Today after meeting the lady that volunteers with the sandhill cranes I saw a post on facebook from a person I know. He had just completed a bucket list, and killed two sandhill cranes. He proudly held up their bodies for the camera, grinning. The juxtaposition of death and conservation overwhelmed me and I felt sick. Deep down I understand hunting for wildlife management, and I have defended the practice many times. I love to eat deer jerky, and elk burgers are wonderful. I am not anti-hunter. At least I don’t think I am. If I had to feed my family I hope I would have no trouble killing. I’ll never be vegetarian, blame bacon and barbecue, but I can’t understand, can’t abide, hunting for sport. What is the sport in shooting an animal out of the sky, taking a life just because it is fun, challenging? I love being out in nature. I hunt with my camera. I try not to judge, hunters go and do what you want following the rules and laws, but I don’t want to see the dead bodies on the same day I am celebrating the survival and growth of a species. Yikes.

Walking is great! Sometimes the thinking isn’t so good. But, usually the walking helps the mood, and moves the thinking to good things. I need to get out into woods, and on mountains, for some of the walking. Hope to do that this weekend.

Welcome to my new blog! By Shelley Hopkins

 I’ve been reading about keeping chickens, about homesteading and better garden practices.  We garden, have gardened in the past and grew up with gardens.  I love nothing better than fresh tomatoes, and I will eat my weight in them.  Working outside in the dirt is therapy, and eating and cooking the veggies is the reward.  This year we grew tomatoes, cucumbers, okra, rattlesnake beams, sugar peas, potatoes, turnips, beets (barely), corn,(barely) and onions.  We failed with garlic, purple hull peas, and black beans. Right now we have cabbage, and broccoli plants.  Every gardening experience is a learning opportunity, and sometimes the lesson is simply unpredictability of weather and insects.  Every gardener is a dreamer and lives in a world of hope and possibilities.  I’m already planning next years garden, and my plans don’t include drought, heat, or plague.  I see abundance, a full freezer and bounty of harvest for us and for friends.  I hope. 

If we decide to keep chickens, I am sure my large poodle dog will love and accept them.  She won’t chase or harm the little egg laying buddies.  I know my neighbors will be tolerant, and we will not have trouble when we need to travel.  Even more importantly, I will know how to keep them alive.  I hope.

My homestead land is a one acre spot in an older neighborhood, with mostly brick ranch homes and the sounds of a busy highway intruding on our peace during the rush hours.  I can walk past the houses, circle a park and walk in other similar neighborhoods.  A few of the homes have chickens, after all they are gaining in popularity and we are in a tiny town, nearly country, but we are still in town.  My dream for isolation, mountain views and only the sounds of wind and stream will never become reality, and I have to become comfortable with this.  I can walk out my back door, pick tomatoes for sandwiches, and let my dog run inside the fence.  I can rest under a giant magnolia tree, swinging in my hammock, and I can take decently long walks without traffic issues or dangerous narrow roads.  We have houses all around us, but we aren’t on top of each other, and all our neighbors are fairly private or busy people.  In all, it’s not the dream, but it’s not bad either.  I like my small house, my large yard, and I enjoy the daily walks with my dog.  The best part of it all is we can drive just down the road to a Nature preserve, walk all day and observe so many birds.  Whooping cranes, sandhill cranes, pelicans and geese are here all winter.  Bald eagles spend the year here, along with ducks and songbirds.  There are worse places to live.

I wish to be a mountain homesteader, but I will find my peace and my dream wherever I land.  Walks, books, food, garden, these are my passions, and these will be the subjects of my blog.  If  you enjoy such things, I hope you will join me and enjoy, share your ideas and we can learn together.

Friends, 

Shelley