NC Year of the Trail: September 2023
NC Year of the Trail: September 2023
September 2023 Days 244-273 Pictures
What September Taught…
September NC Year of the Trail 2023
This is, by far, my favorite time of the year. The weather is still clear and warm enough to rush onto a trail when the time frees up and yet there is just a bit of a chill in the air as the evening sets in and colors begin to pop against blue skies. It is also an incredibly busy time of the year as we all begin to celebrate the fruits of our labor. Perhaps for all of these reasons (at least I will use it as an excuse), I am a little behind on posting this month’s blog.
I have had so many incredible trail adventures in September, that I often found myself doing two trails in one day. September 1st was Day 243. It began with a fairly typical plan to ride at Fire Mountain, but I was fortunate enough to run into my good friend and former teaching colleague, Amelia Allman. Amelia is returning to the sport after having her first child and I always love being around her. This ride set the tone for the rest of the month as I continue to share trails with more and more friends, both old and new.
On Day 244, I rode at Tsali and saw the first rattlesnake I have ever seen in the wild. This was not exactly the trail friend I was looking for; but regardless of my extreme fear of snakes, it is pretty incredible to watch such a creature and hear its warning for the first time. I followed up the ride with a much less ominous trail friend and met writer Courtney Lix at Fire Mountain for a hike. Courtney is working on a Women of the Smokies follow-up edition. Since I started this goal, several folks have offered to spend our interview or meeting time on a trail with me instead of meeting on Zoom or in a coffee shop. These opportunities have offered far better opportunities to engage with each other and, I believe, really get to know each other in a more authentic, natural way.
On Day 245, I needed some quiet meditation time on my home trail. The yellows of flowers and sunlight were beginning to usher in the autumn gold season. It is fortifying. This restoration was just enough to carry me through the next few days of hiking with Evan at Deep Creek (Day 246 Part A), a family trip to Lake Santeetlah (Part B) where we joined writer friend Eve Odom, her family, and lake friends, and even reconnected with my former high school friend Cory Lewis. These are all places that spark memories of childhood for locals. They are where we recharge, side-step tourists, and embrace nature in a way that feels like a return to youth. Eve told us stories of growing up on the lake, of the families who returned year after year, and of the community built on these waterways. Enjoying the day with an old high school friend just helped to cement this sense that so much of memory is tied to place and paths we followed day after day for so many of our formative years. To return to these trails is a return to those memories in a much more permanent way than it can be to return to buildings which may have been renovated or even demolished. Trails are literally markers of the way we chose to move as children—movement that was freer and imbued with curiosity.
On Day 247, I joined a relatively new friend Ashley, but one I had not been able to spend time with as of late, at Fire Mountain Trails. Ashley got a little bit lost on the downhill. Or at least I accused her of it until I realized later in the month, that my directions were wrong. When I reflected, I realized I had made a mistake that I often talk about in the writing process. It is advice, of sorts, from poet Nickole Brown. She says, “Once we think we know something, we forget it.” It was true of my directions for Ashley. I forgot that there was an additional intersection because no one ever takes it. We all know it is not part of the main trail system and so it is not typically an option. But I wasn’t seeing the route through clear eyes when telling Ashley how to follow. I had left out all of the options. I had forgotten a trail because I thought I knew the system.
Sometimes unplanned trail experiences are just necessary. On Day 248, I turned into an escaped goat herder when the goats (not technically our property) escaped their enclosure on our property and I had to go round them up before they headed off down the road. Day 249 followed with a call-to-action from author-friend Zelda Lockheart. She had just moved and was living downstate. In our Zoom call, she mentioned that she had not been seeing acorns. Our collective worry grew, and I promised to check our woods during a more intentional hike. Luckily, Deep Creek verified plenty of season acorn litter and we could confirm that part of learning a new place is learning its timing. While I think we all worry that we see more and more signs of climate change, this was also a reminder that we have to learn our home in a way that can be vastly different from a place just a few miles away. Each piece of land holds information for us in specific and specialized ways.
Day 25o was another two-parter and a much needed one as it was election day for the Eastern Band of Cherokee. Regardless of who is running for which office, this day is quite often exciting, emotional, and stressful. For this reason, I began the day at Kituwah and went to water. When I stepped back onto the trail, an elk emerged from the tree line and greeted me. Because I could not go the other direction, I was forced to wait, have a silent conversation with this master of his domain and further take the time to remember that all that was surely to change that day, would still not change the purpose of this place and the grander experience of what nature provides. Still, I needed to stay busy and returned to Fire Mountain for a hike and to assist with tree removal from storm damage. Needing to prepare for an evening event, I hurried down the mountain, at times in a jog, and couldn’t help but feel stronger and freer than I had felt in a long time. I knew my body would pay for the pace later (and it did), but indulging in the gravity of the downhill trail is something I will return to. I might just stretch better afterwards.
On Day 251, I joined my friend Mandi in Burnsville for a literary festival and the business of the day only allowed for a short trail experience. But this trail was still packed with Jewelweed (which came in handy to treat her ankle rash), a lovely horse named Jabbo, a Redspotted Newt and some really great juju in general. Eager to get a bit more exercise in, Mandi and I scouted out the Black Mtn. Crest trail, which is probably one of the most vertical hikes I have been on. For such a beautiful area, finding an accessible trail was actually quite a task. Trails most certainly surrounded us, but the trail heads were often an hour away. Luckily this one was nearby and absolutely gorgeous, though every find required a toll. In retrospect, this hike (which I followed with a road bike ride) was cementing the pain to come, even though I quite responsibly spent Day 253 at Deep Creek, resetting mind, body, and spirit. I am just not quite sure any of it was sufficiently reset.
On Day 254, I drove to Cadiz, KY to the Land Between the Lakes area for residency sponsored by Murray State University. I can only describe this residency as my ideal. My cabin sat on the banks of the Cumberland River and accessed miles upon miles of trails and bike paths. On the first day just after my arrival, I hopped on a MTB trail (Central Hardwoods) and spun out my road-weary legs. It was at this point that I began to feel the pain in my back. By the next morning on Day 255, I could barely walk. I had a full day planned at Murray State with two presentations and a radio interview. So, after a touch-and-go trip to the nearest urgent care of muscle relaxers and a steroid shot, I broke up my trail obligations between a short stretching walk along the Cumberland River in front of my cabin (just in case I fell out and needed someone to find me) and the trails of Murray State’s campus between events. The next day (Day 256), I took no chances and relegated myself to a water route on the hosts’ boat along the Cumberland with a very good dog named Birdie. While I love to have my feet on the earth, it truly is water that heals us when we need it most. The time together allowed my hosts the opportunity to tell me the history of the area and roles the river and lakes played. How they are truly trails for commerce and community.
By Day 257, I was starting to feel a bit better, but still chose a relatively easy, short trail in the LBTL area—Hematite Lake Trail. This was an absolutely incredible experience as hematite can be found all along the paths that surrounded a lily packed pond. This is truly a place of restoration and one of my favorite trails so far.
On Day 258, I thought I might be ready for a MTB trail I had been eyeing since my arrival. I took on the Canal Loop Trail, but cut it a bit short out of respect for my body’s healing. This was another beautiful trail surrounding water. I finished my visit on Day 259 taking advantage of the extensive bike path system the area has incorporated into his highways and byways. I rose with the morning sun and welcomed the day on these paths with families and runners and fishermen and women in a way that felt like the way we should all travel. I wish all communities could include such infrastructure that gets us out of cars and into the open air more.
As one might expect, a six-hour drive home resulted in increased back pain on Day 260 (September 17), so I settled for an easy walk at the Island Park in Cherokee with Evan. My recovery couldn’t be long because the opportunities to join friends was about to take an uptick.
On Day 261, my friend Ben Braman arrived from Hazard, KY for the Outdoor Economies Conference and we hit up FMT for a quick ride. Day 262 reminded me that I was not actually up for riding and so I returned to Kituwah to rest my back. Stubborn or relentless (depending on your perspective) I took to FMT again on day 263 in the early morning fog to test out my back. Sometimes it feels good to get the blood flowing again and the mist of a fall morning dews in magic. Day 264 was full speed ahead, again at FMT, this time with Ben and Ashley. Another gift of the trail is that it often introduces new friends to old friends or friends from home to friends from away. We can all ride like we’ve known each other all along and can laugh together. Laughing together is the superglue for new friendships. During the Outdoor Economy Conference, I was also able to meet the wonderful folks who sparked this everyday-on-a-trail goal and branded 2023 NC Year of the Trail. It was fun to share a bit about my experiences with them.
Days 265-268 were reflective trail days. On my home trail, at Deep Creek, at Kituwah with Ross and on a solo ride at Chestnut mountain, I began to really feel the turn toward autumn. Fall is a harvest season and in that I think we tend to reflect on the seeds we planted over the course of the year. When I chose to take on this goal in January, I wasn’t sure where it would lead—what would grow out of it. On days like these, I am grateful for the cultivation because they have given me consistent respite from the stress and worries of life. And now, as the season begins to change, I can see that this idea has become a part of who I am and how I interact with the world and the people in my world. Harvest takes time and we can’t force what the earth chooses to provide. Cairns that trail visitors build in our creeks and streams symbolize the misguided desire to create beauty in nature by human hands. It is an arrogant act that can often destroy the true natural beauty—the habits of creatures who call the waterways home. When we force something unnaturally out of its time or place, we are doing more harm than we can ever hope to replace with our own ideas of beauty and perfection.
My husband likes to say, “Don’t major in the minors.” It’s good advice, though I admit I don’t always follow it. On Day 269, I was kind of glad I didn’t as I headed to WCU’s MTB trails for a short, but needed ride. The minors of a trail hold the divine. The same was true on Day 270 when I met up with Matt Sawyer, a podcaster and fellow-booklover who interviewed me in Mississippi but lives nearby, to hike. Our original plan was diverted due to road construction and we opted for Deep Creek. Eager to not take one of my typical paths, I scouted a route. Because we always have such great conversations, we reached our original destination quickly. We decided to trek on and ended up completing ten miles with some significant altitude. This is the longest hike I think I have ever been on and still, it seemed to go by quickly. My concept of time on trail has shifted and I find myself eager to linger longer, hike or ride a little farther. As Matt explained, “I have a constitution for adventure.”
Day 271 resulted in another two-part day, but both rides were at FMT. The first ride was great. I was certainly tired from the hike the day before, but it felt good to be on two wheels and shake off the world a bit. When I reached the parking lot, I chose to go up again, thinking I might take another lap. But I soon realized that the trail had become too busy for me and I craved another balance from the day before. I didn’t want to interact with anyone anymore. It happens. For all the friendships that trails bring and sustain, I have also fallen in love with them as a means to be alone and free from the expectations and energy of others. Trails reset my energy. Always. And I have promised myself that I will honor that reset even if it means taking a literal different path from others. On Day 272, I continued this need for solitude and walked the FMT Disc Golf Course, periodically pausing to jot notes in my notebook. This space is always quiet and the path along the Oconaluftee is one of the most beautiful spaces for reflection that I can think of.
Day 273 rounded out the month in perhaps the best way possible as we move toward October. I attended a 5K fundraiser for RezHope (a substance recovery organization) at Kituwah. Ross was volunteering and Charlie was running. This community is incredibly special as it seeks to give hope to those struggling with addiction on and around the Qualla Boundary. While I was super proud of Charlie’s race, I began to tear up when I saw runners cross the finish who I know are in recovery. They are using these trails to find a new focus and bring new balance to their lives. Those present were there to support the human being they know and love, something that is not always easy when that human being has brought pain to themselves and others in the past. I think this is another lesson of the harvest season. What grows may not always be our intention. Sometimes, seeds planted don’t produce the first year. Sometimes it takes time for the best to emerge. And sometimes we need a bit of cross-pollination of ideas, energy, and spirit to produce our very best.