NC Year of the Trail: November
NC Year of the Trail: November 2023
November 2023 Days 305-334 Pictures
What November Taught…
November NC Year of the Trail 2023
November is never a settled month. We are moving from the awe of autumn into the winter and its thin layer of icy nostalgia. This has been the hardest month so far to complete this goal. Unpredictable weather, holiday rush, and waning feelings of disassociation plagued many of my attempts. However, all that is to be expected and feels natural for a year like this. Challenges are welcome.
The month started out (Day 305) with adventure and pure bliss of discovery. On my way out of town, I scouted a trail just off the interstate (Benard Mtn.) that I knew accessed mountain biking trails I had my eye on. A rare trip with no bike, I hiked up and was pleasantly surprised by birdsong near the top. I quickly pulled up my identifier app and tied the song to the Eastern Towhee. An even greater treat, I saw the bird and was able to get remarkably close. It is such a beautiful species. To-hi in Cherokee is one our most important concepts of completeness, of total wellbeing in every aspect of our life. I don’t know how this bird got its name, but it seems quite fitting.
Day 306 continued my pleasure in this goal adventure as I stayed in a town called Bynum in preparation for an event. Bynum is an old mill town that has become a bit of an artist colony. This was one of those trails that made it hard to choose one photo. I took a freezing sunrise walk and saw deer grazing by the river, gorgeous, hopeful graffiti lining the abandoned bridge and the trail itself a stellar example of showcasing nature as the creative connector of humans in any community. As the month continued, I would be reminded of the importance of starting with the environment first when considering culture or community. It not only shapes, but enlivens much of what we see in the people of these places we visit or study.
Days 307-309 began the seasonal rush. I did a quick Juney Whank trek at Deep Creek after dropping Charlie at school, maneuvered between sawbriers in my Kananesgi Fashion Show attire on my home trail on Day 308, and persuaded Evan to join me for a quick hike up Thomas Divide (partial) in between errands on Day 309. We met a couple from Nashville who remarked how quiet the trails were and they wondered how many locals had explored all our area has to offer. I wonder about that as well. I think many of us do it without even thinking about it. We picnic at favorite spots or play in creeks near trail heads. But I can’t argue, there is so much more to explore.
I was able to focus more on Day 310 and tackled a new MTB trail at Chestnut Mountain—Sunburst. I added on some extra miles of a dry ride and enjoyed seeing the hidden gifts of such spaces like the crab apples alongside one trail. On Day 311, I continued an upswing in trail magic by joining friends (Desi and Ben were in from Kentucky) on a long hike in the Panthertown area. We had an absolutely great visit and took in incredible vistas. This is an area I want to return to many times and can’t wait to bring my MTB. It is also a place that seemed to hold scenes from my book, as if I had been there on the page before I had in person. That feeling can be so reassuring—as if the stories we tell are not created in our minds, but are simply the puzzles we piece together of a pre-existing truth.
Unfortunately, just like this transitional weather, the following days were gloomy. On days 312-316, I stayed close to home, walking at Kituwah (Day 312), taking a lonely ride at Fire Mountain (Day 313), visiting my mother’s grave (Day 315), and studying winter’s harbingers on my home trail. Day 314 was the lone bright spot as I drug Charlie to Mingus Mill in the midst of our hurried outings. He had never been and came alive once he saw the mill and the way the water traversed from the mountain to the chutes. He said, “This place is cool!” and proceeded to scurry across rocks and railing until he landed in the frigid water. Feet wet, he was gleeful and I couldn’t help but smile. As much as I love visiting the new trails, as much as they bring energy for me, taking someone, who is wide-eyed and willing, to a place I love has much the same effect. And that is what writing is—exploring first on your own and then finding a way to share this new world with someone else who is eager to explore.
Determined to thwart deadlines’ demands and still get in a substantial ride, I went to Tsali on Day 317 and listened to the first several chapters of my manuscript I had recorded. This was an effective way to revise anything previously written and prepare to build the story. Riding while in story is one one of the most helpful practices I have because it helps me infuse movement into the narrative in a natural way. Fontana Lake has receded, exposing a plethora of trash from the summer’s recreation. A half inflated beach ball seemed almost poetic laying on the parched banks. The waters seemed to be editing their manuscript as well, purging all the inconsequential flash.
Day 318, I made a pass through Dillsboro’s creekside trail, stretching my legs from a day of writing, but returned to a long ride at Fire Mountain on Day 319. Having gotten back on track with my manuscript, pushing a ride felt natural and empowering. On the descent, a hawk rested in the trail and as I approached, it looked me directly in the eyes and flew off. I will never be able to explain how intense this experience was.
On Day 319, I wanted to keep the intensity up even though I had to travel to Georgia for an event. I resolved to stop on the way back and check out a new trail, only to find that it required a cash entrance fee. Ill-prepared, I stopped off, instead, at WCU’s trail system and took in a half loop. This stop showed off its pastel decay, a reminder that the “earth tones” of fall are more than browns and yellows and oranges. They are the pastel purples and pinks and light blues of all the foliage and grains foraged in preparation for winter.
Before heading off to the Grove Park Inn on Day 321, I took an early hike up Deep Creek. It was cold and misty and I felt as if I was having breakfast with chipmunks, squirrels, and two (unbothered) deer. Day 322-324 at the Grove Park was a return to my first novel as it tends to be. I was there to host the National Gingerbread Competition again and the grounds provide a sweet, yet short, trail system. The first day was just a reintroduction to it. But the next day, Evan joined me and we explored a bit further afoot, discovering the property’s edge that we agreed was most definitely the site of a scene in the book. We arrived at the conclusion separately. My final day there, I went in search of an American Chestnut that was supposed to be located on the trail. I was only able to find its Chinese cousin. We have lost so much from our attempts to gain so much.
Back home on Day 325, I took in the rain (FINALLY) at Kituwah and was struck by the freshness of the winter greens that it brought out. The smells are so different in the rain and I had missed them. Though the morning of Day 326 was still soggy, I ran into a friend and we chatted while exploring Deep Creek a bit before a memorial service I was attending. Luckily, I keep hiking shoes with me, but I was most certainly not dressed for an excursion to find a mountain top cemetery. I chose to turn around before reaching it, but will be back.
Slowly, we have been falling into winter. The creatures are all making their preparations as our days get busier and busier as well. On my home trail on Day 327, I can’t help but be taken in by the birds and their selection of berries, the way the Oconaluftee finds its thirsty flow after just minimal rain on Day 328, and how Kituwah hangs on to its touches of vibrancy on Day 329 as if to promise there is something that will come after this darkening time.
On Day 330, Evan and Charlie went to Panthertown. This was a trail that had been on Evan and I’s list to tackle together for some time and the cool weekend weather had us bundled up for a little exploring. I am grateful that Charlie, age 10, enjoys these excursions and doesn’t complain about the distance—if we can keep him out of the water and mud!
On Day 331, I walked up the logging path to the top of the mountain behind my dad’s house. I cannot convey how fortunate we are that he was able to buy to the top of the ridge, because what I found just over the crest made my heart sink. The other side of the mountain is scarred with second homes that have dug into the ridges. There is a home being built now, no more than a foot from our property line and I found trash that had been thrown over onto our property from the construction. There is often such disregard for a place that people choose to move to for “its beauty,” as if those who move here do not realize they are buying into responsibility, not commodity. I was reminded of the beach ball on the lake shore on this day as well—how much trash we expel in our wake of being closer to nature. The irony is painful. We should strive to treat these places like a poem, cutting the nonessentials of ourselves that we bring to the pages of landscape.
On Day 332, I sought out the holiday spirit and took a trip to an absolutely beautiful Christmas tree farm (Boyd Mountain). It reminded me of my days as a child playing in my father’s Christmas Tree fields. My brother and I would play hide-and-seek amongst the trees. These two trail days had reconnected me to the landscapes I was raised with. Nostalgia can be a double-edged sword, though.
I rounded out the month perhaps more melancholy than one would wish, but also accepting of this. It is so very natural to want to rest and reflect. Days 333 and 334 were both brief ambles along the Oconaluftee and Scotts Creek respectively. They were quiet and cold and it felt as though the water wanted to rest. All of the wildlife that I encountered understands this need for rest and reflection as well. And though they are quite busy flitting around, they are preparing for their own restoration. Charlie asked me the other day if snakes hibernate. Seeking always to ignore the existence of snakes (out of unjustifiable fear, though appreciating their roles), I was a bit perplexed by this question. I knew I didn’t see them in the winter, but had never associated hibernation with them. He, of course, looked up the answer. Turns out, they brumate. Their metabolism slows down and they look for places to hide out from the cooler temperatures. That sure does sound familiar. As a writer, I look forward to a winter of brumating and ruminating.