Happy Anniversary
On with my mittens in the the chill of the shade, and then off with my mid-layer in the heat of the sun.
It was that time of year, mid-March, when Old Man Winter had just begun to pack up his suitcases, but Spring’s plane hadn’t quite landed yet.
The boomerang of this temperature flux, causing my nose to run like wild.
“Hmphhhh!”
And onto the carpet of the Appalachian Trail, my snot rocket landed.
I smiled.
And then I wiped my snotty hand off onto the knee of my leggings.
I was home.
It was March 18th, 2023, and spending my “Trailversary” alone in Appalachia had become tradition. Last year, on Maryland’s Weverton Cliffs, and now my second, atop Pine Grove Furnace’s Pole Steeple.
Leaving my home for Georgia, March 18th, 2021.
Last August, my Mom, Aunt Sandra, Uncle Roy, and myself made plans to surprise my Dad at a local rib joint, surprising him for his 75th birthday.
Dee Jay’s Ribs was located 5.2 miles from my home.
And so I walked there.
My route was lined with guardrails and gas stations, not rhododendron or blue jay. But it was also lined with my high school bus stop, at the corner of Union Avenue and Perez Way. And the Kentucky Fried Chicken, where my 16 year-old self worked for a mere 5 hours, until my resignation, after learning that I was required to scrub their public toilets in addition to serving mashed potatoes with their sporks. And Union Electric Steel, where my Grandfather earned his living, providing for my Father and the rest of his family.
I would have missed these landmarks of nostalgia and the feelings that each of them unearthed in me if I were driving at 45mph, behind the wheel of my vehicle.
When we walk, we slow down.
We keep our head where our feet are.
We see.
We feel.
When my only way up and over Old Speck Mountain, Maine, September 20th, 2021, was to accept. To lose control. To walk. I trusted.
Those mountains. My planted feet, allowed me to naviagte my Father’s cancer diagnosis, January 17th, 2023, with calm.
“This is the type of freedom that exists only in dreams.”
I was both humbled and honored when Mills Kelly asked me for an interview. Not to mention, one that I would be sharing the microphone with trail icon and National Geographic Adventurer of the Year, Jennifer Pharr Davis. Mills, host of The Green Tunnel Podcast, shared, “Hikers head to the Appalachian Trail for many reasons and many are seeking some sort of reset in their lives. In this episode, The Call of the Trail, we explore the history of those personal journeys.”
Tune in to listen to my journey of letting go here, The Call of the Trail.
Dr. Susan Bratton, author of The Spirit of the Appalachian Trail: Community, Environment, and Belief, also shared her wisdom through Mills’ interview. Susan reminds us of the traditional nature of the motive for this pilgrimage, the influence of romanticism, and the role that transcendentalism plays in one’s quest.
When I set out to thru hike the Appalachian Trail, just as when I stepped out of my marriage, I decided to become someone who I had no context for.
“The shortest distance between two people is a story.”
The story between you and your future self.
Between you and your neighbor.
He rounded the corner of the duplexed home, that we now share, towards the back yard. I was taking my virgin attempt at power sanding a newly thrifted bistro set. “Looks like fun, kid. I have a similar set on the front porch that needs a good sand if you’re offering.”, he chuckled.
I did not chuckle.
I was tangled in one too many extension cords.
“They tell me that you’re a hiker.”, continued Sir Sandman, abutting me. I told my new neighbor, roughly 35 years my senior, briefly of where I’ve traveled on foot and my plans to put it to paper.
“But you’re too young (**insert Southern drawl here) to write a memoir. I mean, what have you done yet?”, his chuckle returned.
I asked Sandman McChuckles if he had ever been homeless.
His snicker faded into more of a nervous hum, now understanding that my book shan’t be judged by its cover.
Just as the clerk working at 7-11 shouldn’t have shamed the bicyclist last Thursday. I could feel the cyclist’s novice, nervousness, and self-consciousness as I entered the convenient store. For I had once been there myself, timid as I learned to ride my hybrid through the city streets, feeling as though I didn’t fit in. As though I wasn’t one of “them”, despite being clad in padded shorts and pannier bags. She had brought her road bike into the store, not having a safe space to lock her wheels outside. Would it be stolen if I left it outside? Am I allowed to take it in with me? As she juggled her bike and the Gatorade that she sought to quench her thirst, the energy drink crashed to the linoleum floor, soaking it, and herself with embarrassment. Why did I think that I was capable of this? Why did I even leave the house?
“What a MESS you’ve made! And you still have to pay for that! And you CAN’T have that bike in here!”, Clerk Rachet screamed as she reached for her mop.
Hurt people, hurt people.
Bicycle Betty, trembling, while inadvertently sabotaging a display of Cadbury Creme Eggs, left a $5 bill on the counter as she pointed her chariot towards the door.
“Yes, ma’am”, she whispered, her head down.
We, humans to humans, need to understand that the person on the other side of our fence has a story to tell too.
Strive to see things as they are, not as we are.
Bicycle Betty, I give you the hope to get back up on your horse again. And again. And again.
“Am I the victim or the crime?”
Just as I shouldn’t have judged Lily.
There was an empty bunk in our 8 person Bruce Hall suite, sophomore year at the University of Pittsburgh, after Diesel left us for Guam. Well actually, she left us for mortuary school. But as 19 year-olds, we were mortified for her. And for ourselves. So Guam, it was.
When there was a knock at the door.
“Hi. I’m Lily. The University assigned me to y’alls place. My dorm room up at Sutherland Hall caught fire after I put a hot dog in the toaster.”
She was holding a toaster.
Or should I have judged Lily?…
“Could a greater miracle take place than for us to look through each other’s eyes for an instant?”
John Noltner, of A Peace of My Mind podcast, interviewed Greg Campbell on March 10th. “Greg Campbell has gone home to die. His liver and kidneys are failing and on Wednesday, March 8th, he left the hospital because he didn’t want to die in an institution. He has chosen to die at home where he finds peace and love and safety.”, Noltner shares in his show notes.
Greg seemed so relaxed and comfortable with the trail that he was on, “Am I sad? Yeah. But this is the trail I’m on. And I have to finish the trail.”
Campbell, although having never hiked a long distance trail, subscribed to the “village” mentality.
Greg Campbell, age 61, with his photo taken by John Noltner. Greg passed 18 days after his interview aired, on March 28th, 2023. You can listen here, and you won’t regret taking these 56 minutes, honoring Greg and his life’s mission, I promise you.
“We ate like fat kids. Partied like rock stars and looked like athletes. We climbed mountains for breakfast, then beat the sun to the horizon. We trusted our lives to strangers and called them family. We changed our socks weekly and our minds courageously. We believed in magic and would often laugh at the moon...”
To your future self…
Happy anniversary.
Courtesy of Odie, The Hiker Yearbook.
March 18th, 2023, my 2nd “Trailversary”, mile 1104 of the Appalachian Trail.
My North Star.
When there is no finish line, you can take time to read by the river.
Atop Pole Steeple with views to the South.
The trail never ceases to provide new and different friends.
I finished my anniversary hike on the shores of Laurel Lake.
My best friend from kindergarten got hitched! Congrats to Dara & Dave!
The Maids.
I went straight Gatsby.
Mom & Dad have known Dara Drue since she was knee-high to a grasshopper!
Lovin’ up on Gus at Arielle’s.
Justin Coles. We ran amuck on Joel Street with one another during our elementary years, only to learn that he had been religiously following my journey on the trail. Sending emails of support throughout, I hadn’t seen him in 25 years… Until St. Patrick’s Day. Serendipity.
The Miss Mackenzie Minney.
St. Patrick’s Day also brought reconnection with my college roommate, Michelle. As we embraced, screamed rather, while in line for the toilet, other patrons even let us cut in line. Now, that’s sayin’ something for our feels.
Anesthesia board review. I passed. Whew!
Opening day clean-up at the Appalachian Trail Museum, Pine Grove, PA.
Liz, André, and Paul gathering compost for the entrance’s landscaping.
Gwen and Nan, readying the Children’s museum.
Window from the Children’s museum, overlooking the State Park and the AT as it heads North.
New murals at the museum by artist Monica Aguilar of Chasing Trails Art.
“Luigi”, Jessie and I, volunteering together again.
Tedeschi Trucks Band, Pittsburgh, PA, March 22nd, 2023.
With my Misana. Check out our dupes in the rear!
You vs. you 🦋
Propagatin’
Virgin power sanding. Keep learning.
Misana and I stopped at the Evergreen Cafe on Penn Avenue after a lunch together. Well, simply because we had never been but had driven by countless times. I saw the LT liscense plate hanging on the wall. Phil had never heard of the Vermont Long Trail, and because I had hiked its entirety, he ripped it from his wall and gifted it to me. It now hangs in my dining room. Damn serendipity, you’ve struck…again.
Date with Mom in the city, Square Café, East Liberty. Look at her smile…
Of all of the mismatched mugs our waitress could have chosen, she chose my sign. Of course she did.
Pirates’ home opener with the Minney’s 🖤💛⚾️
Playing “Boom” with our newfound friends 🍻
Easter egg hunt and dinner at The Country House with Pammy and Jonas.
The prize table!
To see the wonder in McKenzie and Brandon Jr.’s eyes, a child’s eyes…
Tom Norton with his beloved Liverwurst paté, courtesy of my Mama.
The Carl Heinlein, my biggest fan. ARC’TERYX looks good on you, Carl!
Easter baskets look different in your 40’s, thanks Mom ✌🏼☕️!
Uncle Roy now sits at the head of the table where Gram once reigned, and Dad adjusts to the position from where he has fed her for years.
Della and Madi, sharing Easter’s blessings.
After my cousin Roger left this world, before he and I had the chance to walk together, his wife Sandy sent this hat of his to me to take on my next trek. I’ll take you with me Roger, and we’ll hike on together.
Thank you Bill, for your blooms, and President for your note from the Grand Canyon. Both of your experiences live with me in my space.
Maps abound, I plan my finish of New Hampshire’s “48”.
I have summited 19 of New Hamshire’s 48, 4,000 foot peaks while thru hiking the Appalachian Trail. 29 to go. Until we meet in August, White Mountains…
