Trail Daze
“The ‘kids’ made me do it!!”, I’ll respond when questioned as to why I am now partial parrot.
In actuality, I willingly infused a fuchsia streak into my hair for the love of the…game. The “game”, being my muse.
Trail Days is an annual 3 day event, held in Damascus, Virginia, that was forced to take a hiatus last year secondary to COVID-19. A festival that encompasses live guitar, gear heads, and the most SUPPLE of burritos served as a welcomed reprieve for those of us that have been on foot for months. A chance to forget the daunt of our undeniable miles that lie ahead and the chores of “town” that reliably monopolize our time off trail.
These 3 “zeroes” of mine yielded time for basking in the sun without intention, normalcy in sporting “real people” clothes (well…kinda), and the playground for reconnecting with fellow thru-hikers who are in alternating phases of the Northbound bubble. Regardless of a hiker’s place on the map, we shuttled or hitched either ahead or backtracked to Damascus to attend this iconic and colorful celebration. I had reached Damascus early and was returned 33 miles South in The Giving Tree’s tangerine-colored Honda Element.
I was surrounded by groups of hikers who had begun at the same time as myself who were 100…even 150 miles ahead of me. What?!? But we had summited Springer on the same day! Were they more capable than I? Was I weak? Was I not going to make it to Katahdin in time?
Comparison is the thief of content and confidence.
We are only competing against our mindsets.
I am doing the very best that I can each and every day given the set of circumstances that I am dealt.
I am capable. I am strong. And already successful.
As are you.
As is one of my best friend’s daughters, 10 year old Taylor Lorah, when she confidently, yet quietly, scripted a modern day show-and-tell, sharing with her classmates, my quest. She has absorbed my determination through her mother’s dedication to my decision and chose to share it with her peers in detail, anxiously eager to tell me ALLLLL about it when time and circumstance allowed for us to talk. Thank you, Nicole, for being you. You are far more of a warrior than I. Now get that basement ready for me upon my return! T’s next Power Point can showcase the non-verbal, dreadlocked, mountain woman who she slides dinner to under the door each evening…
There are human sponges among us that we are impressioning without intention.
An inspiration to be our very best.
And to be sponges, ourselves.
Everywhere I turned, “Dips!” or “Serendipity!” rang across Laurel Avenue or over the bonfire. We are a family out here. Age, race, gender, size, shape, socioeconomic status, or sexual orientation, need not apply. Only kindness and determination. It’s stunning.
What’s also stunning is the growing contact list in my phone. Only on the AT could it be showered with names such as “Hard Mike”, “Meat Popsicle”, “Upchuck”, and “Shitty Money”.
Up until the Sunday that brought Trail Days to a close, I had only resupplied at hostels, grocery stores, gas stations, Dollar Generals, or through mail-drops. This time I had found myself a ride to the pot of gold.
Walmart.
We could pack out spinach, an AVOCADO, jalapeño flavored Fritos. The beef jerky flavors came in rainbows. New headphones. My pick of chapsticks with not only SPF, but tint. Whoa. There lay in front of me, my pick of magentas, should I decide to funk out my hair. Did I want to read a magazine?!? If so, would I catch up on current events? Or check in on Kim K.?
Then came the pair of hanging ferns that I saw in the shopping cart of a woman dressed in casual Sunday wear. I liked her dangling, mixed-metal earrings. She smelled nice. I paused. Then, the over-sized jarred candles with glass lids, I always preferred the savory scents to the sweet. I turned the next corner only to be confronted with a seasonal display of very patriotic paper plates, red-white-and-blue disposable utensils, and miniature-sized cloth American Flags. I thought of my family soon to be gathered for Memorial Day, as we have been every year for decades, on Aunt Sandra and Uncle Roy’s back deck. Complete with grilled kielbasa, my Mom’s spinach dip, Gram bundled up from stem to stern in her wheelchair despite the season’s increasing temps, while we christened summer with a dip in their pool. The pool where Uncle Joe had taught me to swim.
Next came the lump in the throat.
I first tried to play my watery eyes and sniffles off as a cough, looking down and to the left. It was when I wasn’t respondent to Wallflower’s talk of his favorite childhood cereals, that I couldn’t camouflage my silence. Out with my words, came my tears. That whole, “if I speak, I’ll cry” type of crossroad. “What HAPPENED Dips?!?”, he was completely startled by my seemingly unprovoked show of emotion.
I viscerally missed the comforts of ordinary life at home. And ferns are my jam. Seeing them was like getting that call from your ex, complete with a stomach flip and a couple of skipped beats.
I wasn’t homesick, but rather nostalgic and sobered in my nomadism.
As Winnie The Pooh says, “How lucky I am to have something that makes saying goodbye so hard.”
I wasn’t sad. I was just feeling…hard.
There aren’t enough ferns on the East Coast to lure me off of this trail.
And North, I’ll continue.
My comrade, Michalia, A.K.A. “Sgt. Pepper”, is walking for a cause. She is raising funds in memory of her best friend Bernard, who fought Leukemia for 8 years, as is my sweet cousin Sophia Tuinstra currently.
All monies donated will go directly to the Leukemia & Lymphoma Society. Please consider contributing through the link below in memory of Bernard and in honor of Sophia.
Stay special, folks ♥️
Damascus, VA
Sun soaking at Laurel Creek
Pancakes with Teal at Damascus Diner
Brother and sister, David and Debbie, Damascus locals. We shared stories and they their (4 inch!!) funnel cake. I learned that David’s love for the Pittsburgh Pirates rivals my late Uncle Walter’s which gave me the opportunity to boast about Uncle Walt ♥️
I was tranced. Thank you David!
Not Weird
I first met Olivia, now “Slingshot”, my very first day under the arch at Amicalola Falls. Haven’t seen her since, only to hear her familiar voice ordering bacon behind me at Damascus Diner. We’ll always be each others’ firsts.
Hiker reunions abound!
Wallflower on the strings
Link
Old School
Old School, Link, Sgt. Pepper
Doughboy & Deja
Striking a pose in my weekend thrift shop finds, $7 well spent
Red Beard reunion!
Pig roast, courtesy of Riff Raff at Tent City
Thank you for the socks, Amanda!
When the laundromat was sold out of Tide pods, Jett insisted that we share hers instead of walking to Food City for a full sized bottle. But…her husband had it in his trunk…across the way…at a car wash. He was speechless as I skipped up to him in my “hot cakes” tee, smelling like a Porta John, asking for detergent…
Salon de Old School
Transition to thinner socks as it heats up 🌈. I sent the heavier ones back to Katie, and she’ll be returning such cold-gear to me once I hit New England. There’s a constant rotating swap of gear as the weather cycles
Aaaaaaand…we’re baaaaack to Massie Gap, having survived the shenanigans of Trail Days. Tallyho!
Nicole & Taylor ♥️
