A Humid Hike on the Appalachian Trail

I had managed to get home on Saturday just before the thunderstorms rolled in and it looked like Sunday could be the same. So I got up early to hike a trail I'd last hiked in winter. I'd remembered it as an uphill climb which I huffed and puffed up, but today it didn't seem so bad. Losing some weight has helped and my knees felt no aching today.

Someone had painted a pebble with a cheery message, leaving it at the base of a tree, giving everyone who passed a reason to smile. I could hear water pummeling its way over rocks as I neared the bottom of the  valley, crashing and thundering through the forest. The last time I'd been here the waterfall had been less of a force, with thick sheets of ice each side frozen on top with curls and loops of water frozen as it leaped out of the creek down the hill. I climbed up to the top and found a comfy perch on a huge rock. The surrounding trees were mostly tulip trees, their petals had been scattered all over the path on the way up here, like wedding confetti on a carpet.

I pulled out my journal and started sketching. The humidity was eased by the breeze coming from the waterfall, it also kept the mosquitoes away. I had the place completely to myself and relaxed completely as I began working. I was really enjoying the serenity and the calming therapy of drawing and painting. I was so engrossed that I didn't notice two hikers come up behind me. They stopped to chat and withing a couple of minutes beer became the topic of conversation. We swapped favorite brewery destinations and I took a photo of them against the falls. They obviously wanted to enjoy the scenery for themselves so I gave up my seat on the rock and left them to indulge in the beauty of this spot.

The trail was vastly different from my last visit, alive with almost tropical vegetation, bright green shiny new growth surrounding me. I was glad of the canopy overhead, shielding me from the sunshine as I climbed further upwards. All along the ridge were huge tulip trees with the petals creating colorful splashes on the trail before me, reminding me of the breadcrumb trail in the fairy tale Hansel and Gretel. The rocky path was slippery from so much water, at one point the trail becoming a creek that I had to splash through. I didn't even stop for a breather as I had last time, and despite the humidity trying to sap my energy I continued upwards relishing the energy my lighter body was feeling.

And then there was mud. Lots of it, so deep that I had to simply squelch through. I found myself humming, "Slip sliding away" by Simon and Garfunkel for a while until I decided I should stop, just in case I jinxed myself and took a tumble.

.

I climbed up a rockier slope and decided to stop again on an outcrop, once more pulling my journal and paints out to capture some of the bramble flowers arching on each side of the trail.

Coming back down I passed some more hikers heading inwards, and hoped they wouldn't go too far before the storms came in again. Back at the car an AT through hiker was resting with a friend who had driven to meet him with replenishments for his backpack. He was thoroughly enjoying a huge slice of watermelon and between mouthfuls told me he'd started 3 months ago in Georgia and reckoned he was halfway through. Just before I left he hoisted his full pack onto his back and set off up the mountain. I wished him well, hoping he'd be able to dry out that evening with the impending bad weather. This year must be an ordeal for the through hikers with the continuous storms we've been having. I drove home, the heavens opening before I climbed the hill to Meadow House and I thought of that poor hiker.

As the thunder crashed across the fields and the rain beat against the patio doors I sat with my paints, nearly finishing a double page spread in my journal. I'm not going to kid myself that these artworks are good but I am pleased that I'm off to a good start. With practice I should hopefully improve and it will be interesting to look back on past entries as I complete my journal, with my sketches hopefully looking better as the year progresses. I'm already wondering how much better my autumnal leaves will look compared to my spring flowers.

A Brief Bright Respite from the Rain

It has seemed like weeks of continuous rain, or if not rain, then cloudy and damp days, so when Saturday dawned with sunlight I stared disbelieving as I opened the blinds. But the weather still had the last word, storms with more rain were due in the afternoon. So I drove locally to a little retreat I've discovered and the name of which I shan't disclose since the last thing we need here is hordes of Meetup groups stomping and shouting their way through the current calm stillness which I love, as do I'm sure, all the native wildlife. And sure enough, when I pulled into the small parking lot, Stanley was the only vehicle present. I picked up my small camera and backpack which was holding my nature journal and paints, then set off on a slow saunter. It was very humid, fine, speed was not going to be an option.

It felt glorious to feel the sun on my face. Having had so much rainy and grey dampness, the sun felt delicious on my skin and I wasn't letting the humidity bother me. Even the fact that mosquitoes buzzed annoyingly close didn't penetrate my little aura of bliss as I walked along the grassy paths through the reserve. Despite the sounds of Rte 66 in the distance, the wildlife was doing its best to block it out. Birds chirped and tweeted as they fluttered happily overhead and the red wing blackbirds trilled from the rushes and small trees in the swampy pond area. Mallards quacked and honked, while the bullfrogs boomed and croaked and creaked from their hiding holes. I never saw one despite it sounding as though there were hundreds.
I recalled a quote that Lara had told us last week from John R. Stilgoe, "Go outside and walk a bit, long enough to take in and record new surroundings. Enjoy the best-kept secret around - the ordinary, everyday landscape that touches any explorer with magic." I couldn't have said it any better myself, it's exactly how I feel when out on my little wanderings.

It was wonderful to have the place to myself, sharing it with the natural residents. I walked slowly near any I came close to, not wanting to cause any disruption or upset to their very evidently happy day. There was only one thing which marred my enjoyment. Across the pond I could see a house and barn from which odious wafts kept bulldozing my nostrils, I deduced the place must be abandoned. Usually a smell that doesn't bother me, but it did today. Tremendously. Rotting old paper with damp mustiness, a smell that usually entices me towards an old structure instead repelled me today. I tried to ignore it but the pong was very invasive. As soon as I thought I had passed it, I'd suddenly be attacked by another repugnant assault. But eventually I did mange to leave the stench behind me and once again I was gratefully breathing in the perfume of sweet grasses and flowers. Blackberry brambles were clothed in clouds of white petals, large daisies and irises bloomed abundantly in clumps throughout the emerald green grasses and reeds. My first monarch butterfly of the year flitted in front of me and I was pleased to see the milkweed growing vigorously among the grasses.

The grassy paths were springy with damp earth under my feet. sunlight glinted off the water on each side of me and then I spotted a little silver chap sunning himself on the branch of a young sapling. A dear little grey tree frog was laying on the bark, eyes half closed, and looking blissfully happy. I didn't upset his tranquility and took my photo by zooming in. I walked slowly and quietly by, thankful again that there were no crowds of people walking through. The whole time I was here I passed only one guy jogging, evidently a local since he had no car in the parking lot.

Along the top of the field most of the trail was in the shade. Hundreds of tiny earth piles were dotted along the path, the castings of earthworms, and then further along was a box turtle cooling his posterior in a puddle. At first I was alarmed, thinking he'd had an accident and was in distress but when I picked him up he was so relaxed that he showed no fear and didn't even retract his head inside his shell. I apologized to him and set him back down in his puddle, making every effort to install him in the exact position from which I'd rudely extracted him. He was obviously fine about that, his arms and legs still sticking out from his shell once I'd replaced him and he didn't even readjust his behind, likely loving that he was back in the cool mud again. I said goodbye and pottered on.
I left the pond meadow and crossing the road entered cool shady woods, the temperature feeling at least 15 degrees lower than out in the sun. My eyes adjusted as my nose took in the lovely aroma of honeysuckle. The fragrant perfume was so intoxicating that I had to just stand and sniff for a while, no air fresheners can come close to this natural sweetness.

Lush green grassy paths, thick with clover wound in and out of the copses. This place reminds me a little of The Secret Garden. There's no brick wall surrounding it, but these paths are everywhere, bending around corners then disappearing under trees, you never know where you're being led and the mystery is delightful. Again I had this part of the reserve to myself, only passing one couple with their tiny daughter walking the trails. Brambles stretched across, spilling white petals down to the ground, tall daisies reached up to the sun and bees buzzed. So did the mosquitoes, but I ignored those.
I walked around and about, in between and through, the paths feeling like luxurious deep piled carpet with their damp denseness. I really wanted to stop and work on my journal but there were no rocks to st on; I won't perch on fallen logs, having got my one and only experience of chiggers from doing that. If I stood, both of my hands would be holding my paints and journal, the mosquitoes got too close for comfort. So I settled with taking photos that I would paint from later.
Eventually curiosity got the better of me and I walked back towards the car. That house across the pond had been funky and whiffy, but I had to find out what was inside if it was indeed abandoned.

I drove down a gravel road and found the house. It wasn't exciting. It had once been an architectural business and unfortunately for the clients, the maps of their premises were strewn across broken tables and the floor. I only spent a couple of minutes inside. But the screened porch had once been gorgeous. Old chairs were positioned so the pond and reserve could be observed. with no immediate neighbors this must have once been a lovely spot to sit in the afternoon shade. I hope the house will be rescued or another built in its place that will again take advantage of the view. I left, noting some pretty irises that might warrant a return visit for the tubers if the place remains abandoned, and then headed back home to finish some of my journal.

A Wet World in Watercolors

Everywhere I go there is usually a camera slung around my neck or over my shoulder ready to capture images and preserve my escapades forever. But this Saturday I was trying something different, using a medium I'd not touched for a couple of decades. I've lately been wanting to reignite the 'artist' in me and dabble once again with watercolors and also oils. I painted a cherry blossom tree a couple of weeks ago under tuition and it had felt good to hold a brush in my hand again. So today I was taking a nature journaling class. A box of oil paints has been sitting on my dining room table for about a month now, yet I haven't plucked up the courage to open them, although I have prepared a few canvas boards so they're now ready to paint on. I've hit a brick wall, my lack of confidence, and the bricks need to come down.

I was excited as I left the house. I had my paints with a brand new journal in my bag and drove the short distance to Paris, VA. We have had continuous rain for over a week, and I had slumped into a depression because of the glumness outside. I'd gone to bed listening to rain pummeling the roof and windows and woken up again hearing the same sound. I'd driven to work with wipers flashing back and forth, actually got bored with the daily thunderstorms, and got thoroughly fed up with my house confinement. The vibrant green foliage everywhere now looked like a jungle, vines and grasses rampantly spreading upwards and outwards. Flowers had been flattened and destroyed but the weeds seemed to soak up the moisture, growing bigger and taking over everything. Thick heavy mists hung low on hilltops so that after a few days it almost felt claustrophobic. Saturday morning had looked like it was also going to be a wash out so when I grumpily arose that morning, my miserable depression lifted when I threw up the blinds to discover DRY windows. No rain funneling down the glass, no dripping, no pattering or spattering; the deluge had finally stopped. The clouds had run out of rain. As I drove I was fully expecting rain drops to appear on to my windshield. The air was damp, the grass almost liquid with every blade loaded down by hundreds of huge droplets. The Paris mountains were shrouded with a thick mantle of heavy fog, little creeks were now gushing torrents as they weaved through fields and woods but it was grand to be outdoors.

I had arrived early, so ecstatic to be freed from my indoor imprisonment. We were meeting in the Trinity Methodist Church. It's a pretty building built in 1895 for $3600. Used more for meetings and private events than services, it preached its last sermon in 2011, having only 5 regular attendees. I walked up one of the two little streets that make up Paris, once called Pumpkinville incidentally! There had also been a tavern here but in 1940 that had been demolished by a runaway truck. So now there are only houses, the church, the apothecary and the restaurant.

The road was silent, no residents were visible as I strolled along, avoiding the huge puddles, some of which were over 6" deep. The air was filled with the perfume of spring flowers and thick with moisture, but I was loving the still freshness. I happily hopped back and forth across puddles to nose over a fence or take a photo.

I popped into The Paris Apothocary, a tiny store that's only been open just over a year. This was my first visit but shall certainly not be my last. It was delightful, with shelves and nooks crammed full of bottles and soaps, and knick-knacks and foodstuffs, drinks and artwork. Everything was made from natural products. As I walked around I found myself sniffing as much as looking, there were samplers of lotions and creams, and tasters of snacks and preserves. I ordered a coffee with ground mushrooms to take next door with me to the chapel, and it was delicious. I will find wonderful gifts here to take back home to England in September.
Next door in the chapel our small group sat on the pews and listened to our tutor, Lara Gastinger. She had brought a few of her journals with her and had also set up a video screen so she could demonstrate live on how she went about her sketching and painting, teaching us how to begin, think about our creations and how to organize them. I particularly liked her idea of a nature book divided into weeks, so that it could be added to each year. This way I would become more aware of what plants would appear during which seasons. I want to be able to take my journal with me on hikes so as well as photographing I can capture nature in a more raw and personal way. It would also be therapeutic to sit and sketch during a hike. Many hiking groups now incorporate meditation or yoga, this would be my therapy break. I currently like to sit for a while to enjoy the sights and sounds on my walks, so journaling will be a great way of recording what I experience.

We watched in amazement as she began sketching in her book, her pen tip effortlessly skimming back and forth across the paper. No pencil or eraser used here, she went straight in with the non erasable, waterproof micron pen. Well, she has been doing this for years, but I thought it might be best to start with confidence and use the pen too rather than the pencil. She made no errors, her hand quickly swishing as she left tiny black scratches and dots that represented barely visible leaf veins and shading. I was itching to start. Lara had given us a list of art supplies to bring with us and also had a variety of hers on display. She personally used a small tin filled with tiny round magnetic tubs, each one containing a squirt of paint from a tube. This tin was then attached to her pad with a huge bulldog clip. Even an empty CD case could be used as a portable palette, another fine idea. I really liked Lara's tin but had gone ahead and purchased a small watercolor palette with half pans. I would need to use these up first but would then later transfer over to the tin and refillable pans idea. Water was already in the paint brush handle reservoir so along with a few pens in a pocket no other supplies were needed. Lara very thoughtfully handed out to everyone a strip of card with tiny dried dabs of paint that were her favorite colors. I resolved to use just this strip so my own paints wouldn't be used that day.

We walked outside where, thankfully, the rain was still holding off. Yesterday I had presumed that we'd end up spending the class indoors with a damp wilting clump of weeds in front of us to paint. I was so pleased that this scenario never came into play. All the trees and plants were dripping with moisture, huge drops of rain still clinging to petals and edges of leaves like crystal beads on a string, but that was fine. It was just perfectly wonderful to be able to spend some time outside. Lara stood by a rhododendron and explained how she started sketching in her book. We all crowded around her, marveling at her skill as a perfectly formed bud and leaves began to take form on the paper. It was fine not to finish, she said. she often worked from photos later and would skip from one subject to another while outside. She lightly brushed some color over her pen work and a masterpiece stood proudly on her page. And then it was our turn.

Everybody walked off in different directions and I simply stood there. Then I moved down the path, just so I didn't look silly on my own, doing nothing. Within a few minutes the group had spread across the grounds of Ashby Inn, sitting on their chairs with faces bent over their white pages, quickly filling up the space so the books wouldn't be 'new' anymore. I wanted to do the same but had no idea where to start. For one, I had no chair. Stanley the Santa Fe Sport was in hospital having a heart transplant, another story, and I had left my folding chair in the back of him. So I had to stand, since the ground was sopping wet. I walked on to the grass, seeing people down low, studying fronds and petals, pens and brushes moving deliberately in their journals. I opened my book and walked around some more. Eventually I picked up a leaf. I had felt a little intimidated at starting to draw a large bush so Lara suggested that I start with something small. Acutely aware that no errors could be made I made my first marks on the fresh unblemished paper. And I was off. Using Lara's little strip of paints I colored in my first leaf and then picked up another.

And then I spotted some sycamore seeds on the ground so picked those up too, wanting a change from using green paints. And then I had a go at painting a birdhouse in the next garden. After that I wandered into the vegetable garden where a few of our group were sitting on the low wooden borders. I sat too, focusing on some pretty, but flattened and soggy, yellow flowers, which the gardener told me was kale.

I was really enjoying myself but quickly spotted my mistakes in my journal. Firstly, I needed to concentrate longer on each piece and add more detail to the sketching part. I was rushing too much. Secondly, I had to somehow improve my atrocious handwriting, which actually made the finished page look scruffy. But I was relatively pleased with my first attempt and knew the next time I wouldn't be under any time constraints or scrutiny. I would feel more relaxed and comfortable. I realized how much I needed to slow down when I looked about and saw that most of the group were still deeply intent on their projects while I had resumed wandering about with a page completed already. This also underlined my need to focus more on the details, to take more time.

I sat down on a stone wall and studied a small broken twig, then trying to be more attentive, I sketched that, filling it with color afterwards. There was no way I would add any scratchy writing! I was concerned afterwards that my page was wet with paint and asked Lara how she dealt with that and got her book dry before packing it away. Her answer was simple, use less water.
When our time was up we all met on the steps of the chapel and laid out our journaling for Lara to critique, which she did very kindly. I was impressed with the quality and knew most of us would keep up our efforts judging by the amount of hard work that had gone into our first attempts. Blowing on my soggy book, I climbed into the car to head home, passing flooded and overblown creeks that were flooding fields and roads, hoping the rains would stop soon so I could start hiking again at the weekends, the next time with a palette of paints and my journal, as well as my camera.