Despite the COVID-19 pandemic spreading rapidly across the US, I had to get out of the house for some fresh air. I've only been out to dinner with one friend in about 3 weeks and although I missed seeing my friends, the countryside was what I craved more. A photographer buddy had wanted to go out exploring but we would have had to travel in separate cars to retain the 'social distancing' the government is demanding, a phrase I'm beginning to loath. A day out in separate cars with someone who doesn't want to talk on the phone because he will only text did not appeal, and thankfully he failed to get out of bed on time, so I was spared the ordeal. But once I'd had breakfast and relaxed with the cats over a huge mug of tea I jumped into Stanley and headed for the mountains.
The roads were quiet, few people were out socializing or exercising in the Shenandoah valley. But Skyline Drive had opened the park for free, encouraging hoards of city folk to stampede our quiet little town, causing panic among the locals that these strangers would infect us with the virus which
is naturally spreading faster in the DC and suburbs areas. There were huge queues of vehicles waiting to go into the park, a mass of DC, MD and even PA plates, a throng of people who, with all the restrooms closed in the park, would be leaving a huge mess to be cleared up, as they have done in the past. I was sad that I wouldn't be able to use the park after seeing photos posted early of overflowing parking lots. So much for keeping apart for health reasons.
I was content to drive along rustic roads, the window down so the sweet smells of spring could waft into the car. It was chilly, the skies grey and metallic, but Mother Nature had obviously thrown off her winter cloak and was beginning to paint the landscape with color. Forsythia bushes were abundant, golden flowers cascading to the ground, dandelion flowers were untwisting from tight buds, and bright green leaves sprouted from the damp woodland floor. I stopped by a small creek, its crystal clear water tinkling over rocks, olive mosses softly wrapped around stones and new watercress was abundant in the shallow stream. I wished I'd brought some bags to take some home but contented myself with chewing on a few peppery leaves.
After driving over the mountains in George Washington National Forest I pulled over at a trail that led to the Woodstock Tower. I had hiked a lower trail a couple of years ago and looked up at the construction and now thought investigating it would be a good idea. As I pulled over on the side of the road a couple walked to their vehicle and drove away. Wonderful, I would have the trail to myself.
It was lovely to be outside, even with the brisk winds up here on the mountain. I passed a lone cherry blossom tree and was happy to see the pink blooms, happier to be here rather than down in DC where the cherry blossoms were more prolific but currently not a wise place to be visiting. I'd heard that despite the Corona Virus there were still many visitors walking about the blossoms, ignoring the call for social distancing. I was content to be isolated and admiring these few flowers on the trail.
The observation tower is a steel construction, used for recreation and fire spotting, and although solidly built, it is very open and the wind was cold as I climbed to the top. The handrails were freezing, the steps and sides allowing the cold to blow through. At the top the metal floor had been daubed with ugly graffiti and I spotted a few padlocks hanging on the fence, initials scratched onto their surface.
The valley below appeared completely empty, the bare mountains on one side and the seven bends of the Shenandoah weaving through fields on the other. The clouds were like a pack of cotton wool that had been unrolled. I stood with my hands thrust deep in my pockets, wishing I had a hat and scarf. It felt a little strange to be here on my own as I thought about the masses invading the Skyline Drive, and I was glad not to be among them. Looking down from the 2000ft mountain top, I could see for miles and stood enjoying the solitude for a few minutes before the frigid breezes drove me back down. Descending the steps was more daunting than climbing up. I was acutely aware that I could easily tumble over the edge or slip down the steps. The metal shrieked and rattled as I worked my way down, the structure trembling underneath from either the wind or my movement, I wasn't sure. I was glad to reach the bottom and walk the trail back to the car.
Although the trail at first appeared drab and dull, bereft of life, closer inspection as I walked slowly revealed small yellow spice bush flowers, and then further along, pink witch hazel. Tiny buds of green and pink were sprouting along the branches while green fingers of new leaves and grasses poked through the dusty brown leaves on the ground.
Just as I clambered into my warm car, rubbing my cold nose, another car pulled up and people climbed out. Great timing, we were avoiding contact. I drove down the mountain cautiously, the road in places dropping steeply on one side, tight horse shoe bends making me slow to almost a walking pace. Driving back through tiny towns with little activity I eventually returned home, and retired to my sanctuary, unsure of how many trips outside I'd be able to make before the government calls for a total lock down.
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