Date: 2008-09-06
From: VA Rt. 42 - O'Lystery Picnic Pavillion

To: Rt. 11 Shell Station
Miles today: 11.8
Weather: broken clouds

¢Up and At ¢Em¢ once again! Today was one of those non-descript days of Appalachian Trail hiking -- No great adventures; No remarkable experiences; No spectacularly breath-taking vistas. Yet, even so, the Trail still held all of these precious elements to varying degrees because as much discovery, joy and awe can be found in the smaller, even miniscule marvels of the Trail as in its big, unmistakable aspects as well. Perhaps, then, their existence is more dependent upon my receptivity than upon their transmission.Today I walked with my receivers turned way down and, even without trying, enjoyed thoughts and breathing and sweating and breezes and tens of thousands of rocks and leaves and pine needles and sticks and puffs of clouds and leaves and grasses and stumps and limbs and pebbles and stones and meadows and wild flowers and smells and bird calls and shapes and colors and shadows and of how two predominant colors ¢ green and brown -- that seem to constitute the woods and the meadows actually come in so many, many uncountable shades and hues and degrees of richness and subtle variations that they¢re not really the predominant colors of the Trail at all. So, today even as I walked with my receivers turned down, still with every step was bombarded with the Trail¢s transmissions of adventure, experience, sights, sounds and awe. Some of which (enough of which) wormed their way into my receivers to do what the AT does so well to those who hike it -- to touch my spirit in some indescribably unique and spiritual way. It was another great, non-descript day for me on the Trail.I arrived at my pick-up point on VA 16 and settled on to a bench in the sunshine outside the door of the Shell Station with a Diet Coke, a couple of Grandma¢s soft chocolate chip cookies and a pair of Mrs. So-and-so¢s cream-filled red velvet cake delights (which were, indeed!) I had arrived early and sat for nearly an hour watching the clientele come and go and marveled at the extent to which they were as varied and presumably as intricate and unique as the woods that surrounded them. After an hour of this I understood why I have come to enjoy my time in the woods so much.Bill arrived and we returned to the campsite he had found yesterday while I was gone. The camper is now set up under some trees in Hungry Mother State Park (so named, as the story goes, after a mother gathered up her child and escaped from an Indian raid in the 1700¢s and fled into the mountains. Exhausted from carrying her young¢un as far as she could, the mother collapsed yet, miraculously, the youngster somehow found his way to a homestead but could only say those two words ¢ ¢Hungry.¢ ¢Mother¢ -- enough to get him fed but not of much help locating poor Mom who expired in the woods). I showered and napped while we waited for Bill¢s oldest son, Tom, and his oldest son, three-year-old Jack, to arrive from Atlanta to spend a day with us camping.Once the next two generations arrived we talked, cooked burgers, hot dogs and marshmallows, and smoked cigars (not Jack!) and (as a woman might say), bonded. Basically we just sat and caught-up on family, friends, stories, work, life, politics and football scores --all the important stuff-- before going to bed.