Tennessee

Falling Apart & Climbing Mountains: The Strength & Frailty of the Human Condition

April 5, 2017 by Leah Leave a Comment

Back around Thanksgiving when I was visiting family and half the people there were sick, I managed to catch a cold. A cold that turned into a sinus infection, that turned into an ear infection, that turned into sudden hearing loss, that turned into one of the most painful illnesses I’ve had to deal with as an adult to date. I was in and out of doctors’ offices, taking multiple rounds of antibiotics, painkillers, and steroids…yet the hearing in my left ear stubbornly refused to return. After finally being referred to an ENT at Vanderbilt, I got a steroid shot through my eardrum, took some more antibiotics, and at last had an MRI which revealed I have mastoiditis. The short version of that is I have a chronic infection in the bone behind my ear which is responsible for conductive hearing. Due to shoddy medical care at the walk in clinics I went to and poor decision making on the part of the first ENT I saw, I now am dealing with a condition where I have nerve damage and still have not regained, and may never regain full hearing in my left ear. The latest round of antibiotics hasn’t seemed to help, so the next step is another temporary hole in my eardrum that will enable me to deliver antibiotic drops to the inner ear. The saga continues in a couple of weeks at my next visit.

During this time, I have also been dealing with some issues that resulted from the antibiotics I had to take. Lady issues that I won’t go into here. I’ve been to an excellent women’s clinic here in Nashville that specializes in delicate issues and found out I have two other conditions which have made my private life as a woman rather difficult over the past several years. Except these are issues women don’t talk about because we’re too embarrassed or ashamed to admit that we deal with them. These issues have resulted in feelings of shame, brokenness, self loathing, and utter despondency that I struggle with in my marriage and as a woman in general. They are directly related to my scoliosis, which was discovered when I was 12. After the embarrassment of wearing a back brace for 2 years, that effort failed, resulting in a doctor callously telling me I needed a surgery to fuse the vertebrae in my spine. I could not be more grateful that I never went through with that surgery. I have struggled with chronic pain for years, my hips and shoulders are a bit crooked, and my muscles spasm in all the right places after I’ve done a good day’s work in the yard, but I still have mobility and am filled with gratitude for the things I can still handle.

In short, there are days when I feel like my body is falling apart. I am in my 30s and there are moments when I feel frail and vulnerable as a feather in the breeze. At the same time all of this is happening, I have never felt physically stronger in my life. To say that nature is a healing force would be a gross understatement. Over the past couple of years, I’ve transitioned from writing a lot about the remodeling of our home and gardens to the trails I’ve hiked and the trips we’ve taken. Much of this sharing is an effort to expose people to beautiful places in the hope that they too might want to travel and see them, that other women might be brave enough to get out there, even if it means going alone. As glorious as these places are on the outside: alpine forests layered in moss, frozen lakes that turn azure in the summer, golden aspens flung across mountainsides, and trails that go for miles through wilderness where the only sounds are those of chirping birds and winds caressing branches. I wish I could adequately describe what these places have done for my heart and my body.

This past weekend, I strapped on my new backpacking pack, loaded up with 17 pounds of gear, and headed to a local trail. I had just done this trail a couple of days before with a friend. We saw 3 barred owls and watched two of them call back and forth to each other before silently taking flight through the trees to meet on adjoining branches. It was a moment frozen in time that left me in wonder. On the way home from the trail, a brown coyote loped sneakily across an expansive front yard in a wealthy neighborhood. Not even the rich are safe from those that prowl at dusk. As I hoisted the pack onto my back two days later, my muscles were tired, my legs, hips, and shoulders were still sorely recovering from the prior exertion. I put my headphones in and struggled over those 4.8 miles, feeling like that trail would never end. The hills seemed so much bigger. The 1700 feet of ups and downs that I can normally handle without a problem felt like it was going to break me. 17 extra pounds felt like 50. I have no idea how thru-hikers do it!

The reason I’m training with my pack is because Rob and I are planning to hike Rocky Top in Great Smoky Mountains National Park with some friends in May. It’s one of the hardest climbs in the park and we are backpacking a few miles up to a back country campsite, then hiking the rest of the way to the summit. In June we’re going to Yosemite and I want to hike as much as I possibly can and see a few places I didn’t have time to see last year. At elevation, those hikes are a challenge even for people who are in good shape. In September, we’re going to Vermont for a friend’s wedding and would like to attempt to hike Mount Mansfield, the highest peak in the state. The last time we hiked in VT, the trail seemed to just go straight up into the sky over boulders and tree roots, so this time I want to be more prepared. As a person who is clumsy at best, and not the least bit athletic, these endeavors may seem silly, even downright stupid, but they have been paths to healing for me. The pain in my back has lessened dramatically as my legs and hips have strengthened from repeated ascents and descents in the hills and mountains of Tennessee. Emotionally and mentally, being outside has brought focus, purpose, and meaning to my life where the church left a giant painful void years ago. If you want to find me in church, I’ll be out in the woods, where the hiking community is welcoming, caring and judgment free, and God’s creation is so painstakingly evident in every tiny flower, leaf, mushroom, birdsong, feather, millipede, mountain view, rainbow trout, and black bear paw print. Surround me with forest and I am in the arms of God.

In the moments of weakness when I feel like I can barely make it up the next incline, those are also the moments where I discover a strength I didn’t realize I had inside of me. All of us have something. Maybe it’s the betrayal of our own bodies falling to pieces on us no matter how healthy we try to eat or how cautious we try to be. Several people we know are dealing with the devastation of their marriages falling apart, having to piece themselves together to function for their children, or figure out how the hell to keep their lives from disintegrating miserably to pieces as they lose everything they once held dear. There’s addiction, loneliness, grief, loss, depression, the ugly little lies we tell ourselves….there is so much to overcome. But there is beauty at the top of these internal mountains after the shitty parts are over. The tears and sweat bring you to a place where you can look back from where you came and finally release the weight you’ve been carrying. A climb can bring a person to a clearer perspective…and all before you is beauty. We can choose to see beauty or we can choose to see pain. A dear friend who lost her son said she makes that choice every single day.

I think it’s important to remember that we can be weak and strong at the same time. That it’s ok to admit our frailty and still be emboldened by our strength. It’s one of those weird puzzles in life that I will forever be trying to make sense of. In the meantime, I may ask you to repeat what you said a little louder. I may ask you to help me carry something that feels a bit too heavy. And I will definitely ask you if you want to come hiking with me…

Gregory Bald & Andrews Bald: Blossoms and Bears

June 17, 2016 by Leah Leave a Comment

This past weekend a good friend from college and I headed out to the Smokies to hike on some of the mountains known for their flame azaleas and rhododendrons. The second weekend of June this year seemed to be a bit early for the flame azaleas, but we lucked out and were able to see some bushes that were in full, glorious bloom.

The first hike we decided to tackle was Gregory Bald. During the time when Lisa and I were planning this trip, I saw lots of articles about how Gregory Bald is the best kept secret of the Smokies, how it’s the best place anywhere in the world to see flame azaleas, how it’s a must-see for adventurers who want views without the crowds…on and on. It was this description that clinched it for me though. The thing is, I completely agree with all those descriptions. Yes, the bald itself is incredible and I’ve never been in an environment like that before, part meadow, part blooming brushy hedge. However, the trail made me want to kill myself.

This is how the trail looked the entire way until we got to the top. Not terribly interesting forest with little air movement. Agh!

Maybe it was the fact that we’d had a little too much moonshine in Gatlinburg the night before, or maybe it was the lady problems we were both having, or maybe it was that we didn’t get the best night’s sleep in the dingy old hotel where we stayed, or maybe it was the giant biscuit we both ate for breakfast…all of these things combined in such a way that we felt really tired the morning we decided to do this hike. We got up pretty early and headed to the Cades Cove loop in an effort to beat the traffic only to discover that on Wednesdays and Saturdays Cades Cove doesn’t open to cars until 10 am. So we sat around and looked at the trail riding horses, waiting with hordes of people for the road to open. One hour later, after a visitor center stop and a bumpy dirt road, we were at the trailhead.

Once we had our gear strapped on, the ascent began. 5.5 miles up to the top with no downhill breaks whatsoever. We struggled 3,020 feet up the mountain through a sometimes-boring deciduous forest where at points there was zero air movement and sweat poured out of our gross, tired bodies. There were many stops along the way to catch our breath, grab a snack, drink some water, and then determinedly trudge on, ever thinking we were close because there wasn’t one damn sign or marker on that whole trail until you were .6 miles from the bald. Which, at least we knew we were .6 miles away, but hell, it seemed like we were surely closer than that.

When we finally did reach the bald I was at a loss for words. We started seeing bright dots of orange throughout the woods as we neared the bald, until we came out into a meadow covered in flame azaleas in every shade of orange, red, and bright pink. I’ve never seen anything like it. The trail led through an area of blueberry bushes, blackberry bushes, and azaleas so densely packed that you couldn’t see through them, then opened up into a grassy meadow where we could see farm fields and mountains for miles.

Lisa and I survived being music majors together in college, so this was a piece of cake in comparison to that. This year I’ve been so thankful for the adventurous women in my life who have literally climbed mountains with me…

At this point, the second weekend of June, the azaleas were just starting to bloom, so some of them were still budded and a few of them had already passed. If we’d been a week or two later, the explosion of color would have been dynamic. We sat and took in the scenery for a while before getting up to talk around the bald. A couple who’d been on the trail in front of us said there was a bear about 300 yards away in the bushes, so we immediately headed in that direction. There were several people on horseback who were yelling at the bear, and as we got closer a behemoth of a bear exited the azaleas, walked a short distance and went right back into the shrubbery. That was all we saw of him and I wasn’t able to get a picture, but he looked like the size of a small car and I took this picture in the gift shop to give some perspective on how utterly giant he was. We could see the bushes crashing around as he foraged for berries and eventually, he just wasn’t there anymore so we pet the horses and took some pictures with some really gorgeous shrubs.

As the day wore on, we decided to head back down the trail. We went back through the meadow and into the area where we first entered the bald. As we were neared the tree line of the woods we heard an enormous crash in the shrubbery directly next to us, like a semi was trying to make its way through the bushes. Lisa immediately grabbed the bear spray from my pack and we started yelling and banging our trekking poles together. The noise stopped and we stood there, hearts beating out of our chests, not knowing if the bear was going to keep coming or if it had decided to turn and retreat. We continued to listen and make noise and finally headed back down the trail…all 5.5 miles of downhill which eventually cost me my right pinky toenail due to boots that weren’t wide enough. I think I’ve finally made the transition to exclusively using trail runners since I can’t find a pair of boots that don’t kill my feet.

After an utterly exhausting day getting to Gregory Bald, we decided to head up to Andrews Bald, which is accessed at the Clingman’s Dome parking lot. The trail is 3.6 miles RT and leads out to another bald with sweeping views down to Fontana Lake. When we parked the car everything was shrouded in mist and looked like rain, but we made the decision to stay. As we headed down the trail the clouds began to clear and it turned into a glorious day. The forest on this trail is simply stunning, filled with Fraser firs and mossy logs. Even though it’s quite a bit more manicured than some of the other trails in the park, the separation from the crowds was immediate when we entered the woods. A really nice surprise on this bald was the blooming Catawba rhododendrons, which we hadn’t really seen any of on the other trails. There were also some flame azaleas up here and it was decided that we could have just skipped Gregory Bald and enjoyed this spot just as much if not more.

After the Bald we walked up to Clingman’s Dome to take in the views and were able to see where we were yesterday. It’s an incredible feeling to look across a mountain range to a peak you walked up the day before.

On the way down we saw a little bear crossing the road (right place, right time…bears move quickly!), which was the perfect conclusion to a trip spent in the woods, enjoying all the surprises we saw, dealing with the bugs, and taking in the beauty of wildflowers flung far and wide along grassy hills.

GSMNP: Winter Hikes In Misty Mountains

March 15, 2016 by Leah Leave a Comment

As the weather warms up and I’m starting to sweat on my daily walks, I keep thinking back to a month ago when Rob and I headed to the Smokies again for some more winter hiking. Hiking in the winter has some serious advantages. There are less people, the views are unobscured by leaves on the trees, it’s a less sweaty endeavor, and there is a greater sense of peace because it feels like nature is truly asleep. Due to bad weather in the forecast, we weren’t sure how much we’d actually be able to get into the woods, so the first day there was a mix of sun and clouds with a high of 61 degrees and we headed straight for Chimney Tops.

We brought a pair of trekking poles and some yaktrax for our shoes because I knew there could be ice on the trails at this time of year. Sure enough, we weren’t halfway up that trail before we were encountering a snow covered, slippery mess. We watched one man walk up 6 steps and slide right back down again.

Chimney Tops isn’t rated as a difficult trail due to it’s short length of 3.8 miles RT, but the last mile gains over 900 feet in elevation, so between struggling up icy steps and sloshing through pudding-like mud, we felt like we were going to die by the time we reached the rocks at the top. One guy we met said he’d made fun of people with “hiking sticks” on the way up, but that we could probably set up a lemonade stand by the side of the trail and sell them at a premium. Once again, trekking poles saved the day. The wind was blowing hard, but Rob decided to climb to the summit.

This was the view looking back down from where we climbed up (it’s a lot farther than it looks). At one point, I asked Rob to take a picture of me climbing up these rocks because who doesn’t want to post some picture of themselves climbing up a mountain like a freaking superhero? This was maybe the worst thing I’ve ever asked him to do. It looked like nothing more than a giant ass climbing clumsily up a pile of rocks. So much for trying to look adventurous!

If the wind hadn’t been blowing so strongly, I would have attempted the rest of the climb, but instead I sat there peacefully, holding on to everything in my possession with a death grip so it wouldn’t blow away, while feeling like I’d just landed on top of the world. I can never, ever get enough of this.

The next day held the almost certain threat of rain, so after an early breakfast we packed up, put on our rain shells, and headed up to the Alum Cave trail to see how far we could get. We walked beside a river through a rhododendron covered forest before coming to Arch Rock. We crossed the stream and headed up the steps which curved around the inside of the rock to the trail on the opposite side. The walls of the rock were covered in ice and the water from the river sounded like thunder.

As we climbed in elevation on the trail it became apparent that we were hiking up into a cloud, a literal fluffy cloud, like you see from a plane window and always wonder if it could actually be possible to pull a Mary Poppins and just hang out there for a while. I’ve never been in this kind of fog in the woods. It felt like the trees were holding secrets as we noisily tromped through.

Every time we came to some sort of overlook, we simply had to imagine the view. Everything was obscured by clouds and mist, a true Smoky Mountain experience.

When we got to the cave, we climbed up the sand and stood under the dry overhang, looking out at the trees. Everything was enchanted by fog. Some would say the trip wasn’t worth it, but one thing that always amazes me about that woods is that they change as much as the ocean. Every day there is something new to see and experience, whether it be wildlife, views, waterfalls, mist, rain, or brilliant sunshine. I wouldn’t have traded this day for anything.

We headed back down the trail, making serious use of our trekking poles. Mine kept me from falling several times and I’m pretty sure we both would have been in bad shape without them. We made it back to the car with a good amount of time left in the day, so we took Newfound Gap Road straight across the park to the Oconaluftee Visitor Center which also houses a pioneer museum replete with old buildings, gardens, and an orchard, plus Mingus Mill just down the road. I’m always blown away by the life the early settlers carved out for themselves in the rugged landscape within these mountains.

Every once in a while, a volunteer at a visitor center will give a bit of hiking advice that’s worth taking, so when we were told that the 7 mile round trip hike to Grotto Falls was a sure bet, we decided to head there the next morning. The Roaring Fork Motor Nature Trail is closed in the winter, but the Rainbow Falls trailhead is still accessible, so we started there and took the Trillium Gap trail all the way to Grotto Falls. This was really the perfect time of year to do this particular hike because the wooded trail goes right along the motor trail and I don’t think the experience would have been as enjoyable with bumper to bumper cars meandering past the entire time. We didn’t pass a soul on the first 3.5 miles to the falls and we had one of the most popular waterfalls in the entire park to ourselves as rain started to come down.

Grotto Falls is the only waterfall in the park that you can walk behind. In fact, the trail actually goes behind the falls, so if you are getting to Mount LeConte this way, you’ll have to duck beneath Grotto Falls.

As we made our way back to the trailhead it started to rain on us and we hiked through a steady downpour, eventually ending up totally soaked in spite of rain shells and water repellent pants. Thankfully the day was warm and the heat from our exertion kept us from getting cold. As soon as we got back to our room, we changed into warm, dry things and headed right back out to drive through Cades Cove and see it in the mist.

Cades Cove is an 11 mile loop that goes through a preserved pioneer community in the mountains. It’s one of the most popular places in the park to see Black Bears (or so the NPS website says), so every time we’ve gone it’s been a bumper to bumper, ire-inducing affair where you want to kill every gas guzzling SUV driver who goes 5 mph (LITERALLY) through the woods, stopping to view every moving blade of grass and every falling leaf. The area is beautiful, but my blood pressure and stress level cause obscene amounts of swearing and hatred toward my fellow man. This time, however, was a different affair entirely. The optimum time to experience Cades Cove is on a rainy Sunday afternoon in winter. We were able to maintain a steady speed throughout the drive and it was enjoyable and peaceful in every way. We saw lots of turkeys and deer, reveling in the peace of the park at this time of year.

Even though the weather was miserable at points, it didn’t diminish the beauty of the mountains or the fun we had in seeing things in a different light. Gatlinburg was as disgusting as it always is. A grossly high percentage of stores in this little hell hole on the edge of paradise display confederate flag products in their windows: t-shirts, underwear, bikinis, beach towels, purses, you name it, it comes in some form of racist merchandise. In fact, if you like your racism with a pat of butter and a dollop of cream on top, you can even shop at the Paula Deen store in town. If you wonder where all the people voting for Trump go to vacation and play, it’s in Gatlinburg. I have a love/hate relationship with this town. I love the NOC outfitter store and I am really coming to adore Great Smoky Mountains National Park. Gatlinburg is the gateway to that incredible place, so the people who started this town most likely never envisioned it becoming the tourist trap that it is today. Unless we want to stay more than 30 minutes away in a more secluded spot, Gatlinburg is our easy access point to the trails we want to hike. I’m going back at least two more times this year and I absolutely can’t wait to see rhododendrons blooming and try some new hikes.

Until next time when the leaves are on the trees…

The Best Views In GSMNP: Charlies Bunion

December 1, 2015 by Leah 1 Comment

Coming back to real life after vacation is such a drag, like a shoot me, I wish I had some moonshine right now kind of drag. But muddle through we must…until the next vacation…which is on Thursday, thank God, or I would have to find something high to jump off of. We’re heading to Long Island for some soul medicine known as salty air, prescribed by the Almighty as an antidote to the occasional drudgery of daily life. Also, December is depressingly busy. Happy busy (maybe?), but just too much happening. I didn’t even realize it until we got home last night and I opened up my circa 1992 Hallmark, fit-in-your-purse calendar to look at the month and nearly had a heart attack. All those tiny squares fill up so quickly and then people get mad because you have too much going on and have to draw the line at some things.

For the two more days that we’re in town prior to salty air inhalation, I’m thinking about the mountains and trying to remember all the emotions felt while standing on top of the world, looking out at an endless sea of peaks on Charlies Bunion. This outcropping of rock has a weird name because it looks like a bunion on the side of a hill, but the views…THE VIEWS!!

A friend recommended this hike to me because it’s her favorite hike in Great Smoky Mountains National Park. Then, I watched two park volunteers get dewy eyed when talking about the trail and the sights from Charlies Bunion. “You should really do that hike, you have to see the views from there, it’s incredible.” The trail to get to Charlies Bunion starts out at the Newfound Gap parking lot and goes directly along the Appalachian Trail. We’d hiked on the AT the day before and I was convinced it couldn’t get any better, but it does. I’ll add myself to the list of people utterly enchanted by everything having to do with this trail.

We came upon another shelter, the Icewater Spring shelter, which had a lovely view of the mountains. Still sparse, but quite a nice place to spend the night.

Thankfully the pricey trekking poles saved our knees. We got one pair and each had a pole, but I noticed a difference in how my knees felt, as in I could still walk to the bathroom to take some Advil at the end of the day. If I had pulled 18 tendons in my legs, it would have been worth it to see what we saw on Charlies Bunion. We had it to ourselves for a few minutes to just silently take in the breadth of what we were seeing and to climb carefully up onto the rock for a picture without falling to our deaths.

When we finally tore ourselves from the bunion, we headed back along the trail to an offshoot called the jumpoff which included a steep uphill .3 mile climb to a whole different perspective of the mountain sea. In fact, we could see Charlie’s Bunion from where we were and we traversed a mountain like the Von Trapp family, people. Rob couldn’t see the bunion because he’s going blind at 40, but the neon shirts of the people standing on the rock to get pictures where we’d been standing an hour before showed up against the backdrop of leafless trees.

In short, a magical respite from the usual pace of life to an altogether different daily challenge of tackling nature. I hope we can get back there soon to experience even more places in the park, but what a lucky blessing to be able to see what we saw and feel so teeny in the middle of it all.