Midmorning yesterday, my husband was restless. He wanted to get out of the house.
“I think I want to go for a hike. You want to come?”
I had just been thinking about how lately I’ve been reading stories more than I’ve been getting out in the world and experiencing life.
“Yes, I just need to change and then I’ll be ready.”
We drove to one of our standard hikes nearby, a 4-mile hike about 30 minutes from our house: the Cascades waterfall in Pembroke, Virginia. We’re both already tired of winter, and the muted grey and brown landscape that comes with it. We wanted something with green.
The Cascades, as always, delivered, with bright green mosses and ferns, and the broad green leaves of rhododendrons. The water of the creek roared so loudly beside us we couldn’t hear each other to talk. The constant rush of it scrubbed me clean from the inside. It felt good to be outside in nature.
Rushing creek and rhododendrons
Mossy tree
Mossy rock and creek
Small waterfall with icy cascadesThe big waterfall with flecks of snow falling.
I didn’t have my real camera with me, so these photos aren’t great. I ordered a new phone with a better camera, and when we arrived home from our hike, it was waiting for me. I’m hopeful it will make for better spontaneous photography when I’m out and about and want to snap photos.
The sun is shining and today is warm compared to the snows of last week. It’s 6pm and I’m on the couch listening to Cat Stevens’ “Peace Train” on the record player, wondering how sore my glutes and hamstrings will be tomorrow.
My husband and I hiked today on trails about 20 minutes from our house. It felt glorious to get outside in the sunshine and walk under trees, on a dirt trail, rather than inside in my office, on my treadmill, as I’ve been doing day in and day out all this long winter. The hills didn’t necessarily feel good, but they make my gin drink that much better now that the hike is done.
It’s St. Patrick’s day, and the azaleas are probably blooming in my hometown of Savannah, Georgia. Here, the rhododendrons flower buds, incubating blossoms. The only green in the forest on St. Patty’s were baby hemlocks, soft tufts of white pine needles, the waxy oval leaves of rhododendrons, and mosses down by the creek.
As we hiked, and I walked through a patch of warm sunlight, I inhaled a deep breath to smell the air. It smelled not of dirt, not of soil, but of earth: sun-warmed stone, forest floor, and dry leaves crunched under hiking boots. A few steps later, in a chilly pocket of shade, I smelled the freshness of recently frozen earth, the metallic hint of water flowing over rocks, and the green scent of photosynthesis.
We saw a few leaf buds, but not many. The rhodies have flower buds, but they’re not plump or pink yet. Other than the temperature, the woods showed little sign that life would soon return.
It’s coming, though. Everything is about to begin.
Red berryThis year for Christmas, we got rain instead of snow. This is our fourth winter here in Blacksburg, and we’re still holding out for a white Christmas.
Rushing (not-frozen) December waterMinnesota delivered snow for Christmas each year, knee deep to children, and every year since we moved away, the kids cross their fingers. Snow at Christmas is magic. So far, it has not happened for us in Virginia.
Streamside mossHowever, after warm heavy rains on Christmas, the sun came out today. We took advantage of the beautiful weather to go for a hike, and we were rewarded with emerald mosses.
Mossy rootsI know the kids wanted snow, but I must admit, today’s hike made me grateful for the rain.
Moss, stone, and rhododendron
trunk with ferns
ferns
mossy stump
Lichen and moss Stairs and stream Cascades waterfall
Streamside stairs
Cascades waterfall
Downstream from the falls
Next weekend it will be cold. Temperatures will turn water to ice. Maybe we’ll hike the Cascades again. Maybe next weekend we’ll find diamonds instead of emeralds.
I hiked alone yesterday. I needed to get out of the house.
Beech tree in winter
Actually, I needed to get away from our kids. They’ve been home for what seems like weeks now (13.5 days, to be exact), and I couldn’t take the bickering and wrestling and whining and begging and pouting and grumping anymore.
Poverty Creek Trail
After two weeks of being around them 24/7 I was no fun to be around, either. I was so crotchety and cramped in that I didn’t even want to be around me, and while I considered going for a run, I’m tired of my running circuit: the same hay bales, the same sheep, the same hills and cows and horses in blankets. I needed more drastic measures yesterday. I needed to get in the car and drive away.
I wanted to be alone in the forest. And I wanted to see if there was ice on the Pandapas Pond.
Pandapas Pond crystalizing
Winter hasn’t quite arrived in Blacksburg. It has been fairly warm here the past few nights, so I wasn’t sure how liquid or solid the pond might be. I was excited when I hiked in, gloves and hat on, camera in hand, and saw a thin sheath of new ice creeping from the shore towards the middle of the pond. I lost myself for a while watching the breeze blow ripples against the thin crust; I was mesmerized by the movement of liquid against the crystal skin.
Pond freeze in progress
The trail, too, was icy. It is heavily trafficked by mountain bikers, hikers, and runners, and low points in the path are often trampled into mud pits. I always forget that on this trail. There was no way around the first pit, so I steeled myself to sink into it. But my boot didn’t squish into the muck, it crunched over it. The shiny mud was frozen solid.
Snow cup fungi
ice crust on ground juniper
Frozen tire tracks
Beech leaves
I love hiking solo, listening to the crackle of leaves (or mud) underfoot, the thump of my boots on the trail, the sigh of wind over my ears. I stop and take photos. I breathe cold air into my nose. I feel my cheeks turn pink and nod at runners as they pass. I spend time in my head, running calculations on how many notebooks I’ll fill if I write 10 minutes per day for an entire year (~5.5 100-page composition books).
Mossy stone in the woods
Sometimes I come home from a hike recharged, ready to take on the tasks of life again. Other times I return home and wish I could have more. More quiet. More solitude. More thinking time. Yesterday, fortunately, was the former. I returned to a house full of children (ours and others’), but also to a warm kitchen where I sank my hands into bread dough, and to a husband who assured me I wasn’t a horrible person for running away.
Poverty Creek Trail
Crystalizing
Under the ice
tree skeletons
New ice
This is my entry for the Daily Post Photo Challenge: New.
We were occupied with sports and travel every weekend this autumn, and as a result, did not go on a single camping trip during the most beautiful season in Appalachia. So when it was warm and sunny on the day after Christmas, we took advantage of it and hiked for the first time in months.
Our kids were disappointed that we didn’t have a white Christmas this year, but when the temperature hit 54 degrees (12° C) on December 26 , I didn’t complain.
I was excited to finally bring my new lens on a hometown hike, and was thrilled at how well it worked in the low light of the forest.
Water falling
Riffles, Cascades hike
Froth in a sunbeam
Heart rock
Hiking hand in hand
Water over stone
In December the stream can easily be dripping with icicles. This year, there was no ice – only liquid. And our daughter stepped into it fording the stream.
Fording the stream, Cascades
Cascades waterfall
Waterfall froth
Cascades stream
Slipped in the stream
Luckily the sun shone on us – and her cold wet jeans – for the return hike to the car.
The Cascades
This is my entry for the Daily Post: Warmth photo challenge.
I’m in Park City, Utah for the annual Automattic Grand Meetup, and I had originally signed up to run the WordPress 5K this morning. After all the wine I drank last night, though, I decided to go for a solo mini-hike instead.
I took these photos on the trail behind our hotel as the sun rose over the mountains.
Butterfly Mind 