Highlands

In between my day job and the rest of my life, I've managed to post some pics of the Memorial Day Adult Retreat Extravaganza that was held in beautiful Highlands NC. Bud and Nana were gracious enough to entertain the rugrats for a weekend, and we fled to the hills (alone) for the first time since Jack was born. For those of you who are keeping track, that was 2 years 3 months and 26 days ago, give or take.



I won't say it was the highlight of the trip, but we took an adventure along the Horsepasture River, starting at the trailhead in the new Gorges State Park in Sapphire NC. The last time I was on the Horsepasture was probably 1992 or so (I think I remember the Lakers and the Celtics were in the NBA finals that summer) so needless to say I was dusting off some old cobwebs. We hiked down to the river, then up the watercourse past Rainbow Falls, several nice pools, Drift Falls, to fantastic little spot called Turtleback Falls (35.09249, -82.96633).

Turtleback is a point in the river where the water rolls over a gently sloping, very smooth expanse of stone and then drops 15 feet into a deep pool, turns sharply and then meanders on downriver. There are a few old ropes on the side of the rock face, and locals have been sliding and jumping and surfing off the falls into the pool for ages. The way the river turns out of the eddy means it is very hard if not impossible to get swept downriver, and the pool is deep enough to absorb the most fearless leaps.

Kim narrates my demonstration attempt:



My camerawork is not nearly as good, but my Parkinson's subsides just enough to prove that is Kim taking the plunge:



And one last jump before the now-infamous hike out on a route based entirely on Matilda's 5th-grade memories of Camp Buc:



So that's it. Next time I am allowed to navigate in the woods the kids will be carrying my urn.

Fix Bayonets!

On the evening of June 1st, 1918, Marines from the 5th Marine Regiment serving under the command of the U.S. Army Expeditionary Force conducted a forced march along the road to Chateau-Thierry, and plugged into the line against the Boche. One of my very favorite books is Fix Bayonets!, written by Captain John W. Thomason of First Battalion, 5th Marines. The cadence and imagery of his prose and his battlefield sketches do credit to the esprit-de-corps of the Marines in a way that few other authors have, before or since:

There is no sight in all the pageant of war like young, trained men going up to battle. The columns look solid and businesslike. Each battalion is an entity, 1,200 men of one purpose. They go on like a river that flows very deep and strong. Uniforms are drab these days, but there are points of light on the helmets and the bayonets, and light in the quick, steady eyes and the brown young faces, greatly daring. There is no singing—veterans know, and they do not sing much—and there is no excitement at all; they are schooled craftsmen, going up to impose their will, with the tools of their trade, on another lot of fellows; and there is nothing to make a fuss about. Battles are not salubrious places, and every file knows that a great many more are going in than will come out again—but that is along with the job. And they have no illusions about the job.

There is nothing particularly glorious about sweaty fellows, laden with killing tools, going along to fight. And yet—such a column represents a great deal more than 28,000 individuals mustered into a division. All that is behind those men is in that column, too: the old battles, long forgotten, that secured our nation—Brandywine and Trenton and Yorktown, San Jacinto and Chapultepec, Gettysburg, Chickamauga, Antietam, El Caney; scores of skirmishes, far off, such as the Marines have nearly every year—in which a man can be killed as dead as ever a chap was in the Argonne; traditions of things endured and things accomplished, such as regiments hand down forever; and the faith of men and the love of women; and that abstract thing called patriotism, which I never heard combat soldiers mention—all this passes into the forward zone, to the point of contact, where war is girt with horrors. And common men endure these horrors and overcome them, along with the insistent yearnings of the belly and the reasonable promptings of fear; and in this, I think, is glory.

THEY LOOKED FINE, COMING IN THERE . . . THROUGH THOSE LITTLE TIRED FRENCHMEN.

Semper Fidelis, Marines.

Bonus Update: On tonight's edition of Jeopardy!, the $1200 question in the category "Woodrow Wilson's War" featured the 5th and 6th Marine Regiments at Belleau Wood.

Badass Extract

Sweet shot:

U.S. Special Forces are extracted from a mountain pinnacle in Zabul province,

Afghanistan,by a U.S. Army UH-60 Black Hawk helicopter from Company A,

2nd Bn, 82nd Aviation Reg't,82nd Combat Aviation Brigade after executing an

air assault mission to disrupt insurgent communication.

Read more: http://kitup.military.com/#ixzz0n0Z8HOYD; High-res is here.

Down the British!

Last weekend we had the good fortune to attend the annual re-enactment of the Battle of Guilford Courthouse, ca. 1781. There, 4000 Continentals and Militia under the leadership of Gen'l Nathanael Greene laid a whooping on the damn redcoats, relinquishing the field but at the cost of such extreme casualties that the British Southern Army was eventually required to withdraw to Yorktown.

Jack had a pretty good time too. He didn't even flinch much when the cannons went off - he may have a little warrior in him yet. At right, you can see the neatly covered and aligned tents of the 2d No. Carolina Regt. (the 6th was also in attendance).

Reconstituted

I met them in 1997. Some of us weren't even 18 yet. We were tall, excited, diverse freshmen propelled by our height to try something new. We had no clue what going out to that faithful lake on the outskirts of Carrboro would mean for our lives, both in the few short years at UNC and for the lifetime that lay on the other side of graduation.

I'm not sure exactly when in that first year these girls became an indelible part of my firmament. Perhaps it was in Pam's van at 4:45am or at the bridge with Ports to row and Starboards to back or maybe in the kitchen at Vance Street. At any rate, it happened and we've somehow managed to see each other almost semi-annually since graduation, despite being on opposite coasts with insanely busy work schedules. Through showers and weddings and graduations and now babies, we just pick right up where we left off and the hours fly by unnoticed.

This weekend was just such an occasion. The stars aligned and we were all able to meet at Lake Lure for a very brief but amazingly soul-soothing and much-needed weekend.

We've grown a bit since we met 12 years ago. There were nine of us this weekend...well ten if you count the newest and still-forming addition to our happy menagerie. Between us we have a photographer, an SF medic, a paleontologist, two engineers, a pediatrician, a family practitioner, an (almost) attorney, two insanely energetic but amazingly well behaved canines, two very quirky felines, and a snaggle-toothed 9-month old fondly referred to as 'Green 11.'

The topic of blessings came up this weekend, as it so often does when we four get together. We do a very good job of appreciating the momentous gifts we've been given and enjoying the love and laughter and happiness we all share. But, sometimes, one does have to wonder why some seem to have it so exceptionally good. Have we been given all of this to serve a higher purpose or is this a reward from past lives well lived? Have we unknowingly cultivated the foundation and are now reaping the harvest or were we just lucky enough to be born at the right place in the right time? Does one get a blessings limit, so to speak, or does one beget another like a glorious snowball?

My mother used to say "Things turn out best for people who make the best of the way things turn out." And while I think this is a brilliant observation, it does seem like the four of us have been bestowed an incredibly well-stacked hand. The purpose of this I have yet to identify, but I figure as long as I enjoy the heck out of my life now, it will all become clear at some point.

In the mean time, blessed I am and grateful I will always be.

Thank you Heather, Steph, and Rae (and Andras, Dan, and Matt).

Time with you always recharges me.

Simple pleasures

It amazes me what makes me blissfully happy these days. Today, my little family went for a walk in the woods and it could not have been a more perfect day. The trees were insanely colorful, the weather had just the right whiff of chill in the air, Dean found every pile of wild animal poo to sniff and then pee on, and Jack floated along on Stephen's chest contented and cooing.

There is no photograph that could capture what it felt like to walk down the pipeline and listen to Jackson laughing as Dean ran far and near with his ears flapping in the breeze and Stephen making up words and giggling to himself as he humped through the woods in his true element.




We are a woodsy family and I can't wait to get to a campsite this fall and start showing our son how soothing it can be surrounded by nature and the smell of marshmallows over a campfire. We took him to REI today and found the perfect size tent just for him for said camping trip...

Black Mountain Crest Trail

One of the most delightful hikes I've done recently was tracking the Black Mountain Crest Trail this summer with my sister Anna. The way we tackled it, the trail climbs 3100' out of the Bowlens Creek Trailhead (N35 52.611 W82 17.083) to the top of Celo Knob (6327') and then follows a knife-edge ridgeline 12 miles south to the summit of Mt Mitchell, NC. At 6684', Mitchell is the highest point east of the Mississippi, but along the way you also have the opportunity to bag six other 6000' peaks and enjoy amazing vistas to the East and West. The trail is just a narrow track through chest-high blueberry bushes and scrub conifers, and is quite unlike anything else in the area. The latter half of the trail, south of Deep Gap, is used fairly often by day-hikers out of Mitchell, but on the northern leg you are more likely to see a bear than a person.

P.S. Make sure you work out in advance which member of the hiking party is responsible for retaining the vehicle keys for the 'End' trailhead. It is a long and demoralizing walk back.

View from the slope of Celo Knob, looking south along the

ridge of 6000' peaks that comprise the Black Mountain Crest Trail.