Dad and the Girls

I remember when Tricia first became pregnant more than ten years ago everyone assumed I was hoping for a boy. "It doesn't really matter," I'd say. "I'll be happy with either."

I can't say exactly why people would assume this. Is there a general belief that dad's want boys and mom's want girls? If anything, I was probably a bit relieved when I found out we were starting with a girl. I felt I knew what to expect from little boys but a little girl would be something altogether new.

A few years later, while also looking into domestic adoption, Tricia became pregnant again. The question now turned into a statement, "I bet you're hoping for a boy," they'd say. "Otherwise you're going to be surrounded by a house full of women!" Again, I didn't really care. When Ainsley came along I was as thrilled to have two daughters as I would have been to have one of each.

Eight years later, we've since found symmetry - two boys, two girls. It'd be easy to say that parenting boys is different than parenting girls but the fact of the matter is that it's different parenting Harper than it is Ainsley and likewise with both Ty and Muluken. They are all very different, regardless of gender.

One thing that I do notice with the girls is that it's a bit trickier to spend time with them. The boys and I have baseball and backpacking. The girls and I have...well, I 'm not sure. We play games, read books, and wrestle around but I do these same things with the boys as well. I wonder if maybe we shouldn't have something special that's all our own?

A few weeks ago I planned a special day out with the girls. I packed our bikes into the van and told them we were going to head down to the trail that runs along the Congaree River for a bike ride.

"Are there going to be a lot of hills?" Ainsley asked.

"I was going to play at Madeline's," Harper said. "Could you pick me up from there later?" When I did pick her up she didn't necessarily look too happy to be leaving.

Thirty minutes into our ride we already had a bloodied knee, a scraped hand, and a blown out back tire. No one looked to be having any fun at all - with the exception of me as I tried my best to convince them both how much fun this was. We ended the day by taking off our shoes and socks and wading out into the river to rock hop. Being something we do as a family quite often, they giggled as they splashed their way out into the water. While I'm not sure this was enough to make the day all that special, we did at least make it back home without the glum faces.

A few weeks ago I came home to find a big banner the kids had made for my birthday taped to the dining room window. There among the declarations of "I Love You" Harper had written "I Love Backpacking - as long as it's not 80 miles!" I suddenly remembered that I had promised the girls we would go on a backpacking trip together over the summer. I scrambled to put it together.

Backpacking with kids who are not necessarily big fans of heavy packs or doing their business behind a tree is a challenge. It needs to be short. There needs to be water to play in. And the pace needs to be s-l-o-w with plenty of breaks and snacks. I decided to take them to Virginia's Grayson Highlands State Park. We had visited the park for a day trip last summer. GHSP is well-known for the wild ponies that roam the mountains grazing on grass and any other items a nearby hiker may offer. The girls love horses so it seemed like the perfect fit.

We hiked four miles each day and although our only water source turned out to be a dud and I badly sprained an ankle, we had a great time.

Harper measuring out our food for the trip.

The trail was often quite rocky.

This short stretch was nice, soft grass.

There were many rock outcroppings to climb along the way.

A happy hiker.

These were the first of about twenty feral horses we saw.

Ainsley found some flowers for she and I to place in our hair.

Harper logs us in as we head out of the state park and into the National Forest.

A "cave" - the boys will be SO jealous!

Ainsley follows the blazes.

Rocks really kill your feet - and your ankles.

Our destination - Thomas Knob Shelter - was a disappointment. No good water.

We boiled the gross water and backtracked to a nice grassy spot to make camp.

A pretty nice view from the site. Sure beats a crowded campground.

At 60 degrees, the girls were COLD.

Bedtime atop the mountain.

Proof that Harper can, in fact, wake up with a smile on her face!

There were many gates to pass through along the way.

See the white blaze at the top of the wall? Up we climbed.

This was the other side of the that same rock wall.

Excited to be finished. The girls were ready for some indoor plumbing!

Virginia is for Drunken Murderers

A few years ago Tricia and I spent an afternoon in Hot Springs, North Carolina. We enjoyed a light lunch, picked up some trail snacks, and headed out to hike a mile or two on the Appalachian Trail. It was our first trip on the trail and we really didn't know anything about it other than that it was pretty long. All of our previous hiking had been on a variety of tame trails in heavily visited state parks.

As we approached the trail we stopped to check the map and message board. There at the center - in very large letters - was a warning: BEWARE: BEARS HAVE BEEN REPORTED IN THIS AREA. The sign went on to suggest that anyone hiking carry "bear mace" and plan to slowly retreat from any evidence of bear activity on the trail. This startled us a bit.

"Are we going to die?" Tricia half-joked.

"I hope not," I answered.

The first stretch of trail was nicely graded. There were many switchbacks but because of all the thick foliage it was impossible to see what was awaiting us around each corner. All we could think about was bears. We were certain we were only moments away from a certain mauling. I tried to make as much noise as I could to announce our presence.

After only about twenty minutes or so we decided to stop and head back down. The trail was still climbing steadily with no indication that we were anywhere near the top. We weren't necessarily in the best climbing shape, hadn't brought any water with us, and felt the time was ripe to call it quits with all of our limbs still intact.We walked back to the car, safe and sound.

In the following weeks I developed quite a fascination for the Appalachian Trail. I read a book or two and started reading the on-line journals of hikers walking the entire 2,100 path in a single season. I quickly learned that many hikers walk on the trail for weeks, or even months, at a time and never see a single bear. Not only do they not see any bears but they actually feel disappointed by it. The ones that do encounter bears do not run or cry or even drop and play dead. Instead, they stand in awe watching them gathering berries, scratching at a tree, or rumbling through the forest. Sometimes, if they feel unsafe, hikers will bang their trekking poles together to scare the bears off or they'll slowly retreat back down the trail and wait a few minutes before returning.

So it seems our perceived danger was a bit exaggerated. Our deaths were not imminent. We were just ignorant to the reality of the wildlife and environment around us. This isn't so uncommon. It happens all the time.

In fact, it happened just this past weekend. Tricia and I were back on the Appalachian Trail, this time in Virginia. We drove up to Damascus on Saturday morning, hoisted our backpacks onto our backs, and headed north on the trail for a short two-day trip to see the fall colors. After a full afternoon of hiking, and with the temperatures quickly dropping, we searched for any campsite we could find. We passed on a few larger sites because they were located too close to road crossings. There's nothing that kills the feeling of being away from it all like the constant hum of cars and trucks motoring a few hundred yards from your tent.

So we turned back up the mountain in search of a site we had remembered seeing a half-hour earlier. When we finally found it the sun was just beginning to drop below the trees to the west. We pulled out the tent and found that the only level spot to pitch it, where we wouldn't be sleeping on large tree roots or rocks, was just a few feet off the trail. Even worse, there was another trail intersecting the AT another few feet away. But with darkness falling over the mountain and the cold temperatures setting in we knew we didn't have time to seek out a new spot. We couldn't even remember having seen any other spots for miles anyway.

So as we began to unpack our things and set everything up I heard a voice come out of nowhere.

"Hey."

Startled, I looked around but saw no one. However, I knew someone was there. Somewhere.

"Hey," I responded. Trying to mask my surprise and sound both casual and friendly. Just as I got the words out I saw movement just through the trees to my right. It was a hunter, dressed in full camo, toting a rifle over his left shoulder. Tricia looked at me, concerned.

"Are we going to be alright here?" she whispered.

I looked down the trail to see if he had passed.

"Yeah, we're fine," I assured her. "It's just a hunter making his way back down to his car."

She didn't look too convinced. It wasn't so much the hunter, I imagined, as it was the gun that made her uneasy. After hanging our food bag over a distant tree limb and getting our sleeping gear set up we climbed into the tent. I pulled out a deck of cards and we played a game of Rummy, working hard to keep our cards from constantly sliding down our sleeping pads and resting under our bags.

About fifteen minutes later we heard more footsteps approaching. This time, however, they sounded very heavy and unsteady, as though someone were in a semi-controlled fall coming down the mountain. A loud belch soon followed and the footsteps stopped. Just outside our tent. Tricia's eyes grew enormous. I looked out the small window on our rainfly and saw two more hunters standing outside the tent, about twenty feet away. I couldn't see one of them too well because he was hidden behind some bushes but the other was standing in a small clearing and staring at our tent. He began to talk to the other one in a drunken slur. The fact that he was clearly intoxicated and carrying a rifle did not make me feel too comfortable.

"Yehau thinkst thees is thu waaaay orrr du yehau thinkst weee otta go ovr thur?" he asked.

His partner gave some type of reply but I couldn't make it out.

I looked back at Tricia who was sitting very still. "It's just more hunters," I said casually.

"I don't like this," she whispered. "I've seen Deliverance."

After a few long seconds the two hunters continued on their way down the mountain, presumably on their way back to their car.

"I read an article about two girls who were raped on the trail twenty years ago," Tricia told me, as soon as the two hunters were clearly gone.

"Where did you read that," I asked.

"In one of those Trail magazines they had at the cabin last summer."

"That was twenty years ago," I said. "A lot of women hike the trail alone and are fine."

"Are you sure we're okay here?" she asked again.

"Yeah, we're fine," I answered. "They're gone. Besides, this is Virginia. Virginia is for lovers. I know because all the signs say so!"

"Hmm," she said, sounding unconvinced. "But what if they come back?"

"It's going to be completely dark really soon. Who wants to climb all the way back up a pitch black mountain in the cold of night?" I asked, seeming to believe that it would be the hunters' laziness that would be our saving grace.

We went back to our game and tried not to think about the hunters. As it turned out, those were the last we would see. We woke up in the morning alive - which sure beats waking up dead.

We were never in danger at all. We just let our imaginations get away from us a bit. I have this really great poster at school that lists ways to build global community. One of the lines reads: Don't confuse your comfort for your safety. How often do we do this? There have been many times in my life when I've found myself in an uncomfortable environment and, wrongly, felt felt that my safety was in jeopardy. Much of this is learned. Friends, family, books, newspapers, magazines, discussion boards, television, and movies share sensationalized stories that, if even accurate, are far from indicative of the norm. People do fall and die in the shower. Others are mugged or even killed by strangers knocking at their door. But these are not common occurrences. We should still feel safe. We should live life.

We have a friend that is fearful of the unknown. He hasn't seen all that much of America but watches a lot of television. Evidently much of his programming is about gangs and random murders. Any trip Tricia and I have ever planned has prompted dire warnings from him.

"Why on Earth would you go to Memphis?" he asks. "Do you have any idea how dangerous it is there? All I can say is you better not talk to strangers!"

"Miami's terrible," he warns. "Do NOT roll down your windows - especially if someone walks up to your car door!"

"Don't even bother going to Detroit," he suggests. "It has the highest murder rate in the country. You'll die."

It's become a joke between us but, still, it's all rooted in truth. Not truth concerning the lack of safety in these places but the true fear Tim has of places unknown. I once took a trip with him and another friend when we were in college. One night we decided to sleep in the car at a rest stop. Tim insisted on sleeping with his head all covered up despite the fact that it was eighty degrees outside.

"Why do you have your head covered up," I asked.

"So if someone breaks into the car and kills the two of you I won't see him do it," he explained. "If I don't see him kill you two then there's no reason for him to kill me."

You really can't argue with logic like that. Thankfully no one killed us that night. Yet again, I survived.

As Tricia and I hiked back into Damascus on Sunday the thought of the hunters had gone from scary to kind of funny.

"Hey Tricia," I said. "I've got the title for my blog this week."

"What?" she asked.

"Instead of 'Virginia is for Lovers'" I told her, "I'll call it 'Virginia is for Drunken Murders.'"

"Funny," she chuckled. Perhaps she was just humoring me but I'm okay with that. I'll take laughs anywhere I can get them. I should laugh every chance I get.

I'm lucky to be alive.

Ch-Ch-Ch-Changes

It's been a busy summer. Some things I've written about (jury duty and backpacking). Others I have not (boating on Lake Jocassee, kayaking in Charleston, and upcoming trips to St. Louis and back into the woods with the girls). However, we just returned from what we would probably consider our "official" vacation - six days in Mount Rogers National Recreation Area.

Situated between the Smokey Mountains of Tennessee and Shenandoah National Park in northwest Virginia, Mount Rogers is located in Virginia's George Washington and Jefferson National Forests. It was wonderful being surrounded by all those mountains. There was a time when I would much prefer the waves of the beach to the stillness of the mountains but it seems I have changed. Is there truth to that notion that we change every seven years?

We spent the week in a cabin we had rented from the Forest Service. Cheaply priced at $100 per night, it was located a half-mile off the road and surrounded by nothing but woods and mountains. There were no other houses, people, or roads to be seen or heard. The yard was enormous. The kids loved playing soccer, baseball, and whiffle ball in addition to climbing trees and chasing down lightning bugs. Growing up as a kid who was deathly scared of all wildlife, including bugs, I never could have guessed that I would become a grown man who spent so much time in nature. There it is again. Change.

Despite the daily war we waged against the endless army of ants in the kitchen, the cabin was perfect. There were four bedrooms (two upstairs and two downstairs), a spacious living room with a stone fireplace, and enough back issues of Appalachian Trailway News magazine to keep me busy during those much-coveted quiet moments.

But, by far, my favorite part of the cabin was the amazing view from the front porch. Just above the treeline you could make out the sharp  outline of Mount Ewing sitting in the distance. Depending on what part of the day you looked the mountain took on a different color. In the mornings it would be draped in fog and low-lying clouds. Look away, though, and you would be surprised to see it appear seemingly out of nowhere - a faint purple ridgeline almost blending perfectly into the sky. Later in the day it became clearer. Dark green. If you looked carefully enough you could make out each individual tree. And then as the sun began to set it took on a whole new color - black. The mountain changed, too.

Despite a good bit of rain we decided to drive up to Grayson Highlands State Park to do some hiking. When we first mentioned this trip to the Virginia mountains to the kids it was the Highlands we used to really rev up their enthusiasm. That's because the highlands are home to herds of wild ponies that roam freely along the path. When we first arrived at the park it was raining, windy, and chilly enough to make me regret having forgotten my jacket at home. The park ranger warned that the weather might make it unlikely to spot any ponies from the trail. Yet within the first few minutes of our walk they were there grazing on the grass. We made our way along the Rhododendrum Trail eventually picking up the Appalachian Trail which took us to some fun climbing rocks. Soon the rain really picked up and we had to cut our day short and head back to the van. As we walked along the rocky path, Ainsley, who just three years ago stated that when visiting the mountains her favorite part was coloring inside the condo and that she wished the mountain could be covered in carpet, asked about hiking the Appalachian trail.

"Why don't we hike it all?" she asked.

"Because it would take six months," I explained. "We have other important things we need to be doing as well. Like school."

"Then why don't we just hike it during our summer vacation for two months?" she asked.

Mom was quick to answer this one.

"Because I think I might enjoy a couple of days but a whole summer is a lot." she said.

I was amazed by Ainsley's inquiry about staying out in the woods for an extended period of time. She has always been the one that just went along with these trips despite a lack of enthusiasm for them. Like me when I was young, she does not care for bugs or any of the other things that rustle the tall grasses along the trail. It seemed that she too has changed.

The best way to get kids to enjoy being in the woods and walking on a hot day is to make certain there will be a couple of really good rivers or streams to splash in. We were mindful to hit a number of them over the course of the week. Some days we were prepared with swimsuits and other days we tried to plead with the kids to stay at least relatively dry. This of course lasted only five or ten minutes. Eventually someone would slip and fall on a green rock and go splashing into the water. What can you do then? Everyone "slips" on in and we allow Mother Nature to do her thing and dry everyone out naturally.
As structured as our lives are at home, probably with a few more rules than we really need, this trip allowed everyone to ease up a bit and just have fun no matter how messy it was. Rules can change, too.

 The only thing I can really say that I wish would have been different on our trip was all the rain. There were a few times when we were confined to the cabin because not everyone had the proper rain gear and clothing to go into the mountains on such a wet day. Temperatures have been known to drop drastically during such storms and hypothermia is a very real threat.

Even on the warm days the trails were very muddy. Further complicating this was the fact that many of the trails we hiked were also equestrian trails. We quickly found that horses really turn up the soil when they walk. This caused sections of the trails to become mud pits that would come up around your ankles if you weren't careful. And as you can imagine, the boys were not. But they weren't alone in the muck. Everyone's shoes and socks were filthy. We once came to a strong flowing stream that had to be forded. Ainsley and Tricia decided to turn back and explore another path that we had passed a few tenths of a mile back. Harper, Muluken, Ty, and I decided to give the stream a go. We pulled off our mud-caked shoes and ginger-footed our way across the jagged rocks. Ty dropped one of his socks into the stream and Harper slipped, splashing down right in the middle of her return trip across. Pulling our disgusting socks and shoes back on to our wet feet was not exactly comforting. I tried not to think about all the mud that would be accompanying us back in the van. I do tend to be a tad of a neat freak. However, I've been trying to change.

One of our final hikes was a rather short one to see an old iron ore furnace out in the middle of nowhere. Standing sixty feet tall and thirty feet wide, it was a massive stone structure that looked somewhat like a small replica of a Mayan temple. How exactly the furnace worked we couldn't find out but it was cool to look at. At the bottom was a small opening, maybe two feet tall at most. I talked Muluken into crawling in and seeing what was inside. "Are there snakes?" he asked. "Oh no," I assured him, trying to mask my uncertainty. Soon we were all crawling through the decades old mixture of soil and soot. Tricia was the last to crawl through. She wasn't too sure about crawling in but all the kids kept at her until she caved. Inside was a large cavern-like tunnel filled with sunlight pouring in through the chimney above. The construction, from rocks blasted from the mountain on which it stood, was amazing. Though we didn't fully understand what it was we were looking at it was still quite a marvel to see.

It was a great trip. Sitting alone out on the cabin porch that final morning, as everyone else lay asleep in their beds, I coulnd't help but think about how hard it was to move away from the city to live in Columbia. We missed the constant sounds of traffic and helicoptors. We missed old houses that were nearly built right on top of each other. We missed feeling like part of the masses. Yet this trip helped us to see another way we have changed. We no longer miss the city like we used to. In fact, all the things we thought we had lost we are noticing again. And they are all around us.

Trica and I were talking in the car today as we made our way to the pool. We were commenting on how odd it is that just a few years ago we longed so badly for city life but somewhere along the way we've come to long, instead, for country life. And that's a change I could never have seen coming.