nature Archives -

Stillness

By Simone Lipscomb | February 5, 2025

***Telescope and the Orion Constellation***

I was sitting under a blanket of stars last night. The milder winter temperature made it pleasant. The waxing crescent moon wasn’t too bright, so I could observe stars, and the moon gave enough light to see the gray shadows of rocks and trees.

Since playing with a smart telescope begin in December, I’ve learned the art of stillness. Perhaps it’s more accurate to say I am learning the art of stillness. Taking an image of a far-away galaxy or nebula takes a while. Sometimes hours…but I’ve only done a 31 minute exposure thus far. There’s so much I want to see out there in the Universe so staying on one object for more than half an hour is challenging.

And I don’t want to go back inside the house while the telescope patiently records the stacks of images. Otherwise I could just rent telescope time from some far-away observatory while I sit in my home drinking hot cocoa and eating scones (as if I could afford that….but people do that…the renting telescope time, not eating scones and drinking hot cocoa). I want the experience of stargazing from underneath the sky, not my roof. The images are part of it, but the experience of awe under night skies…that’s my kick.

I always sense trees I connect with while hiking ‘say’…why are humans always in such a hurry…slow down and listen. I pause and stand with them, but rarely sit and ‘listen’ for more than a few minutes.

Last night, I realized I was receiving the same message from the stars. So, I set up shots with the telescope, made sure it was working correctly by viewing it on my phone, and then placed my phone down on the ground under the tripod and watched the stars move ever-so-slowly across the sky.

Thirty minutes is a long time to sit and observe an image come into being. I’ll be honest, five minutes is a long time if you are used to being active person. Stargazing is helping me learn to slow down and operate from a different speed.

My assignment is watching the stars move across the sky. Literally. Tracking stars reminds me that even the slowest, almost imperceivable movement is still movement and progress is being made. These experiences help connect me to deep time, that vast expanse of cosmic time, and that helps me move beyond the trappings of the chaos happening now in our world.

My growing edge is to embrace stillness…wherever I find myself. If possible, put my bare feet on the ground and connect directly to Her. Our Mother. Our Home.

The Twelve Hikes Challenge

By Simone Lipscomb | January 1, 2025

Over the course of 12 days away from work, I finished a goal I set to hike each day. I called my self-challenge, The Twelve Hikes of Christmas. Over the course of this time, I hiked a total of 57.63 miles and had an elevation gain of 9302 feet. No records, but that wasn’t the reason I did this.

I chose a word to describe each hike and this is what I ended up with, in order: Celebration, Foundation, Challenge, Beauty, Fun, Recovery, Reconnection, Adventure, Solitude, Expansive, Grief, Peaceful.

The overall takeaways from the challenge were: Setting goals helps me maintain momentum; Nature is the ultimate ‘everything’ for me; being able to adapt to changes brings joy.

I hiked easy trails, icy trails, challenging trails. I saw devastating loss of grandmother trees. Every experience was valued.

As I hiked, I worked on getting clear on my path forward and how I want to contribute to raising of consciousness on the planet. But mostly, I simply enjoyed being outdoors in places of amazing beauty.

High winds or icy conditions on the road through the national park hindered some hikes I envisioned doing. I didn’t get to hike a favorite trail I really wanted to hike. The one day I could have, I chose a new trail and found it might be a new favorite. Moving forward in life, I was reminded to trust my intuition and how things come together. It will be exactly what I need and want.

I have been in a magical world of Nature for 12 days, so the next challenge is to stay peaceful and grounded as I move back into the muggle world of a ‘job.’ Prior to my time off, I was struggling to go outside and walk after eight-hour work days. I need to prioritize going outside each day and enjoying Nature, no matter what. This is vital for my wellbeing.

Day	Date	Location	Word	Elevation Gain	Mileage
1	Dec 21	Oconaluftee River Trail	Celebration	52 feet	3.26 miles
2	Dec 22	Deep Creek	Foundation	243 feet	3.51 miles
3	Dec 23	Lonesome Pine	Challenge	2454 feet	6.88 miles
4	Dec 24	Ramsey Cascades	Beauty	2323 feet	7.95 miles
5	Dec 25	Jump Off—AT	Fun	1588 feet	6.55 miles
6	Dec 26	Oconaluftee River Trail	Recovery	46 feet	3.28 miles
7	Dec 27	Bradley Fork—Hitching Post Falls	Reconnection	466 feet	5.87 miles
8	Dec 28	Deep Creek/Indian Creek	Adventure	715 feet	8.02 miles
9	Dec 29	Oconaluftee River/Blue Ridge Parkway	Solitude	194 feet	3.11 miles
10	Dec 30	Williams Pulpit Bartram Trail	Expansive	1093 feet	4.12 miles
11	Dec 31	Asheville Botanical Gardens	Grief	102 feet	1.2 miles
12	Jan 1	Kituwah	Peaceful	26 feet	3.88 miles

Rockin’ Your Place in the World

By Simone Lipscomb | December 9, 2024

At mile five of a seven mile hike from the start of *Kuwohi Road, I came upon a cliff face completely transformed. Over the usual craggy rocks was a massive display of icicles. Icicles….that doesn’t even begin to describe the immense columns of frozen water dripped and twisted into temporary stalactite formations. It seemed to stretch into forever.

I stood in awe at the pillars of frozen artistry and heard myself saying out loud: I’ve never seen anything so beautiful. You are amazing! You are rockin’ your place in this world.

And that’s what I kept feeling as I wandered past the ice arrays…the icicles were completely being the highest expression of what an icicle can be. They allowed themselves to be molded into the perfection of what they could be. Gravity, wind, and low temperatures sculpted their development and in complete surrender to those forces, unimaginable beauty was the result.

I eventually hiked on two miles past the field of ice and then turned back towards the gate and my car. By the time I reached them again, it was mile nine of the hike with five more miles to go before rest. But I had to stop and stand in awe…again.

What would happen if we, as humans, surrendered so completely to our beauty, to our destiny? It’s easy to set a path forward and forget the things that cause our heart to stir, the dreams we had about our path and force our way to fit in some box created by society…schools, families, churches, communities….that we are expected to stay in to be ‘successful.’ What would those icicles look like if there was a transparent box catching the dripping water? They certainly would look different.

So how can we get back to our soul’s promptings and surrender to them to become the highest expression of ourselves? We can start by reflecting on what we truly love to do and start practicing that, even in small moments. Drawing, painting, writing, singing, dancing, woodworking, hiking, photography…the list is endless. We can learn to listen to the small voice within that whispers and reminds us of what lights up our lives. We can ask, What makes my heart sing?

It’s never too late. What will you do to be the best expression of this beautiful life you have been gifted?

*Formerly Clingman’s Dome Road. It was recently renamed Kuwohi, the Cherokee word for the mountain…which means, Mulberry Place.

Cosmic Whales

By Simone Lipscomb | August 3, 2024

A few weeks ago, in my muggle world job, someone mentioned seeing my book, Cosmic Whales: Mystical Stories from the Sea, in a local bookstore. She said she had no idea I was a writer and photographer. Sometimes I forget, too.

When I got home I picked up a copy of the book and began to read it. I remember being in Mexico cave diving when I was doing the final edits to it. I would return from being in the magical realm of the highly decorated underwater caves and would start work on reading the copy again. I read it outside, on the beach, where hundreds of tiny sea turtle tracks criss-crossed the beach from their hatch the night before. It was the perfect place to put the finishing touches on this book….one of my favorite creative journeys.

As I read through the book, I could scarcely believe I wrote the poetic prose that goes so deep into the beauty of the sea and whales, dolphins, manatee, sea lions, sea turtles…all birthed from personal experience with these amazing creatures. This book is a glimpse into the heart of the sea, into my heart.

I’m reminded of the creative mystic that resides within my soul that needs to stir the cauldron and pull out inspiration. My task then is to create space for her to dance words and sentences into being, to journey with her into the forests of these ancient mountains with my photography gear and let images come to life.

It’s time for a rebirth.

Through the Storm

By Simone Lipscomb | July 8, 2024

**We might have made light of the small ‘bald’**

We just finished lunch in Silers Bald, a bald on the Appalachian Trail so small two of us couldn’t sit there as we rested from our 5 ½ mile hike from Clingmans Dome parking area. We were donning our packs to head back and heard thunder rumbling in the distance. As we got to an opening in the trees, we could see the storm in all of its purple-black cloud intensity. Nothing to do but keeping walking back toward Clingmans and the vehicle.

There is a backstory to my respect of lightning. As a kid, I had a phobia of it and remember freaking out as a three or four year old because it was lightning. My dad told me I was safe because we were inside, but I reasoned there was a metal zipper on my pants and that made me a target. I was no dummy. Hello! Metal-Lightning! He talked me through it and helped me calm down.

Later in life, I had several very unpleasant encounters with lightning. Once I ignored my grandfather’s advice to wait to launch the boat because of an approaching storm and got caught in a thunderstorm from hell with pink zig-zags popping everywhere and the shelter I had, when I pulled off the river and ran for shore, was as dangerous as the boat since the long leaf pine tree was towering high in the sky. I ended up running across a swampy area to a home under construction to shelter there. I tried to out-scream the storm. It didn’t work. My grandfather knew I’d stop at his sister’s locked-up cabin and came to rescue me.

I was driving to my grandparent’s home as a teenager and lightning hit a tree beside the road that exploded. I was angry that day, but cannot remember why. What teenager isn’t angry about something? That tree exploding helped calm my anger.

Once I was on a phone call (it was a land line) with a realtor at my grandparent’s home. I knew the home wasn’t for me but kept trying to push the deal through. Lightning hit and tingled my hand and knocked the receiver out of my hand. It melted my grandparent’s neighbor’s phone to her bedside table.

There was the time on a dive boat when the captain decided to head to the dive site through a storm. Another pink lighting experience in an open air, pontoon boat this time. My two dive students were terrified. I looked back and told them, “If it hits us, we’ll never even know it.” I was trying to be funny, to ease their tension. It didn’t comfort them. And it did clear up and we had an amazing dive.

So, lightning and I have a past.

Whenever I’m caught in a storm, I reflect on my intense yet close relationship with lightning. I’m not overly fond of calling lightning a close friend, but it seems to want to be an ally. I’m a little stand-offish though.

Yesterday, as we were hiking back up the trail, the storm grew closer. You cannot hurry up a trail like this with an elevation gain of over 2000 feet, most of it on the way out. We were hiking up the ridge. As the storm intensified and rain began pouring, we came to several open areas where the highest objects were turk’s cap lilies and briars….and then us. Not ideal.

We reviewed safety protocol: if we started to feel the static or electric tingle, throw our hiking poles away and crouch into a ball; we spaced ourselves out while crossing the open areas to create smaller objects; and yes, I admit I crouched down, lowering myself below the overgrowth on the trail. What else can you do?

**Heavy rain made small rivers of the trail**

There was thunder directly overhead. Thunder means lightning…I get that. All too well. We’d stop under cover of forest which we figured was a bit safer than the open areas. Before we put on the rain gear, we were completely soaked…which cooled us down and kept us from overheating, but we were soggy with water filling our boots as it cascaded down our legs.

At one point, we were catching our breath on a steep slope. I stopped and turned to my friend and said, “Let me tell you my story related to lightning.” I shared my phobia of lightning as a child and said I wanted to honor my inner child’s strength for over-coming her fear and healing from it. It was a powerful moment to share my truth and have a friend witness it. And hear me.

I was anxious hiking out in the storm, but I also felt a deep sense of calm. We had to work hard, slogging through rivers of water flowing down the trail. But both of us are deeply reverent of Nature and the power of it. We openly acknowledged our smallness as we hiked through the storm and the Oneness of all life.

By the time we reached the summit of Clingmans, the storm had passed and masses of people were walking up the paved trail to the starship dome. They were dry and looked fresh while we were completely soaked, perhaps reflecting a bit of the journey we experienced through the storm.