Cloudy conditions were present when I went to bed, but my Atmospheric app insisted that by the time the lunar eclipse started, the sky would be clear. With complete trust, I set the alarm on my iPhone for 1.15am.
When said alarm gently awakened me, there was some grumbling perhaps akin to that of a black bear awakening in the spring. But I put on warm clothes and fleece-lined slippers and grabbed the telescope case and heavy tripod I left by the front door. The dogs joined me but only the hound decided to remain a faithful guard against mice rustling in the leaves of the woods or ‘possums ambling around outside the fence. My Buddy dog child returned to his warm bed inside the house.
The app was right. The sky was crystal clear and beautiful. The eclipse was already in process as I set up and fussed with the smart telescope a bit. It can be a bit sassy when I’m trying to hurriedly set up. There are always lessons in patience in astronomy.
Screen shot of what I see with the iPhone app while using the telescope
The Earth’s shadow gradually covered the full Moon and in that space of time, I became more joyful and filled with awe, a side-effect of watching objects in the night sky.
The end result was not only the beautiful, red color generated from the dance of the Moon and Earth. Millions of people came together in time and space to witness this wonder of Nature. In this time of chaos and conflict, that was perhaps a true miracle.
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.
Crab Nebula
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.
Orion Nebula
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.
I was a bit overzealous in piling the incense blend I made onto the glowing charcoal. My home filled with the sweet smoke, which is awesome. But I was concerned it would cause the smoke detectors to start blaring, which would make my dogs lose their minds…not so awesome.
It was 26 degrees outside, but the wood stove had us nice and toasty. I opened the back door to allow some of the smoke to escape.
Sunlight was streaming in at the exact right angle from the high window. The smoke turned into a living, breathing thing as it slowly drifted out the door, wafting towards the brisk air and open space.
I considered how our thoughts are like smoke. They go out into the world, creeping along, harming or healing.
What we think about and dwell on grows. Ponder wisely, the smoke said, as it meandered out the door. Sometimes it’s good to open the door of our mind and let thoughts go.
A while ago, I thought how fun it would be to hike every day I’m off over the winter break. You know…like The Twelve Days of Christmas, but hikes.
I’ve just finished Day 6 and feel like I might just complete it. Of course, there is rain in the forecast; but, luckily I have rain gear. And there is no rule that states I have to hike a long distance or a minimum elevation or so many hours. I simply want to make the effort to go outside everyday I’m not working and hike in Nature. Not a walk down my gravel driveway with the dogs, actual boots-on-trails hikes.
Elk along the Oconaluftee River Trail
I’m not sure why I set the goal. Probably to shake up my life a bit and dedicate myself to something different and fun. Perhaps there’s a deeper reason.
The first three days were a bit disappointing in that the main road through the national park was closed due to snow and ice. I had to choose trails on the North Carolina side of the park. We have them, but my vision had been higher elevations and trails I don’t usually do as often. Regardless, I managed to have nice hikes near my home to start off the twelve days.
The Lonesome Pine Overlook…but it isn’t a pine 🙂
On the Solstice, I walked the easy Oconaluftee Trail, a 3.25 mile hike along the river and shared the trail with several elk. December 22, I did an easy loop at Deep Creek with 3.5 miles. December 23rd was a tough hike on Lonesome Pine Trail—3.5 miles steep uphill climb and 3.5 steep downhill…not a favorite but the view is amazing. Christmas Eve I hiked Ramsey Cascades and found it a delightful trail that is a new favorite. It was 4 miles up but not as hard as Lonesome Pine. The entire trail scenery was lovely and the ice and snow made it a very wintry wonderland. Christmas Day I intended to hike Alum Cave to the Bluff but the parking lot was full; so, I drove back to Newfound Gap and hiked up the AT to The Jump Off. This was a crazy-icy trail and microspikes made it doable with ease. It’s a challenging hike in places and I had a total of 6.5 miles. Then today, I did an easy hike again for 3.25 miles. My legs needed an easy day. Over the past six days I’ve hiked 31.5 miles. In those miles, I have hiked an elevation gain of 6700 feet.
The most elevation gain was Lonesome Pine with 2454 feet @ 7 miles (3.5 up, 3.5 down). This trail hurts me. Second highest elevation gain was Ramsey Cascades with 2323 feet in 8 miles (4 up, 4 down). The Jump Off gave a climb of 1588 feet in 6.5 miles (3.25 in, 3.25 out).
One of the old growth trees along Ramsey Cascades Trail
I didn’t intend to write this as a trail review or mileage-log; but, thought a few details might make it more fun.
Ramsey CascadesRamsey CascadesRamsey Cascades tree guardians and meTom Branch Falls at Deep CreekHeavily iced AT from Newfound GapTrail on way to Jump OffOconaluftee RiverOconaluftee River
I haven’t set too many goals in the last several years. I’ve turned into a go-with-the-flow kind of gal; however, I think the discipline involved in goal-setting is right for me at this time. There are other plans I am contemplating and doing a short-term project like The Twelve Hikes of Christmas is a great foundation for building more of the life I want to create.
Hiking on the icy AT
One reason I’m writing and sharing about this idea is to hold myself accountable. When the rain starts, I don’t want to too easily blow off a hike. I mean…somebody might actually be paying attention.
Day seven takes me to the other side of the park, to a favorite river area. It’s supposed to rain, so there will be rain gear involved. And a smaller pack since it’s not a difficult trail. Saturday and Sunday look really wet so those days might be local areas of the park within a 3 to 5 mile distance.
Wish me luck, please! Not just for this project, but for other juicy things on the horizon.
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.
