Tag: Smoky Mountains
Befriending the Flow

Befriending the Flow

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The force of the rushing water was pushing against my legs. I stood in the creek and allowed my body to feel the strength of the flow, the pressure somehow comforting instead of frightening. I’ve had a ‘thing’ with fast-moving water for many years. It’s a control thing…you know…I can’t stop the flow of water pushing me, pushing anything in its path. I don’t know when it started but it really amped up when I was learning to cave dive in the high-flow caves of north Florida.

I wish I could admit to liking that flow but really the only time I did was when the dive was turned and the flow carried me back, effortlessly back to calmer waters, a safety stop and then the surface.

My former spouse signed me up for a swiftwater rescue training he was assisting with several years ago. I learned a lot but still found the flow intimidating. The swims we did were just above a nasty little rapid and every time we crossed I feared being swept off my feet and going through that washing machine of foamy water. Helmet, dry suit and PFD were all secure but it still scared me. And then I hurt myself by leaping into the water and knocking the living life out of my femur…I thought I had broken my leg it hurt so bad but it benched me and who could argue with that?

Swift water…running water…rushing water…white water. White from the turbulence of air mixed with water as it slams into rocks. You cannot fight it. You just can’t. I guess it’s like life. You can’t fight the flow of life.

So learning to fly fish here in the Smoky Mountains is giving me opportunity to really embrace the flow and stand in it and with it and even sit in it.

Waders make wading in these cold streams comfortable but they also create a lot of drag and resistance. A wading staff makes it so much easier. Having something to lean on that supports me as I step over and around slippery rocks is vital. Every time I pick up my foot in knee-deep water the current tries to take it. But I’ve gotten used to the sensation.

Yesterday found me at ease in the flow…comfortable and making friends with the water that was rushing past. Last week that same creek took my wading staff but also returned it after I spent two hours fishing and learning to trust the creek, trust myself. After fishing I walked downstream and it was waiting for me, pushed up against the shore. 

I’ve called these trout my Jedi masters as they teach me about their wisdom, the water, the insects but mostly about myself.

As that flow pushed against me yesterday I stood in open acceptance of it. I found stillness within and went into a meditative state of Oneness with the water, trees, trout, rocks, chilly air. Everything else faded as I walked deeper into the creek, the forest and my own depths.

Learning what we have control of and what we don’t have control of is part of the process of healing as a human being. Learning to accept the things I cannot change, change the things I can and the wisdom to know the difference….the Serenity Prayer. I cannot change the flow of the river but I can learn how to navigate it and little-by-little befriend that precious, life-giving flow.

While fly fishing yesterday I had one hard strike that made me squeal but not one other nibble…so of course I’ll return again and again to learn from those Jedi Trout. I’m so grateful they called me to the water. I’m making progress fly fishing and in navigating our beautiful creeks and rivers…today while using my housing I actually sat down in the flow and held my housing in a little rapid. I’m not sure I’ve ever felt so peaceful. The flowing water showed me just how beautiful it really is…when I stop trying to fight it.

Just a shout out to Miss Mayfly Waders…they are amazing and come in sizes to fit different women’s body types. I am so happy to have them in my adventure kit.
So Much Magnificence

So Much Magnificence

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Chilly morning air, washed clean with an all-day rain yesterday, awakens me to beauty…more beauty. More magnificence. From my perch on the front porch, the far mountain ridge is draped with clouds—moving beings of white mist. Bird song fills the space between here and there…tom turkeys…wood thrush…nut hatches…blue jays…red-bellied woodpeckers…carolina wrens…towhees…and as I write this a hummingbird, the first of the season, buzzes the porch.

Colors of spring creep slowly up the mountain, each day offering a new shade of green or pink or light orange. My favorite color season is spring…the tom turkeys tend to agree as they gobble, gobble, gobble searching for their alluring hens. The near ridge is robed in those sweet spring colors but that far ridge, the one with the dancing cloud, is still winter-bare.

The other day I rode up Highway 441, the road that goes through the Smoky Mountain National Park from Cherokee to Gatlinburg. I started in a lush, green spring and climbed to winter where icicles still clung to cliffs. When the road lowered in elevation it was an amazing rush of colorful leaves that enfolded all who entered that tunnel of green.

Wildflowers this year have been amazing, probably due to a very wet winter. They are thriving and as the lower elevations fade, the upper elevations have yet to see trilliums, lady’s slippers, showy orchis. Spring seems eternal here. 

In spring the trees share their beauty by the daily movement of color up, up, up to higher elevations while in the autumn the colors begin at the highest peaks and slowly move down to lower elevations. It’s a never-ending dance of temperature, moisture, position of the sun…life continues on and on and on.

The sun illuminates the far mountain ridge now as clouds turn golden in their swirling, whirling—dervishes worshipping through sacred dance. The turkeys still gobble for their sweethearts, the wood thrush fluting near the creek below.

Sadness found me this morning as yet another loss of life shocked me. Not her! She’s such a light in this world. I felt a pull to the porch, to Nature…to life. Keep living, keep breathing, keep opening and opening and opening.

I just noticed the red bud starting to bloom as I glanced up and gazed into the woods. The turkeys must be dancing, their gobbling reaching a new frenzy. The sun kisses the closer ridge as it breaks through dark clouds…that green, the green of early morning sunlight, is perhaps the most precious of all the greens.

The magnificence of life reminds me to treasure each moment…the glorious ones filled with springtime magic as well as the sad ones filled with grief. We knew coming into this physical body that it would fade, just as the flowers fade, the trees fall during storms. Perhaps that’s what makes life so incredibly sacred. While we are here we have been gifted with a present so glorious…if only we would remember to notice…the colors of spring as they creep up the mountain…so much magnificence.
Changing of the Trees

Changing of the Trees

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I wish there was some way to clearly express the emotions experienced as I witness the magic of the autumnal leaf change. Maybe it’s the realization that Nature is an ever-unfolding miracle of constant change that touches me so. Or the reminder that seasons change and thus so do we. Or simply the magnificent colors that surround my home, fill the mountains and dazzle the happy eyes of my soul.

Regardless…every day brings the opening of new gifts of crazy color and light; I am grateful.
A New Perspective

A New Perspective

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It had been a rainy, cool day. Gray skies. Rain. Rain. Rain. The blueberry bushes in the garden must have grown three inches in one day. Each time I looked out the window, more green. It was the kind of day that lures me into an easy nap. Drop, drop, drop on the metal roof. Low light. A bit chilly so perfect sinking-into-the-puffy-recliner-reading weather.

I woke from the doze around 7.15pm and began watching a video of two therapists that are doing a weekly chat about life in these strange times of viral storms. Actually, to be honest…I call it a viral shitstorm. But that’s another story.

Several days of rain had put a damper…literally…on flying my drone and I hadn’t expected a break in the weather but as I watched the video, I glanced out the window….no wind…no rain…still 30 minutes before sunset. I quickly checked the app that gives me cloud base information, wind, gusts, temperature, satellite info for GPS, precipitation, cloud cover, visibility, wind direction, sunrise/sunset…and whatever else I need to know before flying. Good to go!

I paused the video, ran upstairs and grabbed my case with drone, controller, licenses, permits, batteries and all the stuff necessary for safe flying. Just a quick up and down in the driveway would at least give me a bit of airtime.

I kept the flight altitude to only 85 feet…just above the treetops. There were clouds but I was far under them per FAA guidelines. The clouds had interesting shapes which was encouraging for photography and there were small areas of fog in the valley below so that added to my growing hope for interesting images.

And then…as the drone hovered directly overhead (I live at 2100 feet elevation) the sky began to do something amazing. It appeared that a spiral of clouds was coming out of the sun. And then wispy, thin fog tendrils began to creep over the mountain below the clouds. It takes hardly any time for fog to creep over mountain tops and more than once I have witnessed fog climb that particular nearby mountain and create a sea of white below the peak.

The light just before sunset, just before sunrise is always the sweetest. But that day it was the spiraling clouds, the creeping fog and the gray light that had me standing in my pajamas and fluffy slippers with my mouth hanging open and the words…oh…my…GOD! coming from a deep place of inner awe.

Flying a drone gives a new perspective, a new way to learn about the place in which I live. It helps me rise above everyday attitude as I gain altitude. I love it when Nature gifts me with a phenomena that renders me nearly speechless or a place that cannot be described in words.