La Sua Bella Mente
Chapter 14: And Find My Soul
Date: March 18, 2003
Starting Location: Deep Gap Shelter
Destination: Plumorchard Shelter
Total Trip Miles: 71.1
BPOV
With only three and a half miles to Dicks Creek Gap where we plan to leave the trail and hitchhike into Hiawassee, we take our time the next morning, sleeping late, recovering from yesterday's 15 miles, and lingering over the last of No Filter's breakfasts. I donate my two remaining packets of hot chocolate mix to our meal. It's a leisurely start to what I hope will be another interesting day.
The guys have a mail drop waiting for them at The Blueberry Patch, an organic farm that houses hikers during the peak hiking season. For a small, reasonable fee, you can stay in their bunkhouse or set your tent up in a nearby field. Showers, laundry service, breakfast, and shuttle rides are included. I've never stayed in a hostel before, but I'm surprised to find I'm not nervous about the experience. A hot shower and clean clothes sound wonderful, and I need to go into town to resupply.
The next two hours pass in companionable conversation. No Filter shares some of his trail cooking secrets and recipes. Even though I'm pleasantly full from our breakfast, I find myself looking forward to another meal. We discuss my buying options for supplies in Hiawassee.
Curly Dan tells me about research he's been studying that indicates the backwoods, Appalachian dialect I grew up speaking can be traced almost directly to Elizabethan English. "Did your granny ever use the word 'afeared'?" At my nod he continues. "And did you grow up saying, "warsh rag" for wash cloths, "tarred" for tired, "far" for fire?"
He chuckles at the astonished look I give him. "How did you know that?"
"Appalachian-English is one of the oldest dialects in the US. Most experts think the ruggedness of the mountains served as an isolating factor, keeping the people who settled here cut off from most of the outside world. Not only did it preserve their customs and beliefs, but their manner of speaking, too. Sadly, it's all but disappeared. Earlier researchers were able to document most of it, though.
"Just think, Rella," he continues, after stopping for a moment to catch his breath. "You and Shakespeare have something in common. A truly wonderful thing, if you ask me."
The idea that words, phrases, and speech patterns I've tried to distance myself from were those that Shakespeare may have used is almost more than I can grasp. My mind instantly forms patterns, relationships, and abstractions. But for once, I turn it off, concentrating on just listening to Dan, letting my emotions react to the astonishing things he's telling me.
When it's my turn, I share more about the local forest and the legends of the area.
"Have you heard the story of how Blood Mountain got its name?" I ask. When he shakes his head, I continue. "Well, about 400 years ago there was a great battle between the Creek and Cherokee warriors. So fierce was the fighting and so brave were the warriors that the hills ran red with their blood. Slaughter Mountain is nearby and I guess that just adds to the legend. Of course, the elders also claim all the Cherokee gold was hidden on that mountain when we were forced from our land in the early 1800s."
"Has anyone tried to find the gold?" Dan asks with a knowing grin.
"Of course." I laugh. "More fools than you can count over the last two-hundred years."
It's becoming more obvious from my stories and from my conversation about the trilliums and the doe yesterday that I'm the one who's been writing to EC in the registers, but neither one of them says anything about that subject. I appreciate their silence and their willingness to just accept me for who I am.
~*LSBM*~
We can hear the traffic from the highway before we reach it. Curly Dan has lengthened his lead in front of us when I see him stop and survey what must be ahead of us. He turns and begins to backtrack to where No Filter and I are still walking. The two of them share a silent look before he speaks. "There's a guy sitting at one of the tables. He seems to be by himself, but I thought it might be best if we approached the crossing together." Curly Dan smiles at me and shrugs. "Just a precaution," he adds. No Filter agrees, so the three of us stay close as we continue along the trail, rounding a bend before entering the roadside picnic area near the parking area.
Dicks Creek Gap is a busy place. It's a convenient trailhead for day or section hikers who want to hike south to the top of Kelly Knob or north toward Bly Gap where an iconic, much photographed, gnarled oak marks the border between Georgia and North Carolina. Both are popular hikes, and the parking lot is already filling with cars and hikers. The fact that it's Spring Break for many of the nearby schools and a cool, sunny day means a lot of teenagers and college students begin to pass by us on their way to the knob.
The man Curly Dan mentioned is at one of the picnic tables off to the side. He does look a little out of place, sitting there by himself, and he's staring intently at the trail rather than watching the activity in the parking lot. There is something vaguely familiar about him when I lean around Dan to get a better view. No Filter must think the same thing because I hear him say, "Is that—"
"Jake," I continue, interrupting him.
"You know Jacob Black from Mountain Crossings?" he asks, glancing toward me.
"He's my cousin."
"Did you know he was going to be here?" Curly Dan asks.
"No." As we start walking again, I can't help but wonder if something has happened. "I hope everything's okay," I murmur to myself. Both guys give we a worried glance but don't say anything.
As soon as Jake recognizes me, he's standing, rounding the table, and walking toward us. I can see his worried expression relax as he realizes who I'm with. One more tiny proof that I've not misjudged my hiking companions.
He greets them with a handshake, calling them by their trail names before giving me a hard squeeze. "Been worried about you," he whispers before letting me go. There's an awkward pause as the four of us stand there, no one quite sure what to do or say. Finally, I bluntly ask him what he is doing here.
Jacob shifts nervously, his eyes darting over Curly Dan and No Filter before settling on me. "Something's come up, and I really need to talk to you, Izzy B. In private," he adds, turning to the guys standing next to me.
"Oh, of course, sorry." No Filter nods to Jake. "Tell you what, Curly Dan and I are going to see if we can hitch a ride to the Blueberry Patch with someone out there in the parking lot. You're more than welcome to join us later, if you want, Rella. Or is it Izzy B?" He grins at me, twitching his mustache before becoming more serious. "If we see you there, that will be wonderful, but if not, we'll catch you somewhere up ahead on the trail. Okay?" When I nod, he turns back to Jacob. "Nice to see you again, Black." Then with a nod and a wave, they both make their way to the roadside where we watch them strike up a conversation with a van driver who is apparently giving rides into town.
Two minutes later, they're both gone, and I turn back to Jake. "What's going on? Has anything happened to Uncle Billy or Leah?"
"No, they're fine," he answers, shaking his head. "I just really need you to come home with me."
"What? You drove all the way here to tell me you really need me to come home with you? What exactly does that mean, Jake?"
My cousin has the decency to look apologetic at my demand, but he doesn't back down. "Look," he says, starting again. "You left things in a mess in New York. You need to come back to Neels Gap with me. We'll get on the phone, talk to Angela and Edward, and get this all straightened out. You need to be taking care of business instead of out here hiking."
"I need to be taking care of business, huh? Well, let me tell you something, Jacob Black." There's fury in my voice as I step toward my cousin. "All I've done for the last nine years is take care of business! First, it was classes at MIT, and research and papers and presentations and dissertations." I continue to shout as I advance closer to him, and he slowly backs away. My voice has gotten loud enough that several people glance our way, but I pay them no mind as I continue to unload on my startled cousin. "And, yes, I enjoyed it, and it was good, but it was business. And then there was Edward and real business—programming and writing code and figuring out how to make something real and useful from my theories. It was business, business, business, always business.
"But you know what happened while I was taking care of business, Jacob?" My fury has suddenly run its course, and I plop myself down on the table bench, staring at the ground below me. "Do you know what happened? I forgot to take care of me, Jake … I forgot to take care of me."
He takes a seat beside me, reaching over to take one of my shaking hands in his. "I'm sorry, Iz. I didn't mean—"
But I shake him off, ignoring his apology. I'm still too angry, my emotions too raw. I can feel tears pricking my eyes, and they only make me more upset. No more tears, I had promised myself. With a shuddering sigh, I lean back against the table top, then turn and face my worried cousin.
"I tried so hard to fit in. Changed the way I spoke, the way I dressed, the way I ate, and what I thought. But by doing so, I lost who I was, who I am … I lost me, Jake."
My cousin's dear face reflects the sorrow and regret in my own. "I'm sorry, B. I'm so sorry. I didn't know, didn't understand. But—"
Once again, I interrupt what I know is going to be another plea for me to return home with him. "Something happened yesterday. Something wonderful and magical, and I want you to listen to me until I'm finished, okay?"
Jacob cocks his head, studying me closely. "Wonderful and magical?" he teases. "I thought you didn't believe in magic?"
Rolling my eyes at his pathetic attempt at humor, I once more ask him to listen to my story. "No interruptions!"
When he nods in agreement, I begin to tell him about meeting No Filter and Curly Dan and the instant friendship we developed. I describe the hidden hollow we hiked through. The luminescent fog, the brilliant, glowing green of each leaf, the magnificent old oak with its white blaze, the doe with her too-early fawn, and the brief moment when I wished for a unicorn, or wood nymph, or fairy to appear. I express my delight at finding the meadow abloom with trilliums and the memories of Granny they invoked. And then I repeat No Filter's favorite John Muir quote. "And into the forest I go, to lose my mind and find my soul."
"That's what happened to me yesterday, Jake. I let go of my mind. For once, I just existed and was happy. I didn't think about algorithms, or computer codes. I didn't see the world around me as patterns and formulas. I didn't worry about chaos and interruptions. I lost my mind, and with it, I lost all worry about the business I should be in New York taking care of. I lost my mind, and I started finding my soul."
The tears I've been trying to hold back are trickling down my cheeks. Jake reaches out with his thumb and gently wipes them away. "I'm sorry, cousin. I'm so sorry," he whispers before hugging me to him. "What can I do to make this better?"
Drawing away, I look up at him. "Don't ask me to go back. I love Edward, I always will, but I'll never go back to New York. I need this hike. I need to find me. And I have been thinking about the business, Jake. I truly have. I own the intellectual property rights to the math theories that the whole system is based on. Edward can go to Italy with Jane, if that's what makes him happy. He can try to use our program if he wants to. It might take some extra legal work, but I can make it very difficult and very expensive for them to use any part of that program without my consent. And I have every intention of doing just that!"
The biggest smile spreads across my cousin's face, and then he begins to laugh, a deep, gut-busting, joyful laugh that fills the space around us. It's impossible to ignore, and soon, we're both wiping tears from our eyes as we grin at each other.
"Oh, that's the girl I remember," Jake manages to choke out. "And that's the badass, competent, woods-wise woman she grew up to be."
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AN: Sally worked her magic, and then I fiddled around with it. Remaining mistakes are all mine. Thank you to Ipsita for her suggestions and her beautiful banner.
Many thanks for the amazing and very interesting reviews. Many of you have shared your stories of the AT and hiking. For those of you who would like to read more about the trail, here are some of my favorite titles.
A Walk in the Woods by Bill Bryson
On the Beaten Path, An Appalachian Pilgrimage by Robert Alden Rubin
Walking North, A Family Hikes the Appalachian Trail by Mic Lowther
Walking with Spring: The First Thru-hike of the Appalachian Trail by Earl Shaffer
Until next Tuesday, Hike On!
Janet