It Depends

Volunteer Day Hike (in January)

2012-02-01T07:58:00.001-08:00

Been here before, but not in (what passes for) winter.

Tried hard to get a good shot at this angle without the power lines. Couldn’t quite. Such is modern life, for good and ill.

Nice little hike, and great views once you leave the trail for a bit.

Fall Hollow

2012-01-24T07:02:00.000-08:00

Last winter was the first throwback winter Nashville had in nearly a decade, with ice and snow everywhere. Since I’m none too bright and love to hike around in that stuff, I was driving back from a pleasant jaunt and found this place, Fall Hollow, by accident. I saw the road-sign and decided on a whim to stop and I’m glad I did. It was spectrally beautiful that day; unfortunately I only had my videocamera, which takes flawless video but for some reason very hazy photographs (user error, I’m sure)…see:

Since then I splurged on a digital camera and recently took this beaten, battered, hardworking, small but very spunky device on a return visit. No winter wonderland this year, but still a nice place. This is the view beside the trail:

Walking toward the falls can be a bit tricky (a sign there says the path is ‘unprepared’) but pleasant:

…and very refreshing:

Behind the veil:

Don't do this much anymore, but I heard this song on some podcast and absolutely loved it: Israel Nash Gripka's 'Goodbye Ghost.'

Fall Hollow Video Three

2012-01-24T06:24:00.000-08:00

Fall Hollow Video Two

2012-01-24T06:01:00.000-08:00

Fall Hollow Video One

2012-01-24T05:49:00.000-08:00

Jackson Falls

2012-01-23T12:27:00.001-08:00

Quite the unexpected pleasure. I had never been here, even though I’m sure I drove by it at one time or another. Fairly easy to reach, too, notwithstanding a winding staircase that I slipped on once:

The view, though, is worth it. Hard to believe it’s (basically) right beside a road:

Jackson Falls Video

2012-01-23T11:49:00.000-08:00

Baker Bluff

2012-01-23T11:48:00.000-08:00

I went to see Fall Hollow, but unexpectedly came upon two sights fairly close to it, Jackson Falls and this, Baker Bluff. It was a nice little walk (a third of a mile) and you’re gifted with a view that is pretty stereotypical- in a good way- of ‘Tennessee countryside’:

Peter Jackson has made me think of ringwraiths whenever I see a tree like this (maybe it’s just me):

Wilderness Trail Video-One

2012-01-05T12:39:00.000-08:00

Wilderness Trail Video-Two

2012-01-05T12:24:00.000-08:00

Hiking Tennessee: Wilderness Trail (Eastern Leg)

2012-01-03T12:15:00.001-08:00

Probably the hardest trail I hiked (something the book notated). It was a little less than two miles from ‘parking’ area to waterfall, I believe, but there were very steep angles of descent and ascent and I had to go back the way I came. That’s not necessarily bad, just really, really strenuous. More good news: it was hard to get lost, because there was a body of water on one side and a fence to keep out trespassers on the other.

Liked the trail-head, even though it was right across a tiny one-lane street from someone’s house. I wondered if I was on his or her personal property, but saw one of those ‘official’ trashcans they have at campsights, and figured I was safe as long as I was near that.

Steep, steep, steep…

The trek was worth it, though. I really liked the falls here. I’ve got some video I’ll try to upload one of these days.

This was near where I parked…just a nice little inlet…

Hiking Tennessee: Bearwaller Gap (Second Leg)/Tater Knob

2011-12-21T13:13:00.000-08:00

This was the second part of the Bearwaller Gap hike. I hiked the other part of this trail earlier in the year and nearly tromped over a bloated rattlesnake. No such luck this time…had the paths nearly to my lone.

Some great overlooks…

Something about that sharp green; to my color-addled eyes it almost seems to glow stubbornly against the grey day and the rugged paleness of the trees…

Can you see the deer, at middle-left, stretching its neck to peer back at me?

Tolkienesque crags…

Mossy archway…

More moss, crawling up some forgotten wall…

Sentinels. Reminds of me a little of my favorite Michael Whelan painting ...

Great view at the end of the hike…

They’ve got a funky little rest area in Tater Knob, TN…

Beethoven playing in my ears, cool afternoon breeze, misty horizon…there are worse ways to spend an afternoon…

Hiking Tennessee: Hamilton Creek Park

2011-11-10T09:27:00.000-08:00

Hiking Tennessee: Short Springs in October

2011-10-24T13:08:00.001-07:00

Machine Falls

Abbey of Gethsemani

2011-09-23T11:38:00.000-07:00

Walking away from the monastery…

To a forest filled with religious statues, or icons, scattered about haphazardly (I suppose)…

Statue of Mary speckled in shadow…

I have to wonder how the tree did this…

A little further on, just a pleasant diversion in a day that was the hottest I’ve ever spent there…

Returning to the grounds, which are singularly beautiful…

See the crosses just above the path? That is where the monks who have passed are buried. On my first trip to the Abbey, over a decade ago, one of the monks told all of us new retreatants that the Dalai Lama had been there recently and draped a shawl around the cross perched over Thomas Merton’s gravesite…later that week I was wandering around and came to this cemetery and saw a white (if I remember right) piece of cloth with gold-colored trim wrapped loosely around a tombstone. I hadn’t realized they had left it there.

An amazing place…

Hiking Louisiana: Stoner Park

2011-09-16T09:16:00.001-07:00

At first I thought it would just be a walkway, paved paths and such...

Eventually I found a sidetrail. There were woodlands around that hadn’t been paved over or scorched to cinders...

And at the end, or the beginning if you prefer, near the parking lot, there are some pretty spectacular views...

Hiking Louisiana: Lake Bistineau

2011-09-09T09:00:00.000-07:00

Hiking Tennessee: The Harpeth

2011-07-22T12:20:00.000-07:00

Mum and nephew visited me a few weeks ago here in Nashville. I took my nephew canoeing on the Harpeth and here’s a few pictures.

On the boat. So what if the cushion is wrongside-up (I think)…

Some shelf jutting out into the river…

The lad is much more camera-friendly than his uncle…

As demonstrated again near the cave that shoots through the hill…

Later I took him hiking above that cave…

It’s really a beautiful spot…

I noticed a freakishly large shadow creeping over the distant grass…

Not wanting to leave well enough alone, I decided to climb above the cave. Thought about dropping down inside, but those rocks are slick.

Hiking Tennessee: Ye Old Red Post

2011-07-15T13:09:00.000-07:00

The paved path…I would find out later how slippery this really was…

I just like the contrast, dampened and bright…

Path on the side…

Overlooking some marina…a few of my carion bird friends were nosing around but they decided to ride an air current and wouldn’t stay still for a picture…

Is it just me- it can’t be- or can you just imagine this as the road to Rivendell…

On the way back, after hiking over grass and gravel, my boots were naturally dampened. After a second or two on the slate, I stumbled. I righted myself, but not four seconds later tripped completely and fell flat on my arse. Here’s the photo I unintentionally took…

D@mn squirrel kept following my vehicle, and then shimmied up a nearby tree branch once I stopped to photograph him…rodent…

Canopy…

Return of the long lost Friday Haiku-

slender wings dipping
the unconquered summoning
a dark shifting sea

…waiting, Maximus…

Hiking Tennessee: Perimeter Trail

2011-07-08T11:51:00.001-07:00

Down the road…

Stepping back in time…

Criss-crossing streams…

Cascading water…

Shelf…

Crossing…

As soon as the turtles realized a person was approaching, they skedaddled…but I got one of them before he took the dive…

Hiking Tennessee: Pinnacle Trail

2011-06-22T13:54:00.001-07:00

Now, I took a picture of this frog because it was an aberration that day. I saw no standing water on this trail, but there was a lot of mud and a lot of sludge, so I saw many frogs hopping away as I sauntered along Pinnacle Trail. This frog, though, hopped once and then stopped, and didn’t move no matter how close I got for my shot. A smarter man would have noticed something, but I was just focused on how bold that was without thinking about the reason why. I think I may have found it. Right-hand corner of this photo…do you see it? I could be wrong (though Maximus the Inscrutable saw it also) but it looks to me like a triangular head poking through the leaves…I did not notice that until I was looking at the photos later.

Weird pancake looking fungus (fungi???)…

Hiking Tennessee: Montgomery Bell-Northeast Loop

2011-06-22T13:53:00.000-07:00

I know some parts of the country were suffering from a drought, but here, the water was so high it flooded the paths…

Hiking Tennessee: Old Trace/Garrison Loop

2011-06-17T12:56:00.000-07:00

Maybe my favorite hike of all time…

Happy belated birthday, A.

Hiking Tennessee: Bearwaller Gap (First Leg)

2011-06-10T12:01:00.001-07:00

See it? In just about the center of the photo?

I was backtracking my way on this very beautiful, very extensive hike when I came across a couple walking their dog. I stood aside to be polite and because I had already hiked over five miles without showering, but hombre came up to me and said, “Be careful up there. About 200 yards back there’s a rattler under a tree with a diameter of about this big...” he held his hands open. I thanked him and asked him how his dog reacted, wondering if said canine had been in danger, and he said, “She’s the one who actually spotted it.” So, moving on. Not quite 200 yards away I saw four downed trees in clumps of two laid across the trail. The distance wasn’t right but it seemed just as likely a spot for snakes as any. The first batch I scanned vigorously, left right up down, left right up down. I didn’t see anything and quickly hopped across them, and then stopped, listening. I didn’t hear any rustling or rattling. So the next group, the same thing, left right up down...once, twice. I really wanted to make sure about this one, because being from Louisiana- the poisonous snake capital of America- I have a certain wariness when it comes to our legless friends. I remember once as a lad crawfishing with my father, watching a water moccasin easing up a tree into a nest to get some poor bird’s eggs. Later in my childhood my father and I were actually attacked in the middle of Cotile Lake by (what I think was) a copperhead. Yep, attacked. Experts usually say animals are more scared of us and won’t charge unless threatened, and they’re right. Usually. But this one must have been hungry because he was skimming across the water straight at us. My dad hit it with an oar and it disappeared. Later, my cheap two-piece fishing rod came apart (I’m certain it wasn’t my fault) and my dad reached down into the water to get it and recoiled. That evil yet brilliant serpent had been trailing our boat. A couple more whacks and it vanished again, a shimmering gleam in the dark water. It was at least a year before I would get back in a boat. But I digress.

I realized, with a start, that a face in the decaying wood was peering out at me. That’s what the above picture is

Here’s the rest of it’s bloated body...

A little further up the trail a party of many people, guys and chatty teenage gals, was coming along. Despite my prodigiously foul body odor, I stopped and told them about a “big ‘ol snake” on the path, and the guy up front said, “That’s alright, we want to see one.” The girls behind him called out, “There’s a snake up here.” Apparently they all wanted to see it. Couldn’t help feeling a bit sorry for the creature if they did. Younger me would never have believed that.

...one obstacle...

...after another...

Bit of Tolkien factor, remnants of an old stone wall...

And ‘mossy’ green trees...

A good view from a jutting rock...

Hiking Tennessee: Volunteer Day Hike

2011-06-06T13:42:00.001-07:00

A green assault on the senses…

A Tolkienesque winding path…

Wind on the water…

Happy belated birthday, C…

Hiking Tennessee: Three Hickories Nature Trail

2011-05-27T13:33:00.001-07:00

So, there I was, meandering through the woods, when I come to a dead halt in front of the fine fellow photoed above...

I don’t know whether I heard this before, or made it up myself, but a general rule of thumb is to always treat a snake like it’s alive and poisonous. I was considering being wise and letting said serpent have the trail as it was there first and where there is one there may be many (another good assumption to make), but stupidity won the day and I grabbed a branch to shoo it off the path. A old friend of mine back in my LA said she slayed a serpent with a rake (maybe it was another farm implement...a rake doesn’t seem like it would work), but I don’t like to do that unless necessary. Anyway, said snake didn’t know my philosophical leanings and heard me coming around and shot under a rock, but not before a very rude display that sounded distinctly like a hiss and an angry rattle. I could have been imaging that. It wasn’t a rattlesnake. Maybe the sound of the leaves being quickly unsettled and then drifting back into place confused my eardrums, or maybe it was my home state’s DNA that assumes every legless lizard is spawned from hell. Whatever the case, I don’t like killing something that’s minding it’s own business so I didn’t.

Wasn’t my only unexpected encounter that morning. At some point, before the serpent’s appearance, I had heard a huge commotion in the branches, a falling sound followed by branches being torn away from their trees, and took a photo just as quick as I could in the general direction...

D@mn birds follow me everywhere.

Oh well. This trail hit a lot of different landscapes. From riverfront...

to creepy forest...

I see a lot of trees (usually cedars) that remind me of Sauron’s crown, for some reason I refuse to examine, but this washed-out monstrosity could almost be the real thing itself:

*

As I write (type) this, it’s a weird time in Nashville. Every thirteen years scads of a certain type of cicada- small, flying bugs- come out of the ground and buzz around the trees for a while before laying their eggs and dying...

This group in middle Tennessee have red-tinged wings and red eyes...even being a little colorblind, I can tell that deep a red. Thirteen years ago my younger sister came here to visit and it was a full decade before she came back. To this day she’s creeped out. “Those little fire-eyed things!” Personally, I think it’s funny. I like the sound, because it’s unusual (imagine a cricket’s chirp, loud enough to be heard through office walls). I don’t even mind it when they latch onto things like pants and shirts...

...because they make a remarkably human sound when you bat them away, like an annoyed grunt, or the last insult an arsehole throws your way as he or she storms off. Makes me laugh. In any case, they’ll be gone before long. The intricate rhythms of Mother Nature. Curiouser and curiouser.

Hiking Tennessee: John C. Clayborn/Merritt Ridge

2011-05-20T13:04:00.001-07:00

Hiking Tennessee: Montgomery Bell-Southwest

2011-05-13T09:48:00.001-07:00

Springtime, when a wandering man's education makes his thoughts turn to snakes. I have encountered four of these critters in the last four weekends, one of which I didn’t realize was there until I was perusing a picture I had taken of a still-as-stone frog and saw a triangular head poking through a clump of leaves (triangle=bad when it comes to snakes). Always makes things interesting.

Late April. I was walking with typical wide-eyed innocence down Montgomery Bell’s southwestern trail when I saw the black-and-yellow serpent in front of me, lying full length on the path. I stopped pretty abruptly. It’s head was lopsided in a strange way, so I thought, “Lucky me, it’s dead.” While readying my camera, the ‘dead’ snake righted itself and started to slither off…

It vacated the path for me, kindly but without due haste…

Earlier this week I went to get some Mexican food in downtown Nashville, and there was a ton of construction going on with a firetruck sittingly where I normally illegally park, so I was stuck at a meter in BFE about eight avenues away. After pacing through the alleys in the southern sun and acquiring my food (excellent enough for me not to mind getting hot food on a hot day), I retraced my steps, got my bearings with the roadsign I had memorized, and looked at the street now empty of my truck. There were no other vehicles around, either, and I remembered that on an evening a little over ten years ago, I and others had been towed at almost that very spot by an irate churchmember (downtown Nashville is home to several religious affiliates, who you don’t want to mess with). Wanting to make sure I was in the right place, I rechecked the street name, looked at the meter to see if there were any warnings on them I had failed to heed, and then walked into the nearest establishment with a sense of resignation tinged with wrath. It was some sort of fancy restaurant and a guy and girl came down a high staircase to speak with me. I asked them if I had been towed and they said not by them, and then I said I guess my truck was stolen, and they said so sorry. Outside, a woman stopped by with what looked like some dry-cleaning and I warned her. Then I started walking towards a nearby filling station, looked to my right, and saw my truck on the next street up behind the high-class eatery. Don’t know how my wires got crossed because I know I memorized the street-name…must have waited longer than I thought to do so as I sauntered along. I thought about telling the restaurant proprietors of my idiocy, but despite their kind attitudes I doubt they cared one way or another. I was actually going to drive around and tell the other woman not to worry, because she had been empathetic, but as I was pulling out of the parking place I saw her driving ahead of me, resuming her business with the world.

I mention this idiocy because it was a case of my memory and perception toying with me, like they also did with this snake. In my mind’s eye said serpent was colored differently than how it is in this picture, with yellow stripes banding from back to belly, almost like a painted-on ribcage. Obviously, I trust that picture to be right more than the image in my head, which I would have sworn to. What’s the moral of the story? There is none. I felt like writing it so it’s writ. Moving on.

There was a much cuter critter, a beaver (I’m assuming), minding it’s own business in the lake until I came along…

This tree reminds me of the Nazgul king's crown, for some reason (a geek, unapologetically)…

This was a strange part of the path. The water had retreated from the rock, leaving it glistening below the gnarled, writhing tree…

I was exhausted walking this one, the temperature had snuck up unbeknownstto me to over 90 degrees, but still, it had its moments…

Hiking Tennessee: Old Stone Fort

2011-05-05T09:24:00.001-07:00

Old Stone Fort is in Manchester, TN. There are longer and shorter paths here and I took the longer one, naturally, but the waterfalls are basically within strolling distance.

The trails went past the falls. Quite a ways down, sometimes…

I wasn’t always navel-gazing…

Occasionally there was a need to hop, skip and jump…

Beautiful afternoon sun, glinting off the water indeed…

Springtime for lower Tennessee…

Hiking Tennessee: Short Springs

2011-04-29T13:49:00.000-07:00

More cascades than falls, unlike nearby Old Stone Fort…

It wasn’t an easy trek, all told…

Still experimenting with the lens…

Just liked the color…

Didn’t do all the exploring I wanted to…

…because I had unexpected canine company on this hike. A little dog was hanging around a couple of cars in the parking lot, and as soon as I started on the trail this scamp tagged along, sometimes lounging behind, sometimes barreling ahead.

I did not discourage this because I thought that he (or she, I didn’t check) was with whoever was driving those cars and they had just let it run off because it was early morning in the country and that’s how it’s done sometimes. When I eventually came across a couple with two dogs, I congratulated myself on my good deed and perceptive thinking, asking them cheerily, “Did you lose a pet?” They responded bluntly, “Nope.”

‘Oh sh!te.’ Apparently I wasn’t reuniting a family, I had led an extremely trusting animal into the middle of the woods, and to make matters worse it was probably an abandoned pup or one that had slipped away and hadn’t had food for who knows how long. So I cut short my trip and trekked out of there-sometimes carrying mutt over footbridges, because it was afraid of them for some reason and preferred to flounder in creeks rather than cross wooden planks- by the shortest route available, which was still a couple of miles long.

When I reached the trailhead, some gal was there just starting out on her own hike, and though she said it wasn’t hers, either, that didn’t stop hound from following her, and she let it. Just like that my dilemma was over, and I felt awful. Who knows what she did, if she kept it or just left it there to find it’s way home, or a new home.

I realize everyone has different experiences, but I do not understand how people can do what they do, the cruelty without cause ordinary people are capable of putting animals through (to say nothing about what they will put other people through). Yesterday, by coincidence (‘there are no coincidences, only the appearance of coincidences’), I read an interview with Peter Singer, who is probably the most famous animal rights person on the planet. I like learning about uncommon opinions, and while I’m not sure I agree with everything says (or writes), his perspectives are intriguing and I admire the way he arrived at his beliefs, as well his courage for sticking by them, despite criticism- much of it ill-informed- and death threats.

That is all. Have a good weekend.

Hiking Tennessee: Ganier Ridge/Lake Trail

2011-04-15T13:34:00.000-07:00

On the other side of Radnor. It was an unbelievable day.

The mist, still creeping in…

The higher I got, the thicker the mist was…

Almost like another world…

Ruins…

Evidence of a little rain previously…

There were three deer at this part, not concerned with me at all (and why should they be?)…

Further on there was a bird serenely observing it all…

…and two geese even less concerned about me than the deer were…

There was an observation bench near the lakefront, and for a while I just sat there and watched the morning move…

Hiking Tennessee: Radnor

2011-04-08T09:42:00.001-07:00

If Warner Parks is a source of pride for Nashville, so is Radnor Lake. It’s a man-made lake with a bunch of trails plotted through the nearby woodland. Every time I’ve been here it seems like I’m stepping onto an archaic movie set or into a backwards time warp. It’s a strange, welcoming impression and I don’t think I’m the only one who gets it.

I wasn’t walking two minutes before I saw this beside the road…

It was morning, and the mist was beginning to move from the water to the moist grass…

You could see it hovering and slowly twisting…

Occasionally strong gusts of wind…

Had a friend to occasionally tag along…

Radnor always has an otherworldly feel to it, never more than on this day…

I’m getting a little tired of these damn birds following me everywhere…

*

Old Friday haiku from a while back, tweaked…
Sky grey and fallen 
Bundled and still shivering 
Light nowhere to seek

Hiking Tennessee: Mossy Ridge

2011-04-07T11:37:00.000-07:00

Mossy Ridge is part of Warner Parks, a tremendous source of pride for Nashville and deservedly so. It is a massive area of winding trails, with easier stretches for those just wanting a stroll to hilly climbs that wreck your legs. Beautiful, beautiful area.

Funky looking, I thought…

The day was grey, clouds shrouded the morning, which apparently kept a number of people home. Rare for the weekends at Warner…

Pretties…

Things are (or were) starting to bloom…

This was a trying hike of 4.5 miles. I was scrambling up and skipping down, the hills rising right beside you…

I can’t take a step without these fine friends of mine hovering about…

Some girls came along and in a very unladylike manner clapped and screeched until the birds took off to the relative shelter of the trees…

Hiking Tennessee: Long Hunter State Park

2011-04-07T11:34:00.001-07:00

Long Hunter State Park has a number of trails meandering through it. The two-mile loop is a very easy stroll with a long bridge that spans a lake. When there is a lot of water, it is a strange experience. Standing on that bridge, you swear it’s swaying relentlessly and about to tip over sideways into the brink. It’s a weird, neatly hallucinogenic sensation that I highly recommend…

Dogwoods are blooming (I think they’re dogwoods). And of course, right on cue the weather got colder again. Nothing is going according to schedule these days…

This squirrel let me know what it thought of me wandering around in its woods…

I just liked the weird, frantic look of these trees…

I’m not sure it’s very visible, but there’s a bird skimming the water…

Also another group of birds were hanging about…

Except for the first visit, I’ve seen deer every time I’ve been to this park. I was on the longer trail and was beginning to think the streak would be broken, but on the way back I came across three deer who had crossed the trail to (I assume) get a drink of water from the lake. One ran off as I thrashed along, the others stopped and stared at me as I went by…

Hiking Tennessee: Burns Branch

2011-04-01T13:12:00.000-07:00

If I was asked to show someone one hike, a single trail that represented all what Middle Tennessee has to offer, this would be the place I would take them. It’s less than three miles round-trip, crosses innumerable picturesque streambeds, and manages the trick of being trying while not exhausting.

First off, to get there you have to use the Natchez Trace, which is the most beautiful part of any state I’ve ever seen that isn’t Utah or Washington. You can take the Trace from Nashville all the way down to the birthplace of the King—Tupelo, Mississippi. I would not, however, recommend that. The view is extraordinary but it’s mostly single-laned and the speed limit seems to be 40 miles per hour perpetually and people follow it religiously.

When you drive (or bike, you can see many shiny cyclists on this stretch of road) that way, do not be surprised to see wild turkeys, of all things. I didn’t even realize there were any of these animals left in America. On this particular trip I saw a bunch.

They decided to cross the road just after I had passed.

Show-offs…

Once you’re there, at Burns Branch, start walking to the right…south. There’s a slightly worn footpath just outside the treeline and you can follow it as it weaves in and out of the forest with some interesting views…

Cascades…

And amazing scenery that changes nearly every step…

Sometimes you appear further away from the highway…

Sometimes you’re right beside it…

The meandering trail…

Ma Nature has a weird sense of humor…

I just liked the way the sun’s shape appears in this one, as if Sauron’s eye was stripped of it’s cloaking shadow (sorry, Tolkien imagery is never far from my brain)…

Two Friday haiku today, since last week was woefully lacking in seventeen-syllable verse.

Grace
Knees drawn into the
damp grass, gazing at the high
hills and wide branches.

Soon
Thin clouds part above
Withered feet scurrying from
The death angel’s eye

Hiking Tennessee: Forrest State Park/Johnsonville

2011-03-25T13:36:00.001-07:00

Did a two-part hike last week, a three mile trek in the Nathan Bedford Forrest State Park, and then a two.something walk in nearby Johnsonville. Civil War battle sites again.

Yep, Nathan Bedford Forrest State Park. My guess is, the only reason people outside of Tennessee know anything about Nathan Bedford Forrest is because of the movie Forrest Gump. Just south of Nashville there is a statue of him that is frequently maligned and usually accompanied by indicting messages scrawled on posterboard.

Wikipedia- that fount of all knowledge- says an illustrious Civil War commentator mentions that the War between the States produced two geniuses, one being Mr. Forrest with the other being Abraham Lincoln (a certain General Robert E. Lee is conspicuously not on that list). As a fighter, it appears he had nadanoids of steel. The park signs mention that in that area he defeated a naval force with calvary, which was the only time that happened in (recorded) history. I also read a story- in Traveler, I think- where one of his generals complains about a lack of coffee in their camp; Mr. Gump’s namesake disappears for about half an hour and returns with some of that old-time caffeine. The general is irate when he realizes that he raided the nearby Union lines for flavored water. Bold. I wonder if it really happened.

He was also, as viewers of Forrest Gump will remember, a prominent member of the Ku Klux Klan and was probably responsible for the massacre of unarmed black soldiers as well as unarmed white southern unionists. He denied it till the end of his life, saying no surrender had been given, but several Union soldiers who survived said it happened and more damningly, one man under his own command wrote a letter saying it did. So it could be a ‘he said, she said,’ but the evidence is not on his side.

I thought this would be an easy entry to write, because strings of phrases were just forming in my head as I was hiking in those woods, but it was anything but. I kept trying to come up with rights and wrongs, the should and should nots, about a memorial of any sort to a figure who was definitely brave, eventually left the Klan, and denied his guilt of a horrendous crime to the end, but who also made a pre-war fortune in the slave trade and was probably- despite his denials- guilty of ordering a massacre. Maybe a national park, where the earth is (allegedly) left alone to grow, to replenish and renew itself, is the only kind of memorial a figure like Mr. Forrest should have.

There is a monument to the battle...

...that has his name on it prominently (even though you can’t really see it in the picture).

Along the trail...

Treebeard felled...

I’m sure I don’t know why these carrion birds keep following me...

Closer still...

Further up the road, Johnsonville, there is an outcropping of land that juts out into the water and almost touches the opposite side. I got the bright idea to hop, skip and jump on it and got all the way to the very edge. Nothing there but the view...

Hiking Tennessee: Water Valley Overlook

2011-03-18T10:58:00.001-07:00

It’s good to be taken down a peg, on occasion. I had done a couple of eight-mile hikes two weekends in a row and was feeling extremely—one might say overly—confident. I looked over the Water Valley Overlook trail-map with haughty eyes, but by the end it had turned my calves to jelly. This particular trek of eight miles was not a straight there-and-back-again-over-a-carefully-paved-trail. I did some ravine-hopping (because of rain earlier in the week), climbed straight up (nearly) and stumbled back down (often), and eventually my legs of finely-wrought iron (sarcasm font) were wobbly and pathetic and at hike’s end I basically collapsed in my vehicle before willing myself home. Had a great time and I’d do it again in a heartbeat.

Nearly…

This trough was actually deeper than it appears. Or maybe I’m thinking of another one…yep, another one. I was leaping from side to side in order not to get slogged and simultaneously dodging branches from trees that crowded the trail all the while and here I see no trunkage…

Reminded me of Twins, that movie with Mr. Devito and Gov. Schwarzenegger…

An occasional bird circled overhead like death…

The reward…

If you don’t understand why a view like this is worth (most) any trouble you had to get there, no amount of words will suffice to explain it.

But let’s try, shall we?

Paradise isn’t free. When you struggle, and if perchance you see the struggle through, the appreciation of the journey makes the destination all the more profound. It's a stupid system but that's the one we have.

Original, eh? Should have left it unexamined. In the end, despite it all, this is a pretty remarkable piece of granite.

Oh well, time for haiku.

The spirit in the
wind drifting over the deep,
drop by drop it fills

Hiking Tennessee: Stones River Battlefield

2011-03-11T12:09:00.000-08:00

Definitely the most tourist-friendly of the Civil War sites I’ve seen (to be fair, that’s not many). There is a large visitor’s center with a lot of interesting books, posters, DVDs, and a variety of other souvenirs. I bought some postcards that were extremely vivid, very moving. Some artists just have the knack. They can capture the subtlety of moods circumstance better than any picture can.

Here’s some pictures:

Sentinel...

The king is dead, long live the king...

No matter the cost, it never stops...

 Despite the nearby highway and the hum of the cars (there were even cars driving through the park), there were places where it had that Ken Burn’s Civil War feel to it, like this fence, which reminds me of almost every photo from that time period I have ever seen:

I’m still trying to get that shaft of sunlight with this camera, and the mechanics of it keep foiling me...

I’ll get it yet...can’t let the machine win, can we?

Haiku for Friday, sufficient until Maximus' shows up:

dawn sliding over crack’d,
barren hills...weary eyes lift
to the patient sun

Hiking Tennessee: Drake's Creek

2011-03-04T13:21:00.001-08:00

It’s been a revealing week. The weather has warmed up and there are more and more homeless folks hovering around the shelter near our humble workplace. Last week an older woman in tatters walked behind my truck, and looking in the rearview her blacked, bruised eye could not be missed. It’s one of the worst things in the world to see. Now and again it does a mind good to remember the positive side of life in the city. A suburban hike can help with that. Drake’s Creek, near Hendersonville, is nothing if not a suburban hike. The path is flanked on one side by a creek and some houses, and on the other by a ton of soccer and baseball fields. There are some nice views…

…if you don’t mind the occasional roaring train.

There were a lot of birds when I was there. Many of them, actually, which seemed strange to me because of the numerous people and machines puttering about. One of said birds was very, very blue.

That is all. Except for Friday haiku. The only one I had time for was a whimsical farce I concocted with a friend from job #2, who discourteously made fun of the face imprinted on the plastic wrapped around the glass holding in the beverage that helped slake my thirst.

warm cappuccino
my ev’ning is now complete
Mona Lisa smile

The Mighty Maximus did it right...ignore the dork hunting insects with a box.

Hiking Tennessee: Bledsoe Creek

2011-02-25T12:27:00.001-08:00

A trip of eerie contrast, this. Nature and civilization coexisting in an eerie flux state (???). I had missed the trailhead, and when I turned around to retrace my way, I saw a pair of eyes staring at me from the sparse trees near the roadway. After the stereotypical double-take, I noticed more of them. In all, there were four deer grazing near the pavement. I stopped to take a picture, and when I had my camera ready they were no longer there. I was scanning around, listening for scampering hooves, when I realized they had done the opposite of what I expected and just meandered across the road, towards me. Here’s the straggler.

They didn’t sprint away at all, in fact, until my infernal vehicle was started up. After that they couldn’t leave fast enough.

There was more stuff like this. When I found the trail and was hiking contentedly near the water, to my left were a bunch of RVs which had the usual commotion surrounding them, people starting fires, drinking coffee, talking in low tones, really just enjoying the morning, and to my right were fugly feathered friends like these…

almost within touching distance, not moving at all no matter how close I got.

Some folk were fishing, some were zooming around in motorboats, but mostly it was serene.

After skirting this body of water for a while the path broke to the left up a hill. And when I scribble up a hill, I mean it.

Nope. Not done yet.

After this ascension and the sweaty cursing that accompanied it, I took it easy, sauntering along and enjoying the grey, muted morning. The only complaint I have is embarrassingly minor, that my new lens seems to automatically correct flares. I sort-of liked the bright beams of sunlight that seered their way into the photos, creating an image that could never be in waking life. I remember that the ‘Firefly’ folks said they sent the new lenses back and wanted older ones, because the old ones kept the more natural look and didn’t automatically correct for the sun. Oh well. Technology is a fickle master.

Read up a lot on the Beat writers this week. I like to do that from time to time, just to stretch the brain a bit. I can’t say I like everything I read, but I admire the fact that they were trying something different. They skirted the line between immediacy and poignancy, between simple observation and artistic expression, and fully expected their audience to grasp their intentions.

Friday Haiku
sitting on the curb
rain won’t stop for an hour
wish I could be home

Hiking Tennessee: Ashland City Bicentennial Greenway

2011-02-16T07:22:00.000-08:00

Ashland City is a pretty little mecca right outside Nashville. I had soured a bit on it because of the braniac in a big truck who very convincingly acted like he was going to run me over while I was pedaling my two-wheeler that way, but the scenery the town is nestled in is startling and that matters more.

Right past (what passes for) the downtown area is a sideroad that leads to this trail, the easiest eight-mile hike in the history of all creation. A straight shot, four miles, there and back, with markers every half-mile. Also it’s paved, with hardly any drop or rise in elevation. Not knowing what to expect, I had dressed for a slog through a mushy, snow-littered woodland, with my boots and staff and stocking cap and backpack. True to form, the temperature rose 30 degrees and I was walking around bundled up for the wilderness while people in short sleeves were passing me on their bikes. I felt like a moron and didn’t get to see much winter, just the last gasp, as it were. I made myself crack a smile, though. If you’re going to be an idiot, might as well laugh about it.

Boats having made their way through (probably) the last freeze of this strange season, skimming over the lake’s surface and cracking the melting, shimmering ice:

Road goes ever, ever on...:

Watching the morning creep along from a bridge high above tranquil water, an underrated pleasure:

Hanging on:

Friday Haiku on Wednesday (Rushed)
head straight, eyes forward,
follow the narrow way, keep
running, never stop

Double Duty

2011-02-11T13:41:00.001-08:00

Wow. Yet again, what a difference a week makes. Blue skies and bright sunshine one weekend, recovering from snow drifts and ice sheets the next. Oh well, sometimes all you can do is look on. In that spirit, just warm and very fuzzy pictures this beautiful Friday, without the usual obnoxious self-important tripe, with the exception of one salacious Friday haiku (and captions...captions don’t count).

What’s amazing about hiking in Middle Tennessee is the amount of bluffs and river views. I’m not sure why I expected Tennessee to be all barley and wheat fields, but I sort-of did. This is just one of many overlooks from about five feet off the beaten track of Twin Forks:

This is a short trail and I was grateful, because it is normally used for horses and as such I had to hop over a lot of biologically produced impediments.

Moving on. Lakeside is another trail that has more than one usage. It’s for bikers, who pedal through stuff like this:

During the winter, though, most people don’t bother, so I had the place to myself:

Eventually the trail left the woods and dipped towards this lake, where I saw some feathered friends:

I don’t know what this stuff is (moss?), but the green was vivid and vibrant and I liked it:

That’s enough of that. A haiku to jog the memory of Fridays long gone...

anticipation
dark syrupy chocolate
slow swirling chopsticks

Hidden

2011-02-04T11:52:00.000-08:00

One day Nashville looks like this:

Two days later, this:

Yeah, it’s a different place so the comparison isn’t really valid, but there was still a thirty-degree-plus difference in a matter of hours. Unreal. And in the last two days it’s dipped below freezing again and stayed there. As the older folks say, it’s a wonder we all haven’t keeled over from pneumonia. Warmer in the Arctic, colder everywhere else. Gabriel might not even get the chance to blow his horn.

The Hidden Springs Trail is the first long hike I’ve gone on in probably four years. The sign at the beginning of it says it is a five-mile trek, but the guidebook indicates it is a little over four. I’m sure, however, that I went five, because the walking trail intersects with horseriding trails (you can tell the difference by the color of the paint blazed on the trees, white for walking, orange for riding) and I wandered down the wrong trail a time or two and had to finagle my way back. A tree had fallen over the track and hadn’t been cleared yet and threw everything off. No worries, though. All’s well that ends well.

The springs were deep in the woods. And when they say ‘hidden’ they mean it, because they are underground.

If I remember right, there were five holes that you could peer down into the bowels of the earth. Here is how the powers-that-be keep people from lumbering around and disappearing down one of the them:

Of all these hidden wells, this is the only one I saw with a makeshift fence around it. Most were like this:

You could hear the water churning in the depths of this one. It made a very unique sound, like a gurgle or a disappearing echo that never quite faded away. I was tempted to crawl down one of these, but thought better of it. Used my brain for a change.

As it was high morning, I got a (relatively) good shot of the sun angling through the trees.

Obviously I subscribe to the Firefly school of photography that believes sunflares=good. Or interesting, at least.

And now for our long-lost forgotten friend, the Friday Haiku:

Salutation
Hot wind on my neck
Brutal sun in the wide sky
No rest for the dead

Hiking Tennessee: Meriwether Lewis Loop

2011-01-28T13:59:00.001-08:00

This one was a treat in several ways. Until I got the book. I had no idea Mr. Meriwether Lewis- of Lewis and Clark fame- met his end anywhere near Tennessee. But, sadly, he did. Somewhat mysteriously, also. About an hour outside of Nashville you can find the place where he died (reconstructed, probably)...

as well as an interesting monument to him (with spire sawed off at the top, symbolizing a life cut short).

Careful, though. Apparently there are other folk buried on those grounds who no one thought warranted a monument or even a proper tombstone and if you’re unwary like me you can walk right over their graves...

Unpleasant. Now, this is a great hike and I love to do these trails in winter...fewer annoying insects, fewer annoying littering morons, absolutely unearthly scenery. I am not ignorant, though, of the downside, the risk that you take by hiking during the coldest time of the year.

Finding the park–easy. Finding the trail–easy. Somewhere, though, I missed a sign or side path because when I got to a picnic table near a clearing

I could not see any other route to follow. I had been hiking other trails that day and by my guestimation it was early/late afternoon. The choices I faced were to go retrace my steps or keep looking. Beyond the treeline was another campsite, with a hiking route marked by the unmistakable sign of a figure with staff and backpack. It was not the direction I wanted to go in, but sometimes these trails double-back on themselves.

In a case like this, where I am uncertain, I allow myself one chance, and no more than one. The mystery trail, however, led to another clearing, one I had never seen before. Doggedly, regrettably and irritably I started retracing my steps. The sun hadn’t sunk too far, but I did not want to be out there once the temperature dipped below freezing. I picked up the pace a little, but not too much so I wouldn’t tire myself out. I kept thinking, ‘This would be a stupid way to die.’

The rational part of my brain knew there was (probably) little chance of anything deadly happening. My truck was parked in a very visible place so people knew where I was, and I had a compass and flashlight so if worse came to worse I could always just cut through the brush until I found the highway. But my mind kept going back to a story I had read as a kid, a Jack London tale about a guy who is wandering alone in winter in some northern wasteland; first we hear his disparaging thoughts about the old men who advised against doing what he was doing. One by one, though, things go wrong (the event I remember is a pile of snow collapsing on the fire he started under a laden tree, dousing it). He is always trying to figure out his fate (‘Well, maybe I’ll lose a couple of toes,’ etc.). Near the end, eventually, he sits down to die. Being a Jack London story, a dog shows up; the plucky canine starts to sniff around only to recoil sharply, and then lopes away to find a campsite.

Anyway, thinking these pleasant thought developed kind of a gallows humor in my brainpan. I started singing a song I heard in the Alan Tudyk remake of “3:10 to Yuma”... ‘They’re gonna hang me in the morning/before the day is done/they’re gonna hang me in the morning/I’ll never see the sun.’

I got back to my truck with a couple of hours to spare, wondering about how people like my father, retired military special forces, would have done things differently. Like everything else, I guess the key is to be smart and be prepared. I’m not sure I was the first of those.

Lost
The sun is sinking
The fire burns low
Where will the pale morning find me?

Frozen

2011-01-21T07:24:00.001-08:00

Beautiful days here in Nashville. Traffic is a bit tricky, but that’s not a problem for me because my wheels won’t turn and I can’t get out of the driveway. So I’m here with a cup of coffee and my computer and that’s not such a bad thing.

Last week, though, my vehicle was cooperating and about 50 miles south of Nashville proper I came across a small but very intricate and interesting waterfall near the highway. A little difficult to get close to when the ground is icy, but worth it.

Not far from there is an overlook with an incredible view.

Hope you’re having a great morning. Stay safe and keep warm.

Hiking Tennessee: Eagle Trail

2011-01-14T13:30:00.000-08:00

I loved LOVED LOVED this hike. It’s short, but unbelievably beautiful. The Tolkien factor was off the charts, because this one has everything, tall trees, rushing water, even craggy peaks (Tolkienesque phrase I couldn't resist).

This is a place where you can take the kids and have a picnic, which is incredible.

A picnic with waterfalls? Indeed. Go down a trail on your right, alongside the river,

and you eventually find smaller falls like this traversing the way.

The trail was not a pristine one in December, so I had to pick my way through the best I could, scrambling over fallen branches and wet grass and grabbing hold of tree-trunks to keep from slipping. Eventually I came upon a waterfall a bit larger than the others.

Now, people suspect I’m dumb, but what they don’t suspect is I’m dumber than they suspect (sorry, came up with that there and promised myself I’d use it). Notice the space between the falling water and the rock behind it? I did, and I noticed that I could probably fit inside it. So I tried. Very slippery, but here’s a photo from behind the falls.

After gingerly making my way back down, I picked up the path, which went to the riverbank. Sadly, there was ample evidence that no place, no matter how awe-inspiring, is safe for morons.

Anyway, down at the water’s edge it looked like I was in another world. On the banks of the Anduin, maybe, or the old tv show ‘Land of the Lost.’

You can barely see it, but there’s a sign with an arrow pointing up the vaguely recognizable trail.

Not exactly a beryl (an elf-stone, used to help Aragorn and four wayward hobbits find their way to the Ford of Elrond (see The Fellowship of the Ring, ‘Flight to the Ford’) (I told you, when it comes to Tolkien and Tolkien related things, outside of Oxford and maybe Seattle, you don’t mess with me, "I'm your better" and you’ll have to deal with it).

Sarcasm aside, one of the most enjoyable mornings I’ve spent in a long time.

Now to that sadly neglected, by Maximus and myself, Friday staple, the haiku.

Haiku: Catacomb
Stale and musty air
rushlight through the winding hall
sliding down dank floors

Spectral Nashville

2011-01-12T06:30:00.000-08:00

This last one reminds me a bit of Casper David Friedrich, for some reason. Maybe the haziness of it, unavoidable apparently since I’m using a video camera as a camera. Could be I don’t know what I’m doing. In any case, I like the effect here.

Hiking Tennessee: Grave's Battery

2011-01-07T13:43:00.000-08:00

An exhilarating/excruciating little hike. I did this one the same day as the Fort Donelson hike, and my legs may never forgive me. It’s not a distance hike at all, but it’s extremely hilly with steep climbs and drops. Three hills, if I remember right (besides, that’s what the guide says). Also, it’s not a loop, it’s a there-and-back-again hike, so the hill you gleefully sauntered down in one direction you will have to painfully clamber back up (not much) later. At one point I was barely moving at all, just baby steps, inching along, breathing heavily and cursing wildly.

Looking up:

Looking down, from the same spot:

This is a picture of a tree stump that from a distance looked like a rabbit. I swear it did. I must have spent five minutes moving as slowly as possible to get a relatively good shot, only to take it and feel like a moron.

This sign has an interesting bit at the end, about how some of the grass caught fire and Confederate soldiers helped some of the Union wounded Union to move before they were burned alive.

I was glad to see this sign:

But then I had to go back.

Found a quote: 'To reach truth, we must pass through errors a thousand times more dangerous than truth is useful'–Rousseau. True or false? Probably depends, like everything else. But definitely intriguing.

Hiking Tennessee: Wild Turkey Trail

2010-12-31T17:16:00.001-08:00

This is out of hiking order, but Christmas-y scenes abounded so I couldn’t help it.

I ask you, what’s better than getting up in the morning, grabbing some hot coffee and taking a stroll to watch this world in the process of becoming it’s most beautiful?

The snow began falling while I was walking, giving me more surrealistic scenes to ponder my pointless ponderings on:

I have the weird habit of peering through the woods in case there is anything unusual to see, always certain I’ll never find anything interesting.

Being certain doesn’t mean being right. I came across five deer mulling in the distant, feeding peacefully. As I slowly and more slowly tried to get my camera out of my backpack where I had stored it like a moron, one of my four-legged friends got spooked, gave a weird little snort and then they all took off. I could see where they ran and that the track meandered in that direction. So I kept on. Eventually I got close enough for some shots of two of them. Like this one:

Not very good, but the best I could do at the time. They really didn’t like me following them so it was hard to get a good picture. Still, if you look, you can see eyes peering out, wondering what the weird guy in a blue jacket wandering through the snow was up to.

In any case, I hope you and yours had a Merry Christmas, and that a Happy New Year awaits you. Cheers!

Hiking Tennessee: Fort Donelson

2010-12-17T13:27:00.000-08:00

Much more than a pleasant stroll. Fort Donelson is a long way from Nashville but well worth the trip. It was the site of a Civil War engagement involving future President Ulysses S. Grant. See the earthworks?

A century and a half ago men were crowded behind those, peering over them with rifles clutched in their hands. It felt weird at times, walking a battlefield. What made it even weirder is the fact that the spot is near a current military base that was holding exercises, because occasional gunfire and explosions were echoing around me almost the entire time I was there, which was December 4th or 5th. Later that week would be the 69th anniversary of Pearl Harbor, and the day after that…the 30th anniversary of John Lennon’s death. The more you think about it, the more you realize that there probably isn’t a spot on this earth not consecrated by bloodshed.

Moving on. I took a shot of the sky because it seemed to remind me of Ken Burns’ The Civil War.

This did also:

I doubt these weapons could muster so much as a puff of smoke, but it still sets the imagination running. The grey sky, the lonely bluffs, waiting guns. You can almost hear the harmonica- excuse me, blues harp- straining in the cold air, can’t you?

See that brown splotch in the trees above and to the right of the cannon? Well, the path I was on meandered underneath that ridge beneath those trees, to where you’re looking up at the gun barrels and beyond, and this is what that brown splotch was:

A bald eagle. The first one I’ve ever seen when I wasn’t north of Canada. It didn’t fly away, barely moved in the slightest, wasn’t too concerned with me at all. I thought about sending the photo to the park office to see if they were aware that a bald f*ck!ng eagle was hovering above their historical site, but a little further up the trail were signs restricting access to a path because of eagle nesting, so I assumed they knew.

Maybe my favorite shot (besides the eagle). Just a great view of the river and the cannon. It started to snow while I was wandering around, and with the rifle fire and the eagle, it was almost a surreal experience. I’ll never forget it.

Two haiku this week, so I can catch up. The book Soul Pancake has a haiku exercise about heaven and hell…here is my five-minute concoction (I could try and finagle it, but elect not to in the spirit of spontaneity)-

A glorious road
Beside a stunted path, both
Lead to the same place.

And now, one with words and/or phrases taken from a podcast’s description of Beethoven's Ninth Symphony, which of course is the best thing ever.

Rushing cascades ride
Through snapping rhythm, fragments
Trickling through time.

Hiking Tennessee: Anderson Road

2010-12-10T13:14:00.000-08:00

Anderson Road Fitness Trail, first entry in the book, a mere coincidence I assure you because I was just looking for a light hike after hoofing it everywhere the day before. This place fit the bill. Paved path, barely a mile long, not steep, nice scenery. Perfect for a good but not-too-excruciating stretching of the legs.

Started down the path and after a little while saw this:

One of my favorite things is to see a body of water unexpectedly shimmering through parted trees. A quick jaunt and I was at the shoreline:

Percy Priest Lake. Rumor has it there’s an island out there somewhere called “Party Cove” (an island isn’t normally called a cove, but I doubt anyone who matters cares) only accessible by boat, and therefore prone to allegedly copious amounts of debauchery. That rumor will have to be confirmed or squelched by a person or persons hipper than myself.

Luckily there were a few side paths, and I started exploring them as I have a stupid habit of doing. The Lord of the Rings Factor went up exponentially higher when I did that:

Spongy undergrowth. Tall trees just wide enough to wander through should one or one’s enemies want to…I can’t help it. I always go back to those scenes in the books or movies.

And just a little to the side, off trail, is this:

An abandoned well. Very shallow. Doesn’t look too interesting once you’re standing next to it but it is all manner of eerie and weird from the path…and the photo, too, if I may say so.

While retracing my steps out, I found:

Mushrooms being watched over by some weird stick-insect thing. A fascinating little world all it’s own, on the inside of some random tree right under my nose, and I almost missed it. Just thought that was interesting.

Now, haiku for this all-important second Friday of December:

Fresh grey smoke hovers
along the stream and over
the wide riverbank.

http://www.betterphoto.com/uploads/processed/0846/0811131941281smoke_on_the_water.jpg

Hiking Tennessee: University of Tennessee Nashville Extension

2010-12-03T13:03:00.000-08:00

Ah, autumn, that time when a youngish man’s fancy turns to thoughts of wandering. Did a fair bit of that over the Thanksgiving weekend. Years and years ago I bought a book called “60 Hikes within 60 Miles: Nashville” by Johnny Molloy, and it is brilliant. Had a rare bit of free time so I chose a spot on the book’s map that was fairly far away and drove there a day or two following the holiday, and after hiking a short while I found myself at an amazing scene, a wide lake hemmed in on the horizon by tall trees, trees which seemed to rise even higher as the hills climbed away from the swirling water, all under a morning moon (too much?). Anyway, incredible visual. I thought, ‘What a picture this would make. Only a moron wouldn’t have taken a camera,’ which of course I did not have. So I decided 1) to remedy that and take my camera everywhere I hike from now on, and 2) to hike more often. You only live once, so they say, and if they don’t know who would?

Day the next I brought my camera to the University of Tennessee’s Nashville extension, which is near a stable where they keep (I believe) the horses the local police force uses to patrol downtown, and started snapping photos. It’s really a beautiful place you wouldn’t expect to find in a residential area. Not a long or strenuous trail, but a nice one for a leisurely stroll.

This part always reminds me of that scene in “Fellowship of the Ring” movie, where Frodo’s three hobbit friends are picking through some dirty vegetables while Frodo gazes up the trail, which is cannopied on all sides by leafy branches, before the trail swallows him up and the Nazgul arrives. When it’s not fall, and the branches are full, it has that feel to it even more.

This is a trickling current that runs parallel to the path. Makes for a nice picturesque view and occasionally makes for a soothing backdrop when the water is high (this part flooded during the ‘troubles’ a few months back). I didn’t show- because it’s ugly- a long pipe that reaches from bank to bank. I’ve crossed over on that pipe more than once just to see if it could be done and haven’t fallen in (yet).

And here it is, the end of the trail. Hope the powers that be don’t meddle and leave it the way it is. There are houses fairly close by, but not too close, and you can occasionally see people walking their dogs.

There ye have it. Oh, and horses.

And now haiku. It’s been a while- three weeks, by my count- since Friday has had haiku, so we will partially remedy that here…

Slumped under the low
empty branches, breath seething
in the icy wind.

Spectre at first light
prowling through the brush, treading
the new world in spite.

Vacation

2010-11-17T06:35:00.000-08:00

Glorious...

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http://www.getimmunocal.com

Paranoid

2010-10-22T12:25:00.000-07:00

I like to ride my beautiful and beloved folding bike-

- to a local school and jog a bit. Takes about an hour to pedal down there, trot a mile and walk a half-mile, and pedal back. Helps me enjoy this wonderful fall weather…actually helps me enjoy all kinds of weather because I do it every weekend, even weekends like last year when it was so freakishly cold the air felt like a baseball bat to the face. Not sure why, but it seems to be mostly the south where the frigid wind bites like that. I’ve driven through a horrendous snowstorm in the Oregonian mountains- yep, I was actually out in it for a bit, don’t ask- that didn’t feel nearly as cold a southern winters. I’ve even trekked through snowy parts of Alaska (admittedly, it was summer) in blue-jean shorts and unfortunately there is pictorial evidence.

Anyway, the track where I jog is behind the school, where the landscape dips and is like a giant bowl with a perfectly flat base. It is fenced off and there is only one gate. You descend some concrete steps (or just stroll through the grass if you want to believe yourself rebellious) down to the track that is typical of American schools, an oblong shape where four laps equals one mile. At the center of the track and in the part closest to the main campus are two rows of aluminum benches set up so parents can watch their little darlings play whatever sport happens to be going on. The benches are held together on the sides and back by a chain-link fence. This is convenient for me, because after creasing the bike in half along the main joint I leave the handlebars on and stick one end in the fence so it will make a noise and alert me in case someone tries to abscond with it.

Paranoid? Maybe, but the way I look at it, any would-be damned thief has two choices if they want to steal my bike (excluding the presence of firearms, where they would just point a barrel at me and say “step aside”)…the first is to wait until I’m as far away as possible and then just take it and try to clamber up the hill- after first fastening it back together, because it is very cumbersome to move when it is rotating back and forth on the axis, and you have to know how to do this- and then putting it in their vehicle (it’s impossible to ride unless it’s clasped), then getting in said vehicle, then starting it, and then zooming off, all before I’m able to chase them down unencumbered and if I can’t catch them I will be able to get a good look at the license plate. The second choice is to try stealth while I’m walking and when my back is turned to the benches, betting that they can smoothly remove the handlebar from the link in the fence without a sound to alarm me, then just nonchalantly strolling up the hill calm as can be leaving me oblivious to anything being wrong until it’s too late. From a crook’s point of view, both have their positives and negatives. The first scenario waits until I’m farthest away, but I also have full view of the bike, which means I can see everything and his success (almost without fail it will be a him) depends on the quickness and determination of the thief. The second means I’m closer to the bike, so if there is trouble afoot I will have no problem catching the evildoer if I realize it…but first I have to realize it, and if said thief is stealthy enough I will not until it’s too late.

Two weeks ago, the second scenario was tried. I was sauntering along in the late afternoon, cooling down after my run, oblivious, with some guy of about fifty years old as my only companion on the track. When I was at the track’s first loop, with my line of sight away from the benches and the bike, I heard a metallic bang and clang…anyone who has ever climbed a chain-link fence in childhood to bug his friend’s mom for koolaid and who among us hasn’t will know that sound. I spun around and the gentleman said, “Is this your bike?” I responded, “Yes it is.” He replied, “I thought it was some kid’s.” “Nope,” and that was that. I guess in his mind it was somehow better to steal a kid’s bike than an adult’s…more likely he was just trying to say something to fill the silence heavy with his deserved shame.

He absconded and when I got back to my bike I saw it was in a different position than I had left it in, so he had indeed put his hands on it (writing that just now makes me madder than I was at the time). Human nature is strange. I’ve jogged on that track with countless people, but the only ones I really remember is this morally conflicted individual and the lady who walked the opposite way on the inside lane inconveniencing everyone to prove her own individuality to herself (no one else cared)…I’m not sure if there’s a moral to this story, kiddies, except that sometimes it pays to be paranoid and being remembered as an ass isn’t worth it.

Incidentally, here is a link to a blog or something (in Spanish) with photos of the bar I frequented in Toluca, Mexico, 2 de Abril. There is some guy at the counter pouring that fantastic green drink I nearly composed sonnets to. One more round and our table would have figured out all the world’s issues. Oh well, so it goes…

Now, on to haiku. Usually something psychedelic, surreal, or imagistic in a musician’s and writer’s career is the embarrassing part, the phase they go through to stretch themselves before getting back to their roots (and spending the rest of their lives suffering through jokes about it in interviews). “All creative people want to do the unexpected.” – Hedy Lamarr…I tend to like some nasty roots in my rock and roll but sometimes there’s room for a bit of flighty fancy, so…happy trippy haiku Friday…

Ripple on the wave
Dusky lanes through deeper pitch
Drifting in moonlight

Gilbert Williams

Happiness Is a Cold Brew

2010-10-08T13:54:00.000-07:00

http://netssa.com

Anyway, haiku:

smoke from the pyre
drifting into endless light
no tomb for his soul

Border

2010-09-24T14:00:00.001-07:00

We lost another (former) coworker from my first job, the lady who had a lot to do with me getting hired and definitely a lot to do with me sticking around. Godspeed, Ms. Walton. You’ll be greatly missed.

Return of El Chilangringuapo

2010-09-17T13:23:00.000-07:00

Haiku:

Through the dark valley
and over the high mountains
the warm lights of home

http://www.posters.ws/images/411829/end_of_trail_iv.jpg

Traveler

2010-09-02T20:24:00.000-07:00

A week ago yesterday, Wednesay, August the 25th, I went to a monastery and did a twilight hike. This particular abbey, in Kentucky, is one of my favorite places on earth, and besides that it is the perfect place to do some wandering. It is nature as it ought to be if God had consulted us (or me), hills and streams and tall grass without a ton of mosquitoes or other various creepy annoying predatory ravenous bugs. Most of it is, anyway. Stray too far off the track looking for a short cut, though, which is what I did, and we are reminded why our ancestors decided to create concrete...every step I took was through some thorny vine-like hellspawn plant that nearly shredded my jeans.

Rambling through the dense undergrowth (not really a good description for that terrain but it seems very literary so it stays in) was noisy. After a good while of this I looked up at the sound of something even noisier than me and it was a deer who had had enough. She leapt into the forest (the abbey grounds also have a very definite tree-line) and vanished. A few minutes later I heard a panicked gallop and another deer was running away, directly in front of me. I stopped immediately. I thought my ceasing all movement would ease the nerves of the poor creature, but she actually went faster. I could see the unnatural strain of the leg muscles as she leaned forward and sprinted for everything she was worth. Every other creature on the earth is afraid of humans. For good reason, I guess. I could be wrong, I don’t know if anyone is cognizant about the thought processes of deer, but she sped away with more urgency when I was standing still...maybe she thought I was taking aim. Are they that smart? Are their memories that developed?

I guess we’ll never know. I had decided to head back to the abbey, but checked that decision and went to sit on a hill instead. The Abbey of Gethsemani has a couple of hills close to the guesthouse that have chairs on them, those comfortable kind of chairs which lean back at an angle so you can relax and not get cramped. Each of these hills also has a statue at their apex: one is of the cross and the other is of something I can’t remember, I think a saint with another saint. Whatever it was, I was facing the sunset. I sat down and let the night descend. The clouds were in a peculiar formation, bunched up in the middle of the sky, which left the grey horizon free. It was very strange and eerily relaxing to see a bright line of orange appear at the bottom of the clouds. Soon, and it’s weird that you could actually see the change, the entire sun was blazing below the clouds and above the treetops, set as perfectly in the sky as any painting. It looked just like the burning fireball sun in George Lucas’ THX-1138 (which, if you haven’t seen, you should) (Oddly, considering how iconic the image is, it was hard to find an picture of it...this is the best I could do: http://www.borkded.com/post/92640114/via-littlepotato-thx-1138-see-it-if-you).

http://ruach.files.wordpress.com/2007-06/gethsemani-small.jpg

The next morning meandering again, enjoying the sunrise, when in the hazy distance I saw a man in a long dark robe, with a long beard, also walking around. In the middle of his stroll he stopped and raised his arms, sleeves hanging, to the side, and then to the sky. Hard to tell if he was stretching or praying. Probably both. He wasn’t one of the Trappist monks...I have only seen them wear white robes with brown trim (if my colorblind eyes are seeing true). Looked to be Greek or Russian Orthodox, though I could be wrong.

Later, as I was walking down the main corridor of the guesthouse moving my head from side to side looking for the water fountain, the guy in the black robe appeared in the hallway and without a word pointed to his side where the men’s room was. I smiled and nodded my thanks but neither of us said a word. It was the logical assumption, that I was looking for a restroom, even though it was the wrong one. He may have been under a vow of silence, but he still tried to help me out.

http://ep.yimg.com

Silence is a main tenet of this place. There are signs that encourage nay require it. I know such a constriction not be for everyone. Just today, on Nashville’s Nolensville Road, I saw a guy in a gold suit waving at passers-by and another guy walking out of a gas station with bare feet- he had no shoes but he did have a beer. Takes all kinds to make a world.

Those Slightly Rambunctious Females

2010-07-30T13:56:00.000-07:00

Currently I am reading Ulysses by James Joyce, and I’m having the weird and always-pleasing sensation of realizing I’m experiencing a work of art by someone at the absolute height of their powers. I was never a big fan of Joyce, but this one has made me a believer in his talent, if not completely sold on how he utilized that talent.

Here is a passage from a discussion about Shakespeare (Hamlet in particular, I believe), and nothing else you read today is going to be written as well:

—As we, or mother Dana, weave and unweave our bodies, Stephen said, from day to day, their molecules shuttled to and fro, so does the artist weave and unweave his image. And as the mole on my right breast is where it was when I was born, though all my body has been woven of new stuff time after time, so through the ghost of the unquiet father the image of the unloving son looks forth. In the intense instant of imagination, when the mind, Shelley says, is a fading coal, that which I was is that which I am and that which in possibility I may come to be. So in the future, the sister of the past, I may see myself as I sit here now but by reflection from that which then I shall be.

Now, no one has ever talked like that and no one ever will, but that is not the point. Or at least, I don’t think it is. I’m not through with the book yet, but it seems to me like Mr. Joyce is combining, or weaving, or mashing, the classic with the (then) contemporary in a way to try and make something entirely new. It’s pleasing to read, if just for the intellectual stretching it’s forcing my brain to undergo.

My two cents.

On, of course, to haiku:

Low
The lonely boneyard
Jesus wept, and no wonder
dark windswept valley

Dali

Summer Biking in Nashville, Part Two

2010-07-30T13:55:00.001-07:00

Or, Confirming the Stupidity Relatives Long Suspected

What I did not realize, the many times I have left downtown Nashville by driving Eighth Avenue, is that it is actually a maddening series of long and steady inclines followed by too-swift (and too-swiftly over) descents. Barely noticeable when a combustible engine is doing the work, glaringly obvious when your legs are.

There was good news at first: the walkways for pedestrians. I did not want to be wobbling in traffic while forcing my warrior bike uphill. I struggled mightily for a while, gave myself a break and walked a bit, and then resumed my dogged pedaling up the sidewalks, encountering only one other person. He stepped aside, I nodded, and we went on with our lives. As the strip malls, auto repair chains and here and there the more interesting shops (cupcake place, independent burger joint) ended and the nice churches and palatial homes start to become visible, the walkways also ended. Soon the wide roadways narrowed and while it was still four lanes, there was the driving area and not much asphalt left on the side.

Thank Almighty God for the overhanging trees. Shade from the sun’s descending wrath was an unreal relief. It was here, also, that a sort of second sense took over my brain. Riding in the increasing heat and with decreasing room between me and passing cars, my mind focused and concentrated in a fascinating way. I was still looking around and taking in my surroundings, but I was also perfectly aligned (almost) with white line that marked the end of the lane, mirroring it with my wheel. I noticed this apparent new-found super-balance and smiled to myself. Usually noticing a phenomenon changes it, but not this time. Steady on.

Harding Place was where I left Franklin Road (ie. Eighth Avenue)- before the ungodly beautiful homes start to make themselves commonplace- and it is also where the slight constant incline becomes a full-blown hill. Cars tend to congregate here as well because the entrance ramp to Interstate 65 is not far from this intersection. Once I crossed left onto Harding I did not even try to bike it. The lanes spread wonderfully and I took advantage to start walking again. This was where I was the most tired, slogging one foot after the other out from under the sheltering tree limbs. You’ll be glad to know that even then my mind was on this blog. I was thinking of a Friday haiku, and I came up with the line ‘dead f@ck!ng tired’ and was trying to figure out if ‘tired’ could be considered one syllable or two. My English degree was a long time ago.

Once Harding was crested, I resumed pedaling. I passed I-65 by and a series of residential streets was next. I zoomed through them as quickly as I could, to be faced with the strangest challenge, one I would have welcomed earlier: a marked descent.

Someone who knows what they are doing would know the angle and degree of the hill near the University of Tennessee’s Nashville Agricultural Extension. I do not. I only know it’s steep, and that I would be going down it. I had been wondering whether I should elongate my trip by taking a route through more neighborhoods and the more consistent path that would follow. But my desire to just get home won out.

Luckily, it is high enough to allow for a view all the traffic. Thank the maker I saw no cars. Down I went.

I quickly realized if a car had come I would either steered into a ditch or gotten pancaked. My speed was such that I couldn’t put on the brakes too hard because I would have gone @ss-over-handlebars. At the bottom the street makes a sharp right and I tried to recover as best I could and still crossed into the other lane and almost into the creek (which flooded a couple of months ago) that borders this area.

After that, I honestly don't remember a thing until I put my key in the door. One hour and five minutes after leaving my place of employment, I was at my refrigerator looking for the coolest beverage possible. Tired. Grateful. Contemplative. I would need to get in much better shape before I made a journey like that commonplace. So I guess I'll have to.

My Bike

Summer Biking in Nashville, Part One

2010-07-29T14:04:00.001-07:00

or, Too Late to Second-Guess

Ever since I got my beautiful and beloved Dahon folding bike, I have wanted to see how long it took me to ride from my home to my first job. Working two jobs means I need to get some rest on the weekend, so this always got put off. For some reason last Friday evening I felt the compelling urge to quit whining and get it over with. So I checked the weather report. Naturally, Saturday was forecast to be the first 100-degree Fahrenheit day of the year, which means it would feel at least five degrees hotter. If I was going, an early start was a must.

For better or worse I did wake up early so after a wrenching, fortifying breakfast of pizza, yogurt and granola, I stopped my mind from considering the various possibilities southern heat, Nashville drivers allergic to turn signals, and four-lane highways engendered, put a bottle of colored water wrapped in a towel in my backpack, slipped the backpack on, and off I went.

Excluding the interstate, there are two main streets which will enable a determined traveler to get from Nashville southeast to Nashville downtown, and I decided to try them both, one on the initial journey, the other on the return. First, Nolensville Road (which becomes Fourth Avenue). To get to Nolensville from my humble abode you have to maneuver down Edmondson Pike, which is not that bad. I ride all the time down Edmondson to get to the track where I jog. I know where the road rises and dips, where the walkways end and where I need to cross to get to relative safety on the other side. Nolensville Road, though. That would be a challenge. I only rode a short ways on Nolensville one time, and that was when my truck was in the shop. I didn’t know too much about what I would find.

But that is what journeys are for, to find things out. Heat issues aside, it was a good thing I got an early start. What I found was that down the long highway to the heart of the city there are several places where the sidewalks stop, or are so overgrown with grass that the stalks have become like shrubbery. I tend to ride on sidewalks when no one else is on them, so it was a good thing there was little traffic on the street.

A word about pedaling down those sidewalks. I think bikers do have a right to the road like everyone else, but when the opportunity is there I ride on the side. I don’t have a point to prove and in my mind it’s easier on people in cars, and it’s also easier on me because I don’t have to worry about them unless they’re drunk. That’s my take. For what it’s worth.

Anyway, I had to swap sides of the street, completely, pedaling from one edge to the other over a four-lane highway, four times. If it had been crowded, say rush hour, it would have been harrowing. As it was, nothing too it. Fifty minutes after I started I was sitting on the steps of the workplace, gratefully for every last drop of liquid I managed to extract from the bottle.

It was a little longer of a journey than I had hoped, and if there was any traffic it could have been a nightmare. Southern cities are not exactly Copenhagen when it comes to non-automotive travelers. People get impatient and testy if they have to move over or slow down because of bikers and walkers. That’s just the way it is. If I was going to ride to work, I would need at least an hour. Probably more to cool down so the folk I work with wouldn’t protest.

Moving on. I had given myself ten minutes to rest and reflect. Once that was done I felt pretty good. I also knew that the sun’s heat would be worse very soon, so exactly one hour after I had left I began the voyage home. Down Eighth Avenue, this time, which becomes Franklin Road- highway to the stars, the further you recede from Nashville proper.

Nolensville Road
From the blog “Herencia Americana”

Romeo and Ethyl, the Pirate's Daughter

2010-07-23T13:38:00.000-07:00

Maximus the Inconceivable and his wayward friends somehow- and if he told me how I thankfully cannot remember- came up with the idea of combining the ancient art of haiku with the sensual attributes of the tomato.

Since this involves passion and, I cannot help but think, humor, it reminded me of 'Shakespeare in Love', a film that mixed those two elements in rare style. And of course, if movies have taught us anything it’s that when passion is invoked rules are made to be broken, so I’m going to be rebellious and reverse the haiku’s traditional syllabic form to 7-5-7 instead of the more conventional 5-7-5.

[heavy sigh] Okay, here we go...

Bright red, flushing to the touch...
anxious fingertip
tracing droplets down ripe skin...

http://www.lovingchaos.com/wp-content/uploads/2009/02/tomato.jpg

Island

2010-07-16T13:57:00.000-07:00

Well...what a weird week. We were one man down at job #1 for a lot of it. Maximus the Inscrutable took a vacation but still came in on two days to make sure certain stuff was done to his elevated expectations. Can't put a price on dedication like that.

I intrepidly finished a book called ‘Sleeping Island’ by P.G. Downes, which tells about the man's travels in Canada before World War II. An intriguing read. The thing that stuck out to me was his details of the swarms of mosquitos and flies that would mercilessly descend on everything living like a blanket. Pretty disheartening. When I was a kid in Louisiana, fighting off these ever-present vermin, it was a dream of mine to find a place that had none of these hellspawn and I assumed it was up north because we always said that bad winters killed them off. Of course, I got to Alaska and was gnawed on by mosquitos constantly and up there they say mosquitos hide beneath the thick snows of the bitter cold. So I guess the truth is mosquitos can thrive anywhere and anyplace, and the moral of the story is for most of human history we didn't have windows and what kind of life would that be? There was never a golden age. There was only people surviving and doing their best. Like now.

Enough of that. On to haiku:

Stand tall, a new road
is at your feet with the rise
of every sun.

Let me have my cliché. No? Ok, since there was an inexcusable lack of haiku last Friday (from both Maximus and myself), I’ll give it another go. Just this once...

no light in the sky
sinister wide horizon
lost in the current.

Stare Back

2010-07-02T13:40:00.000-07:00

Well it’s Friday and all that, time for what Fridays are for and that’s haiku:

Cassandra Leans Over the Well and Realizes Her Fate
Bitter eyes staring
back from the dark water…a
bloodless destiny.

http://www.stanford.edu

Epic

2010-06-25T13:58:00.001-07:00

My graphic artist cohorts have won ten awards given out by the Printing Institute Association of the South. All hail them. Excellent work, gents.

Speaking of epic, I walked outside this morning and just happened to glance at my tire and saw something moving on top of it, like a piece of grass stuck in the tread and rotating with the wind. It was not a piece of grass, it was a small praying mantis not more than an inch and a half tall. I got him (or her, who can tell) off the tire with the help of a piece of paper. It was epic to me. Incredibly unique animals.

http://johnbokma.com

And now on to further epicness: I think we’re all a little jaded by professional athletics by now, and if you’re not you’re not paying attention. But something really remarkable happened this week, between two tennis players not too many people had heard of before. John Isner is a rising star, a remarkably tall player (6’9”) with an unbelievable serve. …

http://images.mirror.co.uk

Nicolas Mahut is a Frenchman I had really never heard of, but he showed more courage and grit than any other athlete I have ever seen…

http://media.nj.com

In case you have not heard, they played an unreal fifth and final set (unbreakable rules of writing dictate you have to refer to it that way) at Wimbledon, which has no tiebreakers in that last set…first to win by 2 games after a player has reached 6 is victorious. Mahut served 65 times- correct amount- knowing that if he lost, he lost the match. 64 times, he faced that pressure down. The final score in their brutal set, 70-68. Was it great tennis? It was not. It was the kind of tennis that purists hate, all thunderous, unreturnable serves. But to me and the world it was more than that, it was an incredible and fascinating display of will. The lanky American looked out on his feet at times, bending over in agony and grabbing his knees, but he kept firing serves down the line no matter how tired he got. The Frenchman kept trying, diving around and even throwing his racket at the ball, never for a second giving in.

I’m sure that one match has ruined them physically for at least a week. But at the time, all the mattered was that one point right in front of them. It was an amazing display of heart and really is what watching sports should be about.

Run
Shadows flickering
over the damp stones, shaky
light flooding the hall.

Unbelievable

2010-06-18T13:49:00.000-07:00

With everything else we have to deal with, we now live in a world where Maximus doesn't blog, the Saints win a Super Bowl (YES!) and the Celtics lose a Game Seven...to the Lakers (unholy abomination). The signs are given, the apocalypse is nigh. Get it over with already.

Why should we carry on? Weird Al Yankovic and haiku on Friday:

blood red sickle in
a slice of sky, shining on
eyes raised in prayer

sens-de-la-vie.com

Still Here

2010-05-12T14:51:00.000-07:00

Two days ago I made my first trip downtown since the flood waters receded. Doesn’t look or smell as bad as I thought it would. In fact, it seems pretty close to normal. There are small leaves everywhere and there is still a smattering of litter. I saw some sort of Federal Emergency Vehicle that was not a FEMA trailer...but other than these things, nothing seemed too out of the ordinary. I talked to a friend of mine who’s a part owner of a restaurant on First Avenue (within rock-throwing distance of the Cumberland, the winding river which overran its banks two weekends ago) and he says he had been closed for a week and is very glad to be working again. So people are doing what they always do, struggling to get back to normal, after having their lives unexpectedly rocked.

The work's not done, though. I saw trailers full of refuse being hauled away on Edmondson and Nolensville roads, but there are still households-worth of rotted furniture left on the yards to be picked up. An entire lifetime’s accumulation about to be hauled away as trash. Even sadder, to me, was a business that I have never been in but have driven by for a decade, some small middle-eastern grocery store with big windows that had a sign declaring “We have halal meat” which is why I remember it because I have no idea what halal meat is. The place is completely empty now. It is as hollow as a crypt inside and all the shelves are outside on the curb. The owners I’m sure are in a state of shock because ten days ago life there was as normal as you please, and now it’s all gone. In one weekend.

http://english.cri.cn/mmsource/images

People are doing what they can, though. I have not heard about any crime waves, or even minor looting sprees; it’s been an amazing example of resiliency. The only complaints I’m really hearing are about insurance, because apparently homeowners were not even able to buy flood insurance. They were told this part of Tennessee is not in a flood plain. Only time in my life I can remember hearing about folks wanting to spend their money only to be told, “We don’t want it.”

Incidentally, I read that insurance companies are one of the true gauges about this planet’s changing weather patterns, because they keep intimate track of all they pay out and it is their job to know what is likely to happen and not happen. Expect to pay more because this is getting increasingly more difficult as our population and it’s needs spread. Look at the gulf.

http://images.huffingtonpost.com/

This weekend I’m going to get my haircut at a place that will ship the hair to help- in some miraculous fashion- soak up the oil stretching towards the Gulf Coast. It’s a salon. I’m going there anyway.

They Tried to Wash Us Away

2010-05-07T19:59:00.001-07:00

Well, Nashville certainly had a harrowing couple of days this weekend last. You would barely know it now, with the bright sun hammering down like nothing happened at all and not a cloud in the sky.

From what I’ve read, we’re still not entirely out of the woods. One of the water treatment plants was flooded so they (the powers that be) asked citizens to use less: Don’t wash the car, hold off on laundry- go grunge for the greater good and be cool for once in your life. Luckily, I’m paranoid anyway and had a couple of jars of boiled water in the fridge (Seriously, though, how old are the pipes that water runs through before it gets to your glass? Aren’t you curious?).

I feel the need now to apologize to the guy I flashed (and held) an unkind hand gesture to. I was walking around and filming the build-up (by the way, Sony, you make a great product) when said individual tore through this spot in the road that was more than a puddle, less than a pool, and right beside me. I turned my back and cradled my hand-held in my jacket as a muddy wave higher than my head arced gracefully towards me. It’s funny looking back on it. At the time, I was really worried about my camera and was quite angry about getting drenched head to foot in sludge.

Everything started off innocently enough. It rained bad Saturday morning, but nothing I hadn’t seen before here in Tennessee (I thought). I went to the mechanic’s early and sat in on a Shakespeare reading later (nothing better than Shakespeare; I’m a dork and proud of it). The lady who ran the meeting received a cell phone message at the end of the get-together and warned us that roads were becoming dangerous.

I didn’t think much of it. I had seen it rain far worse, I thought, here in Tennessee, in Louisiana, even in Oregon when I drove to the Pacific Coast. But on the way back home there was a dip in the road just beyond downtown with a car stuck in it and an ambulance right beside it. I turned around, got on the interstate, and tried to go home another way. Pulled up next to Nolensville Road, where it joins with Edmondson, and saw two cars submerged. Those street-names don’t mean anything to anyone outside the Middle-Tennessee area, but I think people can relate to the surreality of the moment- I had been to that t-intersection more times than I can count, and never imagined it could even hold enough water to trap a vehicle.

But it did. I was able to get around that and get home, where I immediately got my camera and went out filming (I may have to start listening to the people who tell me the high opinion I hold of my own intelligence is unwarranted). Believe me when I write that the rain wasn’t bad at this point. It had even stopped. But it kept coming back. It would lull then crash, lull then crash. It was very weird.

My side of the street was not affected that much. But the other side was a literal flood. Places that never held water not only had enough to pool, they even had enough to develop a current! Water was rushing over walkways and through yards and people were parking their cars in the street to escape the deluge. They could. Their vehicles could. Their houses couldn’t.

Areas like a library parking lot and a park entrance looked like somewhere you would set the kayak into and have a fine time. After trudging back home and peeling off my dripping poncho I saw a station running footage of a guy clinging to (I think) a telephone pole and I thought that was wildly irresponsible, because they were saying they didn’t know what happened to him. Maybe it’s just me, but I thought that was inappropriate. So I didn’t film anymore, even though I was tempted to.

The next day, Sunday, was more of the same. The folks who know said we had more than doubled the previous record for two-day rainfall. Monday, however, dawned as beautiful as you could ever want. The waters started to recede (with the exception of the main river, the Cumberland, which kept rising because everything was flowing into it) and people started to mill around. I went exploring and saw entire household belongings on the side of the road, waiting to be taken to some landfill.

It was not Katrina-esque, but still very disturbing. Most people seem to be eager to help out and genuinely concerned about their neighbors, which is pleasant to see. We hear a lot about the other sentiments these days.

Sitting small and still
Watching as low clouds move in
Praying for the sun

Friday Yet Again

2010-02-26T18:42:00.000-08:00

Spring will be here soon. Time to let the wanderer in you out.

high breeze in the pines
shuttered lodges near the dale
and the slow leaving…

Rivendell (from Tolkien's Middlearth)
Picture from http://improbablefiction.files.wordpress.com/2009/03/rivendell3_lrg.jpg

Looking Back Is Better

2010-02-12T19:54:00.000-08:00

Have to say, if you like sports at all, it's much more pleasant to look back at a championship won to look forward to a championship that might be won. Everytime I see pictures of the streets of New Orleans and people having the time of their lives...well, to say it's something I never thought I'd see is an understatement.

And it wouldn't be Friday without haiku!:

Staring from the void
of night, waking in the long
deep sleep of ages.

Christ of Saint John of the Cross
Dali

Beautiful Morning

2010-02-08T07:11:00.001-08:00

Well, it’s a day I thought I would never see.

upi.com

It was a great year for the NFL. All season long it looked like the Vikings, Colts, Chargers and Saints were the four best teams (with the Jets charging quick), and I hope it stays that way next year. And I never thought I’d say this, but I hope Favre comes back.

Oh to be at Mardi Gras…

Mardi Gras and Saints

2010-02-05T19:50:00.000-08:00

Well, this is the weekend Saints fans thought they would never see, their professional football team in the Super Bowl. After decades of bad decisions, bad luck, bad calls (don’t get me started, Viking fans, you are usually a classy lot and the wretched Bush facemask game wasn’t that long ago), the team that has ingrained itself into the beating heart of New Orleans gets to honor the people who have been so loyal to it for so long. Hartley’s kick- a redefinition of right down the middle- was as beautiful a reward to commitment as I have ever seen.

There is something about the Saints and that city. It is past the point where we are just watching grown men in tights playing with, er, sphericals. It hasn’t always been pretty. In fact, it’s usually been brutal, on the fans, the players, the coaches, and especially the viewing audiences. This, however, has made the team tragic and endearing. We all like to see the loveable loser done good. There is no story more American than the underdog who starts low and keeps fighting, never quitting, until that one shot at greatness presents itself. Whatever happens with the game on Sunday, it will have been something fantastic.

www.fussballtempel.net

And what would Friday be without haiku?

rippled creek, flat bank
willows lining the mere edge
moon melting away

Well Met

2010-01-29T09:59:00.000-08:00

Last month I finished a monastic cookbook (don’t laugh; you haven’t lived until you’ve tried bourbon chocolate fudge, or Trappist beer) and I am currently reading the autobiography of Thomas Merton (“The Seven Storey Mountain”). Both of these books feature a monastery I have been to a half-dozen times, Gethsemani Abbey near Elizabethtown, Kentucky.

Thomas Merton (1915-1968) is the most famous resident (so far) of Gethsemani. He was a very gifted writer and ahead of his time on many issues, including civil rights. He made it a point to cultivate friendships with people outside of his faith, and one of these was the Dalai Lama.

www.catholicregister.org

On my first visit to the Abbey, over ten years ago now, I attended a completely voluntary, very informal orientation meeting where an amiable monk reminded us of the virtues of prayer and contemplation in silence, that hiking in the woods was good for the soul and people had left walking sticks against the wall near the parking spaces, and if we needed anything to just ask him. He also mentioned, and I forget why, that the Dalai Lama had recently visited them. The Tibetan holy man had given a talk completely in his native language, assured that among fellow monks his meaning would transcend the language barrier (very possible, this; anyone who has listened to Beethoven’s Ninth and without understanding any of the German can attest to that; sometimes the power of meaning and intent- and what is art except this?- goes deeper than language). The Dalai Lama had asked to see where Merton was buried and wrapped a bright shawl around the marker over his grave.

I was very impressed with that story, which made me even happier to be there. During my week-long stay I was taking the monk’s advice and wandering everywhere. There was only one section that was restricted, and that was a courtyard with a single gate (that I could see) with a sign that either said “Restricted” or asked people politely to stay out, I cannot remember which. I roamed everywhere else, and there is a lot of woodlands out there to explore.

One day I happened to be walking up a slight hill on the grounds when I realized, looking upon a small group of rows of crosses, that I was was in a burial spot. That eerie feeling crept upon me- like I was desecrating something- and I was about to walk away when I noticed that one of the crosses had a shawl wrapped around it, very bright and silky looking. I did not know whether it was proper or not, but I could not help myself from getting a closer glimpse.

The impression I had been under was that the Dalai Lama had been there the previous year. I could not believe that this was Merton’s gravesite, or that the Dalai Lama himself had been here and wrapped it around this unique, simple marker. But here it was, the only tombstone with any kind of ornamentation. It may not have been. I cannot remember any indication that that was Merton’s grave, and anyway who would leave such a beautiful garment out to be preyed upon by the weather (the upper south used to get snow, too)? I do not know why it was there, or for how long, or if it is something that is periodically brought out. I do know it was a very touching gesture and one I have never forgotten. I saw the following picture when ‘surfing’ the internet:

http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2417/2318083413_55b371d526.jpg

and it made me remember of all this. I do not know how close the Dalai Lama and Mr. Merton became, or how often they met, but it was obvious there was a great deal of respect between these two very impressive people. I like thinking about that, from time to time.

Happy Friday
new moon and old wine
music flowing you know life
cannot get better

Friday Haiku on Tuesday Double Dip Madness Garrett Hartley Rules All He Surveys

2010-01-26T19:21:00.001-08:00

Been extremely busy with all of my jobs and all of my personal doings. Maximus is in the same boat. So, here’s two Fridaku’s, as he would say, to meet the demand. Lucky you.

Walking the old trail
under arching trees that still
reach where you could not.

kalamakings.com

bright rain warming wind
flowing current groping wings
a hole in the sky

audkarinsund.com/art

Oh, and all hail Garrett Hartley. As a Saints fan my whole life long, I could sense through the mystical communion we all share the entire Crescent City rise as one in a joy it had never known when that field goal sailed between the uprights. Congratulations, my man. You’ll never have to buy another dinner in New Orleans ever, and I mean ever, again.

media.nj.com

Winter Friday Haiku Sort of

2009-12-18T19:58:00.000-08:00

Evening Stroll

…endless southern beach
at high summer, bathed softly
in warm silver waves…

www.livinggallery.eu
Frank Lüdtke

Fridaku, as Maximus Puts It

2009-11-20T19:42:00.000-08:00

new moonlight over
vast seas, spilt silver on waves
that will take me home

kayaklakemead.com

Friday Haiku

2009-11-13T19:41:00.000-08:00

Watch

Peering through damp leaves,
silent and calm, step by step
in the creeping shade.

stuffintheair.com

Borders

2009-08-28T18:57:00.001-07:00

From Henry David Thoreau’s journal entry of August 26, 1858

“Think what refuge there is for me before August is over, from college commencements and society that isolates me! I can skulk amid the tufts of purple wood grass on the borders of the Great Fields! Wherever I walk this afternoon the purple-fingered grass stands like a guide-board and points my thoughts to more poetic paths than they have lately travelled.”

Methinks the wanderlust was overtaking him. In that spirit, here is my entry for Friday haikus:

Strider through the woods,
Hushed walking on hidden paths,
Forget to come home.

Friday Haiku

2009-07-31T13:33:00.000-07:00

Chai Fumes
White sand under the
sun, tanlines on the surf, chopsticks
twirled by spry fingers.

The ball's in your court, Maximus.