The rainy season is upon the Appalachian Mountains. The small roadside park below the local hydroelectric dam floods often but today the water was only up to the parking lot so I decided to stop and see if any pictures presented themselves. I used to able to capture some decent shots of the falls here but the trees were allowed to grow along the shore. The sandbar willow trees that grow along the bank of the river are allowed to grow as a form of erosion control and I think allowing nature to take it’s course was a good option. By the time I got to the spot the fog had obscured the falls anyway. However, I was not disappointed with the effort. This clump of trees seemed to be shouting “PICK US MISTER! PICK US! as they proudly stood there in the water’s edge. Who am I to resist when mother nature volunteers to pose for portrait? Life is about opportunity. Take advantage of every moment and opportunity will present itself.
Tag: art
The Painful Truth About Yellowjackets
Summer in Appalachia means dealing with Yellowjackets. One their favorite tricks is claim a spot on your property and defend it with hundreds of ill-tempered little Warriors. I have scars from my battles with them. Not from the sting, which is relatively mild, but from colliding with inanimate objects while trying to escape the Swarm. These creatures are even at the root of my real life survival story. Perhaps I’ll tell the whole story.
In Appalachia we are one of the most productive ares for American Ginseng (Panax quinquefolius, L.). While taking forestry classes I decided that working as a digger (One who collects wild medicinal plants and sells them to exporters) to supplement my tuition money. At the time Ginseng was considered “green gold” and one pound of the dried roots would cover a large portion of my tuition. About two miles into the forest I encountered a large patch of Black Cohosh (Actaea racemosa). While not as expensive as Genseng the Cohosh is far more plentiful. Some quick math told me that I could make more money on the hour by collecting the more plentiful resource in spite the large price difference. So I removed my pick from my collection bag and began to dig. I didn’t notice the tiny little tunnel next to mass of plants and with the first impact of the tool the fight was on. With my pick still in hand I began to plow through the bushes with all of the Yellowjackets in hot Pursuit.
A small tree had fallen in the path and as I tried to jump over it my left foot became entangled in the branches. As I went down I could see my foot turn 180 degrees backwards and I knew my ankle had broken. The momentum from fall carried me over an embankment and I began rolling head over heels off the mountain side. At some point during the roll I realized that I was still holding the bare pick. If I landed on the long spike it would be “game over”. I managed to let it go at the right moment for it to be thrown clear. Next, on my other side was a rather large Bowie Knife that I used as small machete. It was coming out it’s sheath and there was nothing I could do. Just then I felt the impact of a small tree across my back and the world stopped spinning. I took a breath and checked for injuries. Aside from the broken ankle I was intact. With my left foot now pointed in the proper direction I tried to stand up. No good. The pain was too intense. There was no way I was going to belly crawl the two miles back to my truck. Since the knife managed to stay in its sheath I had a tool to cut down a seedling tree and fashion a makeshift crutch. It was a slow painful process but I managed to get back to my truck before dark. I lost a month of work while the broken bones healed and to this day that ankle is still unsteady. Now, I can’t say that I have completely made peace with the Yellowjackets. I have however come to appreciate their role in the environment. They are first and foremost predators on many pests that invade gardens and damage trees. A couple of years ago I killed a mouse out of my tool shed and by the time I was able to grab a shovel to toss the mouse away the Yellowjackets had stripped it to the bones. (It took the swarm about 30 seconds). I still don’t allow them build nests in my yard but I am getting more comfortable with them and if I didn’t know better I’d think they are getting more comfortable with me. Sometimes I think that they can smell fear and that’s why they chase you. The image above was taken with my phone. I eased up on the Yellowjacket and it didn’t seem to do anything but flip it’s antennas at me as if to say hello. Then, it turned and went about it’s business. Maybe, just maybe, it’s true that they are more scared of us than we are of them.
Daydreams
Sometimes when I’m out in yard looking at the small stream that flows through my property it looks like a tiny raging river. I have made a concentrated effort to maintain and cultivate my Peter Pan Syndrome. I still toss leaves into the water and race them downstream. The small minnows in the eddies become sharks. A crayfish makes a fine sea monster and the rocks are islands that are ripe for expiration. Who said that being a grown-up means that there’s no time for daydreaming? Gene Roddenberry once said that the best part about the success of Star Trek was having a nice office to daydream in. He made a successful career out of pretending to have adventures in the vastness of outer space. Sure, he used the format to tell morality plays and make important comments about society but in my mind’s eye I can see him with a toy Enterprise having space battles with Klingons. I’ll bet that when nobody else was in the room he even made the “pew pew” sounds of Phasers and photon torpedoes. I have seen a lot of writers post about the finer points of creativity and how to properly relate your story to the audience but it all starts with holding onto a daydream.
False Petroglyphs Of Summerville Lake
When I was a kid I was fascinated by petroglyphs. Being of the Indiana Jones generation, I wanted to be the one who cracked the code and uncovered ancient secrets. I just knew that there had to be a golden idol at the bottom of a cave close by. I would study the markings on the cliff and I could even see the hunters stalking some strange dinosaur. (Left side of the image behind the small bush. ) This had to be a map! Right? There’s a pod of dolphins in the center. And strange symbols throughout the whole thing!
The unfortunate thing about gaining knowledge is the loss of the adventure. What we see here is pretty common in my area. Painted Sandstone. The stone was formed when different colored mud ( in laymen terms ) came together and mixed, then turned to stone. The result was these wonderful patterns in the canyon wall of Summersville Lake that resemble some prehistoric record. There’s other spots like this and even some real petroglyphs but I haven’t found one that is as realistic as the one here. If you find yourself in the Summerville Lake area the best way to see them is by boat.
The Memory Of A River
From foundation of the world I came forth. Yes, I know the voice of God Almighty.
I remember the time before your ancestors came. And the time before those who first walked here.
As the ages passed this bounty was my joy to provide. My purpose in creation was providence.
I remember your laughter along my shores.
I know the names of every young boy who laid aside his responsibly to draw a fish from my waters.
I remember when your young maidens played and danced here.
I have worked without rest to deliver the boat and it’s cargo. My strength is yours to command.
I remember your struggles and the days when brother killed brother.
I remember the hard times when you had very little money and yet so much joy.
Today, I weep with you for I remember the things which you have forgotten.
Perhaps, if you can just put away your little black gazing box for a little while. Put it back in your pocket and pull the wires from your ears.
Gaze on my shores instead. Listen to the songs of birds and insects in the day. And, the frogs and crickets by night.
Do your legs remember running? Can you still feel the joy of racing the wind along my shores?
The melting ice will soon give way to a blanket of moss.
The warm sun will awaken the bloom and color will return.
Awaken yourself. Return to me. Come and play in my waters.
I am the River.
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