CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO 

For the Lord your God has blessed you in all that you have done; He has known your wanderings through this great wilderness. These forty years the Lord your God has been with you; you have not lacked a thing.  Deuteronomy 2:7 

It is after 5:00PM when we return dirty and depleted.  

We had thought we would be done and back to Big Meadow by 3:00PM at the latest. 

The Steam Team opens the Bear Box at Campsite 2 as if greeting a long-lost friend. We gather quarters and personal care products. 

In tall grass a few feet from the box, my 1-person tent maintained our faux occupancy well while we were gone. I nod in thanks for its service.  

I grab the attention of a stranger in front of the shower house and ask them to take our “after” picture. We force smiles through physical pain while our souls smile with ease knowing that we completed over 33 miles on foot via rocks, trees, mountains, and valleys. My legs may separate from my body at any moment. I doubt the picture will fully capture the layers of grime on our skin. 

Sunshine Rat points out, “We’re running a little behind. Ted is going to be bringing his garbage up soon.” 

Stalker C says, “Yeah it’s almost 6pm.” 

“Ah, man. We don’t have shampoo,” Stalker C notes. 

Sunshine says, “We’ll make the best of it.” 

“Oh no you won’t,” my maternal instincts kick in as I dig through my “after bag”.  

I continue, “We are entertaining tonight. You gals need clean hair. Here is my travel shampoo. I’ll wait and shower after you’re done.” 

Wow, how fast I sound like a mom post trail! 

Stalker C and Sunshine Rat laugh. Stalker says to Sunshine, “You know time is winding down. We gotta find our grooms to bring home.” 

Sunshine says, “That’s right.” 

I gladly sit in a white plastic chair in the laundry room. I am filthy but resting feels glorious. 

A pair of hikers come in to wash a small load of clothes. I think we’ve seen them before on the trail. It is tough to tell because now they are freshly showered. 

The girl goes back in the bathroom to blow dry her hair. I ask him, “Did you two come on the trail together?” 

His face scrunches, “Nah. We just met up and are hiking together.” 

I note the “just” in his sentence.    

She returns with long blonde hair mostly dry. She looks at him with affection. He does not return that vibe. I’m bothered by the notion that he may not be as attracted to her as she is to him. Even her backpack is bigger and appears to be packed heavier than his. What the heck? He puts some of his clothes in her pack. 

I remember now. They are the couple from the bobcat sighting. I recall learning their trail names. She is Murph and he is MudPuppie. 

I ask her, “So why is your name Murph?” 

She smiles, “Because the first few weeks out on the trail anything that could go wrong for me did, like Murphy’s Law. My name was later shortened to Murph.”   

Murph tosses her hair a bit and smiles toward MudPuppie whose eyeroll reaction basically says this is only a summer thing.   

I envision that she’ll be stronger because of the months long hiking. When he breaks her heart at the end in Maine, she’ll be ok and ready to move on. She doesn’t need him. 

A clean Sunshine Rat and Stalker C are almost unrecognizable when they return my shampoo. I may barely feel my numb feet, but I know they carry me to the shower stalls. 

I don’t bother trying to save underwear or the Ziploc bag of urine socks. Anything beyond cleaning easily or likely to smell in the heat of the car on the way home is tossed in the trash. Feels good to get rid of stuff. 

Then I savor the clink of quarters into the machine that turns on the water in the shower.   

Hallelujah.  

I have wilderness soap which is little slips of paper that turn to suds when joined with water. My shampoo lathers like total luxury. Layers of dirt sink to the drain. Still soapy, I add quarters to rinse the rest of the me. 

Oops! I forgot to bring up my sham towel. 

I air dry as best I can before pulling on a clean set of clothes. It’s been a while since I’ve felt cotton on my skin. How wonderful! 

I fluff my hair with a community hair dryer and use a mini pop-up travel brush to comb through my locks.  

The Steam Team meets back at the car and bear box. 

No one attempts or mentions putting up tents for the night. I should look to see if my 1-person tent is still clean and critter-free inside, but I don’t.  

We head to the Tap Room without delay. 

“I wonder how many party goers will show tonight?” Sunshine says as we walk up the hill along a thin blacktop path that leads to the lodge.  

My feet remain flames of fire, but I am clean! My toes are free from boots. The air flow around my flip flops makes my heart leap with joy and appreciation. I wobble and catch myself from falling a few times. 

Stalker C says, “I wonder if Ted will really be here?” 

The anticipation is fun and drowns out the parts of me that hurt; shoulder, neck, back, arms, thighs…so much pain!   

Will our hero, Ted, really come to take out the trash, do laundry, and hang out in the Tap Room with us?!? Will he? Will he? 

We reach the lodge that sits perfectly on top of its mountain. The interior is rustic and comforting.   

A stuffed bear catches our eye, so we pause to take a pic of Stalker C posing with her worst fear.  

We walk into a large lounge with both broad and tall windows. I eye a row of rocking chairs. 

SunFloJo says, “Let’s have morning coffee here with the view tomorrow.” 

We all nod absolutely. “And we’ll read Deb’s last note here,” Sunshine Rat adds. 

“Yes!” we respond. 

Our sore bodies find the way to steep wooden stairs that lead down to the Tap Room. I step down the flight of stairs sideways and hold onto the rail to manage.  

We are greeted by the red checkered tablecloths, a bar in the distance, wood tables and chairs, wood covered walls, and a row of wood French doors with a partial mountain view.   

A band or something is setting up to play here tonight. How Fun! A man and young woman bring in a guitar, speakers, and microphone. 

SunFloJo tells the server, “We need a long table because we don’t know how many people might show up to visit us here tonight.”  

The group giggles as we help place four small tables together to create one long table near where the band will play. 

The sun is low in the sky. Blue hues and warm yellows glow through the windows. 

“Margarita, please. And a water. Thank you,” I request with just enough cash in my wallet to have one appetizer, a drink and maybe something from a fast-food dollar menu on the way home tomorrow.  Plus, of course I have trail food bags that I’ve barely touched all week. 

SunFloJo points to the margarita that arrives in a Mason jar, “That one is on me. This is a celebration of perseverance.” She gives me a look that says no ifs ands or buts about that.   

Ok then. “Thank you.” 

“We did it!” SunFloJo holds up a beer, and we all oblige to toast this great adventure. “So much fun girls!” 

Our glasses clink together. Stalker C says, “And not a minute more.” Her eyes widen like they seemed often to do on the trail, but this time with wide eyed satisfaction. 

Sunshine Rat offers, “Yes. A wonderful experience, and we’re all still alive!” 

SunFloJo’s shoulders laugh. She texts home to say we are safe and sound. 

I was happy to find my phone in SunFloJo’s car before we journeyed to the Tap Room. The girls and I take turns plugging in our phones to charge them in a nearby outlet. 

“I wonder who is going to show?” I ask. 

“The whole forest perhaps,” SunFloJo says. She types into Google, “Now, I’m looking up Steel-Cut. I’m still perplexed by that.” 

I shake my head. It was a well-earned compliment, friend! 

Sunshine Rat notes, “That bothers you a little bit, doesn’t it?” 

She responds, “I’m just trying to understand it.” Then, reading out loud from the internet, “1. Ground or crushed between rolls fitted with cutting teeth, like steel-cut coffee or steel-cut oats.  2. Faceted with a steel tool, used especially of buttons, buckles and beads having allover design of facets.” 

“Oh, the second definition!” Sunshine says, “You are faceted with a steel tool.” 

“With many facets,” Stalker C says. “Basically, you’re a badass.” 

We toast our drinks to that. 

“That is awesome,” I say. Then I touch SunFloJo’s arm and add, “It was a divine moment. There was no need whatsoever for that Teste Team Leader to say anything about you. He picked up on your aura or something. You are Steel-Cut. And you led us beautifully with your badass self.” 

We laugh. I add, “And we appreciate you. Thank you for including us on this journey.” 

Recognizable faces begin to fill the room. I notice Sushi and a trail friend or two at the bar. I’m too tired to go invite them to the table. That would require standing up.   

Whoever comes to the table is welcome. We’re not walking even another twenty-five feet unless we absolutely must! 

Through the patio doors I see MudPuppie and Murphy outside. I think she wants to come inside, but he doesn’t. She is pointing to the fact that they could leave their gear outside, but he shakes his head no.  

Leave him, Murph. Leave him right now. But no, she slumps her shoulders a bit and puts her pack back on. He’s already walking away. I am disappointed that she follows him. 

“Ooh, we left some clothes in the dryer.” SunFloJo remembers. 

“I’ll go with you,” Sunshine joins her. 

Stalker C and I exchange looks and smiles as the Tap Room capacity increases. We don’t waste energy on speaking. And this margarita is gooood.   

Oops, all gone.   

I will work on my water and the remaining ice to increase hydration.   

As we observe, we learn that the guy with the band is the father of the young woman. And the young woman with long dark hair is only 16 years old. Her name is Brieanna James. She’s going to sing tonight.  We grab one of her publicity postcards and search for her on Facebook and Twitter.   

“Ted!” says Stalker C. 

“Look who we found!” SunFloJo calls out. 

Rounding the stage area is Ted with SunFloJo & Sunshine.  I point to the seat in front of me on the table end closest to the stage. “Right here. We saved this seat for you!” 

I can’t let Ted go to the other end where the younger Steam Team members are. Seating might mess up the opportunity of potential suitors for the young ones! 

“Well, ok.” Ted sits down. 

I hear a snicker and snort from the other end as SunFloJo slips in next to me. Oh, no. He probably thinks I purposefully want him close to me! I yi yi. 

With the help of my margarita I say, “We gotta keep the single ladies with open seats down there. We invited a lot of people to the Tap Room tonight.” 

More stifled giggles. Ted smiles with a quick raise of both hands and says, “I completely understand.” 

I smile. I knew he would. 

SunFloJo says, “We’re so glad you came tonight!” 

Next to him, Sunshine Rat says, “And we smell and look a little better tonight I bet.” 

“Yeah, yeah.” He smiles and looks at each of us. He’s a jolly sort. 

SunFloJo asks, “Now tell us all about your connection to Rapidan and this place. Did you say to us you’ve been working here like over a decade or something?” 

“Oh yes,” he says. “I love being here. My normal job is in California. I work from here part of each year.”   

“What brings you this far over and over again?”   

“I’m originally from the east coast and my family came to the Shenandoah National Park every summer growing up. My dad was kind of like my mom and dad all in one because my mom died when I was little.” 

Lots of social worker types at the table, in unison a few of us say, “I’m so sorry.” 

“Eh. It was a long time ago.” Ted continues, “One of our happiest memories and my only memory of mom was when we were here one summer. I was about five. Later that year she died. Dad and I spread her ashes over BearFence Scramble the next summer. We went back every summer since in one way or another.” 

BearFence. Aww.  

We’re in listening mode. He continues, “And a few years ago Dad died. Me and my family spread his ashes up there too.” He sighs, “A couple weeks ago I went up there on a day off and was kind of surprised to find little pieces of bone still up there from dad.” 

Still enjoying the view, I suppose.   

Ok. Now I’m glad for new reasons that we didn’t go up there. Maybe I’d go up on a different trip with less backpack and more as a side trip stop. 

Sunshine Rat changes the subject, “You know, Ted, you are the only person around here who gives accurate trail mileage information.”   

We agree. She continues, “The trail said our trip today would be about 6 miles and you said 9. It was totally 9 plus a little more.” 

Stalker C and I say, “Yeah. The trail lies.” 

Sunshine adds, “We appreciate you not lying Ted.” 

SunFloJo says, “Let’s get you a drink. We’ve ordered some food and we can order more if you want. It’s on us.” She adds with a wink, “We owe you gratitude for that which shall remain a secret!”   

Stalker C says, “You saved our life.” 

I point out, “It took a long time today before we got to the fire ring up on Laurel Prong.” I shake my head, “There is no way we would have found that small clearing in the woods, in the dark, in the rain. Just no way.” 

Ted shrugs and tightens his lips in a way that tells me he totally knows he saved our lives and probably saved some fire and rescue resources too. Ultimately, he saved lives and tax dollars! Funeral expenses, you name it. Some rules are meant to be broken. 

“Well, don’t ever put anything on social media,” Ted says. 

“Absolutely. We get it!” SunFlo says. “We stayed in that Fisherman’s Camp just outside the park. That was scandalous enough. That’s our story and we’re sticking to it.” 

Ted smiles relieved. 

“Mums the word,” Sunshine says. 

My eyes see people coming our way. Look who it is!   

Rounding the stage area are Tank and Frodo! I am delighted that my favorite groom candidates arrived for the girls. 

SunFloJo smiles and waves them over. 

Ted grins at how our obvious plan works when Tank and Frodo approach our table with the only available chairs right next to our dear Sunshine Rat and Stalker C. Ted understands. Ted is seasoned like SunFloJo and me.   

The young males have showered also. They have big smiles on their faces. Perhaps they are happy that we are where we said we would be. And the idea of Tap Room food probably is exciting. 

Small talk begins at the younger end of the table. I zone out to simply take in this moment.   

Ted talks with SunFloJo about his interest in gemstones and about his plans to begin foster dog transport soon. Ted is an all-around good guy. 

The young musician tests her guitar on stage. She smiles and strums to see if the instrument is in tune. The dad beams with pride. He also eyes the audience with a protective stare. Then he looks at his daughter with total admiration and love. 

A sound crackle occurs, then becomes clear. 

“Thanks for being here tonight, y’all,” Brieanna speaks into the microphone. “This is a good crowd.”   

Hmm, thanks to us. 

Brieanna smiles. I come out of my trance. The checkered tablecloth covered tables are full of folks and the bar has only one seat open.  It’s hard to tell because so many of us now look clean, but I am fairly certain at least a quarter of the room are people we met and invited along the way. 

The crowd gasps in a good way when Brieanna begins to sing Jolene.  

People approve of her voice. Smiles are contagious around the room.   

I notice that if Frodo had a tail, it would wag. He is very impressed by her. 

Brieanna slows down the lyrics to end with, “Please don’t take him even though you can….” 

Hands clap and whistles woot in the air. 

“Thank you,” Brieanna says.  “Thank you.” 

The audience is ready for more. She says, “Now I need some volunteers.”   

Hands raise fast at our table. That is, SunFloJo and my hands go up and point toward our young friends. 

“Well, alright then. This group right here is ready to have some fun,” Brieanna says and waves Tank and Sunshine up to the stage.   

To listen to this chapter via the Surrender On The Trail Podcast, click here.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER THIRTEEEN

Draw near to God, and he will draw near to you.

James 4:8

We continue eating. Deer join us to nibble grass nearby. I appreciate their regal confidence. Rosemary and her friends have become a sporadic spiritual presence for us. I imagine them saying, “Hello there. Just checking in on you girls.”

Zippers close and last gulps of water enter our bodies. We load our backpacks. “Don’t be afraid to pull your straps,” Sunshine says.

“We’re not afraid,” Our voices tell the universe.

We turn south on the AT. 

I am delighted by the immediate difference in terrain. The tall grass is soft. The path is not hilly or rocky, it is mostly just dirt beneath my thankful feet. Trees tower above forming a skinny tree version of a canopy with plenty of light rays offering warm touches along the way. This is how I envisioned the trail would be before we came. 

We walk by a small graveyard without pausing to read any of the crumbling headstones. Then we enter a thicker section of the forest. Our legs walk faster than we have on any of the other sections. I remain the caboose, but I can see each team member easily in this stretch.

The tree canopy thickens. The path becomes lush, there’s so much beauty! Ferns cover the ground as if it could be a fairy playground in a child’s movie. I imagine magical creatures hopping among the fronds.

“Hold up,” I say.

I pull out Ben’s camera and take pictures of “us on the trail” in rows, in pairs, in hiking mode, and of course a group selfie. Once the moment is captured in post card worthy fashion, we carry on.

Ferns feather the ground as far as we can see on either side of the trail under the tall trees. I feel good. I sense the miracles around me.

Fallen trees decay and look wet here and there along the way. Sun rays filter through the leaves for a while, but our wooded room grows darker. There was a forecast for possible rain today. I am ok with rain if the trail keeps on like this. Dirt or mud below my feet is welcomed over rocks.

Silence blankets our group as if we enter a state of Zen walking. We are spaced about four feet between each of us. SunFloJo peeks behind her to make sure I bring up the rear ok. I truck along well.

I begin to think of a mental gratitude list. I’m grateful for each of my children. I think of their qualities, personalities, and talents. I thank God for bringing them into my life. 

Jacob leaving for basic training in the Air Force will hurt this momma, but oh how awesome it is that he will go do what he longs to do. He has wanted to be in the military since middle school. If he were here, he would zoom along this trail. His body is fit and ready for his next phase of life.

Ben is going to high school. Where has the time gone? I love his humor. I wish he were hiking with me. I miss him.

I am thankful to work with children, young people, and families. How many people at my age or older have dreams that they wish they did and now regret not doing? We went for it. After eleven years and 6,433 students served in some way, how can I say that this dream was a mistake?    

I think of Paul and how he helped me get ready for this trip. He could have given me a hard time, but he did not. He provides for us in unique little ways. Like the way he gathers school supplies for the boys every August, labeling each boy’s items with their name. Or the way he helps keep the laundry going or how he makes breakfast on weekends sometimes. That man makes the best scrambled eggs.

He may be wondering how I am doing right now with no cell phone and knowing that tonight is the night that we will be furthest from help. In my mind, I send him an “I’m ok” telepathy message. We’re going to get through this. We’ll be fine.

I am Surrender, and I am beginning to surrender. I feel it.   

Thank you, God, for the opportunity to be fully present here.

The sky turns even darker, and I don’t care. Somewhere in my bag is raingear when I need it.

The bear bell rings. And rings again. Stalker C contorts her arm and elbow to reach it. We must be too quiet for her taste. She is not taking chances.

Sunshine Rat, SunFloJo and Stalker C lean their packs and bodies against a rock. I catch up and lean also.

“Girls,” Sunshine checks her boob-o-meter. “We have been walking at a 22-minute mile pace for the last 2 miles!”

“That’s amazing.” SunFloJo acknowledges and then wanders into a thicket to pee.

“We’ll be at Rapidan Camp before we know it,” I say.

Rapidan was built for President Hoover, his family and guests. I’ve been looking forward to seeing it since looking it up on the internet. How many times do you walk to a historic site and then walk away from a historic site without the aid of a car or other transportation?

“It’s after 2pm now. We’re making fairly good time,” Sunshine says.

Stalker C’s face says what is on her mind. She remains concerned about sleeping in the woods tonight. 

Eh, we can do it. We are a team. 

But this is not going to be pleasant smell wise. Sweat is building up. I am sorry for the stink in advance, SunFloJo. Two people in a one-person tent makes me nervous only to be trumped by the thought of anticipating the fear we may experience when it becomes completely dark among the trees. 

Deep breath. We can do this.

Sunshine says, “I feel like I could carry on farther than I ever thought I could if the trail was like this all the time.”

We agree wholeheartedly, “Right?!”.

A gentle drizzle of rain reaches our arms. The forest protects us from getting more wet for a while.

When the drizzle increases, we each pull out our rain gear. 

I wear my plastic hood on my head and then spread the rest of the jacket over my backpack. This is a perfect set up for light rain. The rest of the Steam Team dresses similarly. We journey on looking like floating jackets and ponchos.

We pass a guy who is headed quickly in the opposite direction. He pauses to tell us that he is supposed to catch up with other AT hikers who are having burgers tonight. He left one friend behind who is having foot problems. She will catch up with him and their friends soon. I can tell the idea of having burgers is a big deal to him. He does not want to miss it. I picture the group of young, attractive, dirt covered hikers including unshaven guys like him meeting up later to chow on meat with whatever condiments happen to be around and loving every moment.

The rain continues.

Then we see increased light because we arrive at a road. It is Skyline Drive. Huh. We are going to cross a perfectly good road that leads to civilization in order to continue our trail on the other side. Sigh. 

So far, we are the good kind of tired. The gentle rain feels like a friend you have not gotten to spend this much time with in a while.

The road is on an incline. We turn to look both ways before crossing. When we see a beautiful person coming down the hill, we pause.

She is tan, wears navy athletic shorts, has two dark hair braids and may be limping. There is something striking about her olive skin and deep brown hair.

“Hi,” she says.

“What is your trail name?” SunFloJo asks.

She winces, “Sacagawea.”

“My foot is killing me,” Sacagawea says. “We’ve been walking since March. In the last town back, I had it checked out. I have a hairline fracture.”

“Oh!” The Steam Team all chime in making the connection to the last guy we passed.

Walking since March rattles around in my brain.

SunFloJo continues, “We passed a guy headed that way.” She points behind us. “He said you all are meeting someone for burgers tonight.”

“Yes!” She lights up.

We say farewell. Sacagawea heads into our beloved canopy trail. I say a prayer for her foot.

The Steam Team crosses the road and enters the next forest. Soon we see a trail marker post. 

We depart the AT and head left down the mountain via Mill Prong Trail.

The rain is steady. I am excited because based on my memory of the map, Mill Prong is not a far stretch down to Rapidan. 

I declare in my mind that Stalker C will get through this night. No bears or reptiles will get us. She is tense. I want to tell her not to worry, but I don’t think that will help. 

I am so glad I decided to continue today. 

I carry my water bottle and drink as we descend. I have had no urge to urinate today which by now is not a good thing. I am probably somewhat dehydrated.

As if a different picture clicks in our Viewmaster, this part of the trail is beautiful in new ways. We descend over and around mossy green rocks. There are gradual twists and turns leading into a valley of bright greens and browns.

Down, down, down.

I am not going to think about how my feet hurt from the number of hours we have been walking. Cannot be too much further.

Down, down, down. We cross over streams of water. 

Hearing the rain and watching a rushing stream of water is almost too much joy for my Aquarius born soul. The sounds combine to create a forest symphony.

Almost out of drinking water, we pause to purify and refill water bottles from a creek. 

Oh, this is the real thing now. We are roughing it! We will get water from the land–a gift from the earth. 

Hmmm…should I trust SunFloJo’s aqua straw to purify my water or should I have her purify AND then add a purification tab that I have in my pack?

I think it over as she attaches my water bottle neck to her purifying straw.  For a moment I consider how awful it would be to have diarrhea out here tonight if something fails with the purification process. Um…Exhale. Dismiss that thought.

I choose to trust her straw and leave my emergency tabs in my backpack. I brought the tabs only as a last resort if for some reason we become separated.

We do not fall into the creek as we steady ourselves on rocks to reach the water flow with our bottles. I consider not falling a big bonus. 

The creek rocks are slippery. Injury right now would be terrible. At this point, we would not be able to walk out of the woods before dark. And it already feels like near dark or late dusk due to the weather.  

After crossing the first stream, I attempt to get back to my gratitude thoughts like earlier. I say thanks to my Higher Power for every person I can think of…for food, for shelter, for clothing, for my life back home. I am not quite as meditative as before, but close. 

I sense that some of the anger I could not shake before this trip is releasing, breaking up slowly like bad plaque in arteries. I visualize releasing tension several times.

And I picture letting go of Jacob, our first-born son.  He is determined to protect and fight for our country.  What a noble and brave young man. He was only ours to raise for a while.  He is his own being.  He is created for a purpose greater than what I can imagine or what I can offer from the home that helped mold him for this time in his life.

Down, down, down through the trees. Around. Down, down over rocks. Around. Down, down, down through an increasingly wet wood. Raindrops collect in my hair and drip onto my nose and lips. This is taking longer than I anticipated, but that is not a new feeling this week.

There is more water to cross. This stream of water is bigger, and the rocks look shiny. We pause before crossing to sit on two long tree trunks that have fallen.

“I’m kind of done,” Stalker C says. 

Exhaustion sets into our bones. What we can see of the sky is grey. Drizzle continues. The stretchy buff around my head absorbs some of the rain drops before the rest slip into my eyes.

Sunshine says to her dear friend, “You can do it.”

We sit quiet with shoulders slumped.

Sitting on the log while still wearing the backpack is affecting my body. I wiggle to deal with an odd sensation. I share, “I think my lady parts are numb.” 

Stalker C snorts a little laugh.

I continue, “How is that even possible? Nothing else is asleep; just my downtown area.”

SunFloJo crosses the mini river with zero slippery rock issues. She is off to scout ahead of us a bit.

Sunshine Rat chuckles, “Can you imagine that phone call? Doctor, when I sit on rocks my genitals fall asleep.”

“Yeah, then don’t sit on rocks the doc might say,” Stalker C shakes her head. I know she is tired; we are all tired. 

In fact, I may be too tired to be tired right now. If we do not get swept away by this water source, this will be a good day. I cling to the meditative nature of this afternoon. I have had time to sort thoughts and cherish beauty. 

Stalker C says to Sunshine, “I want you to cut off my foot. Like right now.”

SunFloJo appears at the other side of the creek. We stand up, but my girly numbness continues.

I am last across the creek, relieved that I did not stumble. The water moves quickly.

“Here,” I give one of my trekking poles to Stalker C. The pole might help her take pressure off her toes. I can manage with one now. We are still going downhill. The rocks are only about half as plentiful as when we were back on Lewis Falls Trail.  How long ago Lewis seems. Was that really this morning, just earlier today? 

The trail beat beats on. Mill Prong was only supposed to be 1.8 miles. We are well over that by now.  Anticipating that we will see Rapidan soon, I carry the camera in my hand.

Our protectors, the trees, thicken, making our path even darker. Somehow, we still walk downhill over more rocks and turn on more twists.

We start to see piles of scat on the trail. It’s like we’ve entered nature’s public restroom.

I remember on the map that there is a horse trail somewhere around here. I know what horse poo looks like. Some of this is horse.

And some of it is not horse.

Stalker C eyes the piles.

I give her body language that says “Nah, that’s not bear. Nothing to worry about.”

But I remember the scat chart from Cub Scouts and the paw print chart too. Scanning my memory, I am fairly sure that is bear poo. And bear paw prints.

Yeah, I’m totally sure.

Stalker C quizzes me. She looks at a pile then looks at me.

I respond, “Deer.”

She looks at another.

“Horse.”

SunFloJo is looking at certain piles with interest. She knows what I know.

Sunshine Rat is ahead of us. I see her side stepping to stay balanced down the wet hill.

Stalker C looks at what SunFlo is looking at.

I shrug my shoulders. Bear. Shh! Definitely bear.

And another pile. And another. All bear. Oh my goodness.

“Ring the bell,” SunFloJo says.

© Copyright 2016 Surrender On The Trail – Glenna S. Edwards

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Perspective Is The New Sexy

I felt familiar angst.

My post holiday work schedule climbed quickly to overdrive.

I needed to work, attend meetings and events, write a grant, clean, pack the house, buy groceries, feed the family, transport Son-2 to various appointments, tackle to-do lists, juggle the finances.

And carry the laundry. Always laundry.

We miss each other when a schedule shift happens or my calendar is full. I think he liked having me around at Christmas and New Years. I worried that me working late four days in a row right away as the new year begins will annoy him.

Before ALS we could divide and tackle more of the house work. Once upon a time we did not need to think about what he physically can or can not do, or where he can physically handle going without help.

My hours are jagged with early and late variance. I never have had a clock in, clock out type job. I imagine it’s not easy for someone to live with me and guess what my week will be like.

His jobs in the past all had clear start/stop times.

So I brace for possible grumpiness.

I stress that we might struggle to transition back into a busy season.

In an attempt to head off an argument or avoid sassy words, I bring up my hope that we can deal well with me being on the move again.

He responds with, “I’m good. I know you have too much on your plate–and too many plates to manage. Grace extended.”

Grace extended?

GRACE. EXTENDED.

Those are some hot husband words right there.

One time I heard a pastor talk about when life gets hard you can either get bitter or get better.

Hubby could complain all day given his physical pain, but he does not.

In fact, he has only grown kinder since diagnosis.

Considering your partner’s perspective is one of the most attractive things someone can do.

I am grateful.

Love,

Glenna

Romans 12:10 Be devoted to one another in love. Honor one another above yourselves.

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Room To Receive

Friends are the true wealth.

One day I will write about the ways dear ones have bridged gaps for us in the last few months. I am grateful beyond measure. The road is still long ahead, but little by little we will emerge to a new, more manageable life–I pray.

Anyone who knows my heart knows that I prefer giving and sharing. In fact, I have to self-talk that it is ok to receive. It is ok to accept help. It is ok to allow people into our mess.

When I shared the latest stalled house sale update with my mastermind group, the ladies jumped in with their talents to do what they can. I am sure the words “stuck” and “tired” glow on my forehead.

One of the masterminds, Jill, is an interior designer. She offered to come New Years day to transform the blank front room of our house. “Staging” a home is important. She brought an SUV full of items and went to work.

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What once was empty and lacked imagination now has a welcoming vibe with pops of color.

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I suspect when people walk in they will smile. Jill is a genius. Here is a link to some of her great home decorating advice. I will add more links to her blogs and website later.

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This is a short post because I must get back to getting the house ready for a new realtor. I will sort and pack as much as I can today.

This hymn’s song lyrics play through my head often:

“He said ‘Freely, freely you have received; freely, freely give.
Go in my name, and because you believe others will know that I live.”

I visualize a life where my capacity grows and I can be more supportive to others again.

Love,

Glenna

Chicken Salad Vacation

Two of my favorite self-care options are “time with a friend” or “time away”.

Time away can be almost anything out of the ordinary. A vacation would be nice, but since that is not an option right now, I manage to find even small amounts of time and declare them to be vacation minutes.

Oxygen in. Oxygen out.

So naturally when my friend Deb invited me to stand in line for the Grand Opening of the Chicken Salad Chick restaurant in Oakley, Ohio, I was lured in by a double win potential. Time with a friend and the first 100 people in line would win FREE chicken salad for a year.

Ummmm…out-food guaranteed monthly? Yes, please.

I set my alarm for 4am. I made a checklist of equipment needed: folding chairs, Cudl duds, triple clothing layers, boots, hat, gloves, a scarf, and a book to read. I downloaded the Chicken Salad Chick App and read the Grand Opening rules.

The temperature was 20 degrees as I pulled into the parking lot to find my friend taking a selfie next to the “first in line” sign. She became famous for the next several hours! People were in awe of the line leader. “What time did YOU get here?” people asked her many times.

My face froze into a smile. We set up camp and settled into the cold darkness. I visualized that the parking lot was a beach just ahead of my toes.

We giggled a bunch when we learned the first three of four people in line were named Deb! What are the chances?

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We saw the kindness of strangers help one another with various challenges. Extra blanket? Extra chair? Information and legendary tales of how this works? These were no problem for complete strangers to handle in the dark before dawn.

The Chicken Salad Chick employees, photographer, and Chamber of Commerce arrived as daylight approached. The wise employees brought us toe warmers. The line grew.

I watched my Deb of the three Debs manage a conference call as if she was not freezing. I busted out laughing at the contrast of her serious work and the fact that we were waiting in line for a chance at free food.

When the dark sky turned winter white, I felt a ping of sadness. The fun was nearly over.

After the official store ribbon cutting, we scanned our free chicken code proudly as Miss First In Line #1 and Good Friend #2.

We sat with the new friends we made in line and already have a favorite Chicken Salad Chick employee. Shout out to Tamika!

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Then we headed to work. Back to reality. It was a good tiny vacation!

May peace find you this holiday season–perhaps in a most unexpected way.

Love,

Glenna

Ecclesiastes 2:24 There is nothing better for a person than that he should eat and drink and find enjoyment in his toil….

* This post is dedicated to Dr. Phil of Marysville, OH because Deb and I (or Ethel and Lucy as he sometimes calls us) think you’d get a kick out of the story!

* And extra love to my Hubby who I simply told after leaving the house “I may have a fun story to tell you later”. I was so frustrated with home life the night before Chicken Salad Chick bliss. Then he sees me on Deb’s Facebook and types, “Who is that lady with my (his) hat and gloves?!” He can be a pretty funny guy.

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2 Free Gifts

“I have no gifts to bring parum pum pum pum...”

I feel the Little Drummer Boy’s pain in this season of life.

You may not have material items to give others, but there are free gifts you can give to friends and family during the holidays and throughout the year.

1. CLEAN SOMETHING. Recently in borrowed work space someone said, “Oh, we are not going to sweep. It was already a mess when we got here.” That comment made me feel sad. Aside from the fact that sweeping is on our checklist, I believe in leaving places better than they were whenever possible. The broom and dust pan stood in the corner. I collected debris in 5 minutes. No one may notice, but I know that caring for someone’s space is an act of love and appreciation.

Deposit positive energy. At someone’s home, you can do dishes without making a fuss or be the person who collects discarded wrapping paper. If the trash can is full, then take the bag outside. Don’t draw attention to yourself. Just do the deed that alleviates someone else’s stress.

2. GIVE QUIETLY. Long ago someone told me about how a visiting family member was helpful but then offered a whiny soliloquy about how they mopped the floor and how they ran a load of laundry. Listen, no one wants to hear about the dust bunnies you cleared or the obstacles you faced when searching for the perfect gift. Have a funny story? Then maybe share. Or ask yourself, is your intention to draw light to show how you should be noticed for your efforts? If so, then no. Hush.

Do you volunteer at church? Then do it with grace. People need the peace that can be found in church rather than the distraction of a grumpy volunteer.

Did you just clean your house for guests? Are you exhausted because cleaning was way overdue? Then check yourself before opening the front door. Don’t greet people with your stress. People need your warm welcoming smile.

Just do or not do…quietly.

We could talk about being present for others. We could talk about self-care and doing less around the holidays. We could talk about the Mary and Martha story in the Bible. As much as we hail Mary for simply being with Jesus, there’s a place for Martha in the story too.

An able bodied someone can help others in the spirit of love and kindness without any need of accolades. With ALS in our home, I often find myself silently thanking God that I have legs that can climb stairs and a body that can bend to pick up things. I don’t say that out loud to Hubby, but I do lift my thanks to my Higher Power. Quiet gratitude renews my spirit even in the moments when my body wears out for the day.

Martha might not be mentioned in Luke 10 if she gave quietly.

Be a stealth Bible Martha.

And please take out the trash & recycling–quietly.

Love,

Glenna

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Gus Deployment Part Two

Before soaring on United Airlines one day in August, two TSA people panicked when I placed a pet carrier on the security conveyor belt.

I said to their reaching hands, “It’s empty. Don’t worry.”

Whew! Their blue shirts relaxed a bit.

“I am heading to get my son’s cat,” I said to more people than probably wanted to know that day.

My mission: Get the cat. Keep my emotions in check. Spend as little money as possible. Stretch granola in backpack.

One thing I’ve learned about being a military mom is that tears are the enemy to be embraced. I can be happy for our son = tears. I can be proud = tears. Saying hello = tears. Saying goodbye = tears.

Fight them and the tears are worse. I attempt to embrace and let them pass. If you’re a military parent, you know this roller coaster.

Son-1 and I strive for what we call “the good good-bye”. He tries to laugh when my face swells. There is something about military life that makes the words “gut wrenching” meaningful as an experience rather than a phrase.

Once in New Mexico, I see in our son right away that he is feeling about his cat a little like what I feel when he and I separate for months at a time. He hugs Gus, plays with Gus, and takes long looks at Gus. I imagine he is burning the memory of Gus into his soul with enough love to last for many months until they reunite.

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Meanwhile on minimal sleep for a 24 hour trip, my mind focuses on how to get a cat across the country without losing him.

“Ok, Mom. You guys have to go now,” Son-1 said about 40 minutes before I planned to leave that morning. He did not want to cry. I understood.

We place a “calming collar” on Gus and put him in the pet carrier.

“Here. I got you these,” Son-1 hands me breakfast. It was thoughtful of him to stop at a gas station for Pepsi and Swedish Fish with me in mind.

I stress-nosh on the red fish when Gus begins to wail in the car. Have I mentioned that Gus and I had to drive 90 miles to the airport?

Son-1 and GF warned me that Gus does not like car rides, but I know his wail is more than a dislike of the car. Gus knew I was taking him from his people.

Gus cried.

I cried.

Hubby called once while I was stopped in the desert by a police blockade. Missiles were being tested nearby. Stopping only made Gus cry louder.

“It will be ok, Gus.” I turn him so he can see me through his net. That didn’t help. I wonder if his claws will rip the carrier netting. Then I remember that I packed a small roll of duct tape. Hopefully I will not need to figure out how to repair or get him back in the carrier if he escapes.

I hyperventilate on the phone to Hubby, “Don’t. Tell Son-1. That. Gus. Is.” Inhale, “Crying.”

“Honey, catch your own breath. It will be ok.”

Sure it will. I am in new territory: alone with a cat, saying good-bye to our son for his first deployment overseas, and driving toward El Paso, Texas which dripped with sadness in the air from recent events.

There are security options with a pet in an airport. I could take the cat out of the carrier and walk through the screening device. No way. Or I could request the private room to take the cat out of the container. Sigh.

In the private room, the TSA agents share horror stories, “One time a cat died right here at this check point.”

What?!

“Yep, the owner overmedicated the cat.”

I feel so glad we did not medicate Gus. I zip him back inside with our new bonding and determination. We can do this, Gussie-boy. G-ma will protect you.

At our layover, I bravely allow Gus to walk around an indoor pet spot.

I pose him for a picture near the airport’s USO. “We are on task, buddy.”

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He and I people watch at airport gates.

Inside the carrier is one of Son-1’s worn t-shirts. I explain to the cat that the shirt is for comfort.

“Don’t worry, Gus, your owners will be back for you.”

The t-shirt also connects the dots of smells for the pets waiting at home. Once back in Greater Cincinnati, there was minimal quarantine time and/or hissing by our welcome wagon pets. They recognized Son-1’s scent. They gave us looks like, “WTH? Meow. Ok, fine.”

Gus settled in with cat toys, scratch pads, and favorite play-sleep spots. He marvels at the new sights through our window: chipmunks, leaves, grass, snow flurries. It’s different here.

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And sometimes Gus hangs out near the door patiently waiting for Son-1 and GF to return.

Job 12:7 But ask the animals, and they will teach you…

Posts about Gus are dedicated to his cat parents who are currently deployed separately in the military. Please pray for the men and women who endure loneliness in the name of freedom during this holiday season.

Let there be peace on earth.

GF, Son-1, Gus, & their promise rings.

A Little Hungry

If I could assign “required reading” for adults on the planet, then I would put on the list Maid: Hard Work, Low Pay, And A Mother’s Will To Survive by Stephanie Land. Buy it, read it, “get” it.

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Stephanie writes about the days when she had a small child, no other reliable adult support, lived in a mold ridden apartment that made them sick, and worked as a maid. For me, as a woman who struggles a bit now and as a daughter of a mom who cleaned houses for 20 plus years on top of her day job, this book echoed through my whole being.

People need to know what it is like to be in Stephanie’s shoes. The juggle is intense. What might seem like the most common things become road blocks. For example, recently a woman asked me if she could use my computer to fill out and print a Section 8 form. When I said of course, her relief was visible. Her forehead, shoulders, and arms relaxed; measurable only in millimeters on the exhale, right in front of me.

If we really want to help people in poverty, then we need to help with things like printing and transportation. And we need to nix the judgemental and marketing manipulative attitudes.

Some people give others the stink-eye because someone who may appear to be poor has what looks like a smartphone. But let me tell you that phone likely does not do everything your phone does. That person may only pay for a certain number of minutes at a time. What may be your daily lifeline is a tool that comes and goes for them. Imagine how quickly you might run out of minutes with no money to get more. Over the summer, a woman called me to help her track the bus route progress. She had a phone but no internet. She was waiting at a bus stop and trying to get to the hospital to see her child. She talked me through how to use my phone to look up the live bus line.

And how about the environmental marketing that impacts people in poverty? If you go into Kroger in a fancy neighborhood, the alcohol may be in a separate side store or tucked in a pergola looking back section of the store. If you go into a Kroger in an area with higher poverty, then the alcohol is in front and often near the checkout like candy for the young and old to see all year long. Cigarettes and E-cigs? Where do you think the most vape shops are and the most colorful nicotine addictive luring posters?

If we really cared, mental health and self care learning options would be accessible at the unemployment office and government offices that give assistance. We could teach better options. We could make healthy resources easier to connect with. We could.

The prolonged brain strain begins to physically hurt. I know first hand the constant pressure of trying to pay bills with no way to save toward the inevitable broken appliance, car repair, etc. I must write down every little to-do item or I will forget. I think of this time in our lives as either go-to-work or shelter-in-place and allow time to pass until the next paycheck.

When Hubby needed help today he said, “No because it’s not fair to you.” I replied, “Thanks for the acknowledgement. And this is not fair to either one of us. We’re in this [ALS-21] together.”

People say you either get better or get bitter. I think that is true, but my brain hurting likely will not go away until we sell the house and start over. I cast vision daily in my mind of what it will look like when we are no longer slave to a mortgage after losing his income, and when we are in a more accessible location so I can stop worrying about how Hubby will make it up or down stairs.

My “getting better” is in the appreciation of many small things. I notice beauty around me. Every time there is hot water I am thankful. When I open the fridge door to cold food, I am delighted. Groceries are golden. When a friend bought me two tacos, I felt joy to ditch tuna and peanut butter on a long pre-paycheck week. I have hugged the washer and dryer in appreciation for their endurance. I marveled at this sunset Saturday night:

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If you struggle, you are not alone. Stephanie Land reminds us of that.

What would you place on the required adult reading list?

Love,

Glenna

In the Stillness

Chronic illness and caregiving are lonely places to be. And a lonely place can be smack dab in the middle of your own house. It is easy to be forgotten when you don’t show up hardly anywhere social anymore. It’s easy to miss friends even when you talk to them a lot via text.

This is one of those posts that is scary to write because I certainly don’t want to hurt Hubby’s feelings; however, he has said to me before maybe if you write the truth it will help other people not feel as alone.

I try to look at our situation like we’re lucky because we have each other. If you’ve ever lived this type of life, then you know that’s just as funny as it is true. I hold onto what I can. I miss him. And I hate that he feels (in my opinion) sick 80+% of the time. We each silently regret some of the things we could have been out doing in our early years together.

There is sweetness too. When he verbally appreciates my weak effort to do house chores. When he offers me quiet time in the house because he knows the silence soothes me. When he will go to the end of the Google search engine to research anything the boys or I need. And, I have my thoughts about him always being a man of integrity. That is one of the things that attracted me to him long ago. Recently he agreed to do an audio book club with me. I am hopeful the first book discussion will be fun from our different perspectives. I’ve listened through chapter 9 so far.

I ponder if this time of both rest and stress ultimately helps me focus more time on writing projects. The quote below got my attention this morning after waking up from another nightmare for the sixth morning in a row:

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Writers need a platform. Mine is growing. I am thankful that my Twitter followers are 18 away from 1,000 (as of the time of this post) which I read is an important step in jumping onto a propulsion algorithm. We shall see. Fingers crossed. It’s not about “likes” for publishers. It is about “would anyone buy her book?”. Since I am 60% introvert and 40% extrovert, this writer life climb is filled with internal conflict–hence the nightmares? Being on a team is joyful for me. Putting my neck out there solo causes a touch of angst.

I enjoy getting to know a little bit about people in the writing world who live around the globe. That part of the journey is fun. I just cyber-met someone who is on number 200 of her 300 bucket list items. How cool is she? Go girl, @VickyJones7.

So in this life filled with challenges, I say: Carry on in the stillness. Carry on in the Light. Carry on, dear readers, carry on.

Much love,

Glenna

Exodus 14:14 The Lord will fight for you; you need only to be still.

What We Think vs. What Is, Plus Tea

Dear People,

I admired her. I wanted her to like me. I hoped we’d be friends.

And–I was fairly sure she didn’t think anything at all about me.

That lady was busy doing important things that I liked being part of even if on the fringe. She might not have known my first and/or last name.

I attempted a conversation or two. I doubted my spoken words connected to her brain.

Isn’t that how it goes sometimes? We like someone. We share similar ideas with them. They do work we think is cool. We are confident they have zero interest in getting to know us.

Years later she calls me. Wha…wha…what?

She wants to meet at a restaurant.

So I go.

And it turns out she likes my brain too.

She has been reading my blog and asks me to help her think through a couple things.  Then she asks me to pray for her weekly in the months ahead as she works on a project.

I say…ok.

Like, O and K together softly, genuinely.

Before agreeing I took a few seconds to think about whether I could fit her request into my life. Which, I gotta say, is one of my most grown up moments. To consider if I could make time for something new, to think about if I could honor her and my word, ah, yes, that is an adult moment for me.

Connection isn’t always obvious, dear readers. Sometimes less is more. We don’t have to force anything. Be present. Be kind. Carry on. Don’t compromise. Be you. Things come around if they are meant to be.

This example gives me hope that a relationship with a literary agent will come into my life too. It’s happened for others. It will happen for me too. I’ve written two novels in three years (dog gone it) while in the midst of serious life changes.

The pressure is on and off at the same time. My coal is being pressed. I’m learning all I can about who might be my #DreamAgent. It will happen. I know you’re out there.

Until then I am sipping Hot Cinnamon Spice tea on a Sunday morning. I’ve learned that quality tea and taking time to breathe is valuable. I’m putting my mug out there and wishing peace for you and your dreams too.

Love,

Glenna