Daddy

Twelve years ago on Father's Day my Daddy died at Presbyterian Hospital. Sloan, Margie and I were with him, and Marilee was en route. I remember his breathing was becoming more difficult and I grabbed the Bible and read the 23rd Psalm. As it happened, he died moments later. We read that Psalm at your funeral, Daddy. And I recited it dozens of times on our hike. We prayed for you last night at dinner and today took a bouquet of magnolia blossoms, gardenia, and fig branches from your beloved Sunrise Point to your grave. We put the flowers beside the plant Marilee had brought last week and had another prayer for you. Your dear Margie is healthy and content in the beautiful home that you built together.

For the love of nature

There were two men who influenced my interest in hiking and camping. My granddaddy was an avid naturalist, even though I seldom saw him out of suit and tie. He was always willing to strike out for the mountains to see the mysterious Brown Mountain Lights off the Blue Ridge Parkway or to identify the mitten-shaped leaves of the sassafras tree so we could carve off a stem to chew. With Gammy placidly waiting in the car after a sumptuous picnic, we would hike in pursuit of Jack-in-the-Pulpit, Bloodroot and the many ferns that he lovingly transplanted in our "fern bed" near the sweet shrub bush from which he would bring us fragrant, mahogany flowers for our teachers. Granddaddy imprinted on me with the splendor of Roan Mountain when I was young child, when all the rhodos were in bloom. It was intimate family bliss to grow up next door to Granddaddy and Gammy, who took us on countess adventures and lavished us with attention, legendary home-cooked meals, and unconditional love.
My uncle Neely is my other great inspiration. Neely died far too soon but lived every day of his life with relish. I'll always remember his unhurried, luxurious spinning of stories in his elegant drawl over iced tea or bourbon. Neely loved the AT and his stories of hiking and camping filled me with the desire to experience this unique asset to our region.
Sloan and McKendree and I still laugh at some of our earliest camping adventures full of improvisation adventure and wildlife! Thank goodness for the patient park service and for car camping which enabled a cooler and transported all our Sears equipment. My learning curve for reading topo maps and for respecting the professionally produced ones was hard won. We did get lost a few times. To this day, I'm glad the three of us didn't locate the trailhead for Old Rag Mountain on our first try, since we were not really prepared for a hike with rock climbing as challenging as that legendary Virginia trail. We dreamed of that hike, however pausing on the Skyline Drive and sighting the familiar ragged peak. McKendree was about seven and would point with determination and assurance to Old Rag. Somehow, it was appropriate that Joe would take us on that hike early in our relationship in spite of the chilly February sleet. The accomplishment of that hike was rewarded - as usual - by a feast, this one at Graves Mountain Lodge and a roaring fire.

Conclusion

There is not much I can do for you, Kent, except remember you are in the city jail for what seems to be an extremely punitive amount of time. It will be hot and miserable there this summer with short tempers, too many odors and undoubtedly some mentally challenged inmates. Many if not most have ever experience the exhilarating beauty and peace of the woods and mountain of our home state.
When I have to go to "my happy place" it's a hillside in Banner Elk covered with wild wintergreen and sassafras (which Granddaddy taught me to identify and sample) and the sweetest moist smell which I associate with a place we called Fairyland. The fairies were creekside dragonflies and to this day I would happily be reincarnated as one. A blue one, please. What other creature can fly and have sex at the same time?