The Appalachian Trail is the grandaddy of a hiking marathon

Other parts of the world have long had their pilgrimages, but in the United States, when it comes to doing that on foot rather than by car, I’d say the Appalachian Trail tops the list.

The public pathway was conceived in 1921, built by private citizens, and competed in 1937. It officially became the Appalachian National Scenic Trail in 1968.

Here are some other perspectives.

  1. Length: Almost 2,200 miles involving 14 states from Georgia to Maine. Parts of the path get rerouted over time, a consequence of urban development pressures, loss of access across private lands, or other factors. It’s touted as the longest hiker-only trail in the world. Pack animals and wheeled things are shunted to other options.
  2. Heavenly heights: The trail ascends many of the tallest peaks in the Appalachian Mountain system, including the Great Smokeys of North Carolina and Tennessee, the Green Mountains of Vermont, the Presidentials of New Hampshire, and Maine’s Longfellows, many of them rising above the tree line. Most of the trail is forests or other wildlands, although some sections, especially in the valleys, pass farmlands, follow roadways, cross bridges, or run into small towns.
  3. Backpackers: Sections traversing roadways often have trailheads that give day hikers or overnighters access for short treks, the AT is celebrated for its backpackers, carrying all of their food, clothing, and gear and camping each night somewhere in the wilds. Some, like my Boy Scout troop when I was 12, venture out for a week or two, but the truly serious folks are the ones who trek from one end to the other in a single season. They’re known as thru-hikers, and those who return to hike the AT from the other direction the next year are considered a “yo-yo.” An estimated 3,000 people set out each year to hike the entire length, with a fourth of them actually succeeding. In 2017, 715 northbound and 133 southbound thru-hikers were recorded.
  4. Weather factors: Winter weather in effect shuts down many sections of the AT, at least for thru-hikers. Since the weather warms earlier in Georgia than in Maine is the reason most of the thru-hikers start at the south end and head north, hoping the snow and ice have melted from northern New England sections by the time they arrive that far. Some veterans argue that the trail is easier in that direction, too.
  5. Self-discovery: As one gets a distance away from a road or peopled location, the terrain becomes more pristine. There’s less litter and debris and less noise, too. The hiker encounters not only nature, on gorgeous days and raw ones, but also personal challenges and inner resources.
  6. Dedicated organization: The AT is maintained by 31 trail clubs of volunteers and other partnerships and managed jointly by the National Park Service, U.S. Forest Service, and nonprofit Appalachian Trail Conservancy.
  7. Angels along the way: Thru-hikers tell of remarkable locals who routinely come to the aid of the travelers. Need a bath or shower? A lift into town for groceries? A phone call, back in the day before cell phones? (Maybe today that’s a recharge?) They’re there.
  8. Memories: Many of the experiences are unforgettable. The scenery, especially. But there can also be downsides: Rattlesnakes, copperheads, bears, as well as ticks, mosquitoes, and black flies. Or some brutal weather, even in the height of summer.
  9. Mostly protected now: Passage of the National Trails System Act of 1968 allowed the Park System to purchase most of the lands still in private hands, assuring the AT of a permanent route.
  10. It’s not necessarily free: Portions of the trail require payment for backcountry permits or park entry as well as for shelters and campsites. Otherwise, access it free. Your gear, foodstuffs, and getting there are, of course, expenses to consider.  

 The AT is no longer the only long trail system in America, but it’s still the oldest. To achieve its length combined with Continental Divide Trail (2,700 to 3,150 miles, depending) and Pacific Crest Trail (2,653 miles) is considered the Triple Crown of Hiking in the United States.

This month only, FREE! At Smashwords

Here’s your chance to get two of my most recent ebooks free, thanks to Smashword.com’s annual summer sales sweep.

Light Seed Truth is an original examination of ways we use metaphor to think about things that aren’t things or even energy – and that leads to many no-things that are intensely passionate for you or me or the people around us.

Also free this month is Trumpet of the Coming Storm,  a set of polemic poems I simply had to get off my chest.

In addition, I’m offering two other ebooks at half-price: Quaking Dover, a contrarian history of New England, and my playful Hamlet: A Village of Gargoyles poems collection.

To get you own copies, go to my Jnana Hodson author page at Smashwords.

Acid test translator and poet: Jerome Rothenberg (1931- )

My encounter with Technicians of the Sacred: A range of poems from Africa, America, Asia, and Oceana came about the same time I was taking up yoga in the early ‘70s. This sampler of so-called primitive peoples had a freshness I found stunning. Many of the translations were fragmentary, giving the sense of having just been excavated from an archeological dig. Others reflected my sense of discovery arising from the practice of meditation. These were unlike any poems I had previously encountered, and they altered my writing direction.

Thus, I was immersed in what he called deep image and ethnopoetics before I’d ever heard the terms.

I know it’s not his only book in my library, and I am anticipating looking for the others when we move many of our goods out of storage.

At this point, not quite as scheduled

When it comes to the past few months on the house renovation, there hasn’t been much to show.

Our contractor has been trying to align the removal of the front half of the upstairs to some favorable (meaning dry) weather, and that has been tricky. Plus, he has to line up a crew to participate in the most labor-intensive steps.

The electrical work has been continuing details, ultimately leading to rewiring about everything, including the discovery that the house was not grounded – period. Well, that’s been fixed, and a temporary strip for the main line coming into the house has been installed in preparation for the removal of the front roofline itself.

Then there was some work for other clients, including a new metal roof for the neighbor who recommended him to us. We can’t begrudge him that. A few other jobs were essentially trades in time with the carpenter who has been assisting him here in the bigger stuff. You know, I help you on your projects and then you help me on mine. That makes sense, too.

Oh, yes, and he really did get a well-earned week of family vacation in South Carolina.

Now the scaffolding is in place around the front of the house, gutters have been removed, and other obstacles are cleared away. But the demolition phase had to be delayed a couple of weeks when he discovered that all the dumpsters around here have been reserved nearly a year for the vendors and related events at Eastport’s big Fourth of July and homecoming week festival. We are expecting the dumpster on the fifth or sixth or even the following Monday.

Well, that hiccup did create an opening to remove the rickety ramp and accompanying deck at our back door and to start an enlarged new deck and stairs there. Again, not much to show at the moment unless you want the beginning of a step-by-step instruction manual.

The plumber, meanwhile, has been off in Indiana supervising the piping installation in a new lithium factory. He’s back in town and promises to be on our project next week, to our big relief.

Still, it’s hard to believe we’re 30 weeks into this venture.

Somehow that rainbow seen through the scaffolding at the front of the house feels appropriate.

 

Small-town festivities reminder

Eastport’s big homecoming week and Fourth of July celebrations are just ahead. We face a long list of events.

The annual all-ages cod relay race, using salmon, is zany fun.

And people turn out for parades.

We don’t know if it really is the world’s largest or even legal, it’s still a good gag.

As well as a few surprises.

The DLQ adds up

The Q in my DLQ acronym doesn’t stand for Quaker, though it’s not that far off, either. Instead, it’s from Dedicated Laborious Quest, a concept I constructed from Gary Snyder’s Real Work, or life mission. It usually differs from daily employment or a career. Maybe the middle term should have been “labor-intense” or “labor-filled,” we can discuss the subtleties later.

As poet Donald Hall pointed out in his memoir Life Work, our labor falls into three categories: jobs, which we do to earn money; chores, necessary tasks that pay nothing; and work, which can be energizing. In his own case, he realized that when your work coincides with a job, life’s good. For most of us, work is a money-losing activity. More of his thinking along those lines could be found in the Talking Money category at my Chicken Farmer I Still Love You blog.

In one draft of what would become my novel Nearly Canaan, DLQ was the core of Jaya or her earlier figure’s life, a blend of yoga spirituality (only at that point it was Sufi), an arts engagement, and the altruism of her career. It also came to reflect Kenzie’s journey in the hippie stories, though not so overtly.

It may even be an expression of an individual’s magnetic center in the esoteric philosophy of P.D. Ouspensky. If I interpret this correctly, you have to have something you do with a sustained passion, such as an art or a sport, something that requires daily practice and discipline. Without that foundation, you cannot advance spiritually. Checking up on that, I’m seeing a whole literature on magnetic center in mechanical physics, making me wonder if it’s applicable to Ouspensky’s metaphor, if at all.

This goal isn’t for everyone. As the Bhagavad Gita says, only one in a thousand – or maybe one in a million – pursues it, and out of that, only one in a thousand – or a million – arrives at the summit.

Whatever it is, the yogis at the ashram, Kenzie and his Buddhist buddies, and Jaya all craved it.

~*~

The practice of writing is a big part of my own DLQ, but for a long time I felt vaguely guilty about the amount of time I devoted to it, as if it was a selfish endeavor when I should have been doing something more productive or even more worthwhile. Only after the prayer workshop at New England Yearly Meeting of Friends that one summer, when I was told that writing was a spiritual gift I needed to nurture, did I feel the permission to type away as needed.

My job at the time had me on a four-day workweek, which gave me a three-day weekend after a double-shift on Saturday. Following a suggestion from the workshop, I dedicated one day a week, usually Tuesday, to my writing and revision efforts.

It didn’t seem like that much, frankly, but looking back, I now see that added up to ten weeks a year, plus another two or so of my vacations. For perspective, consider how many people manage to draft a full novel in the month of November as part of the NaNoWriMo challenge.

For me, that time was allocated among fiction, poetry, and nonfiction projects – one of them resulted what became the Talking Money series at the Chicken Farmer blog after a book publisher backed away when a potential coauthor with financial counseling creds failed to mesh into the proposal. Submissions and queries also occupied some of that time.

~*~

It was also time taken away from other parts of my life: from my spouse or significant other, family, travel, hiking or camping, physical exercise, service on city council or a school board, friendships. Even reading got slighted.

From another perspective, I could have devoted it to an overtime shift every week, at time-and-a-half pay, which would have more than covered the mortgage.

~*~

What becomes apparent to me in these reflections is that the DLQ was essential for my sanity. My moves across the country and, for a while, up the management ladder, kept uprooting me, leaving much uncompleted in each place or, at a gut level, undigested. Writing was not only a means of recording highlights and depths before I lost them but also of releasing and letting go of self-imposed obligations to my past, freeing me to more openly face the present.