What did she do?! And why are you being so mean?!!!

I am back in Asheville at Wilson's, camping along the French Broad River, according to our paddled host, the third oldest river on Earth. The Asheville Outdoor Center (AOC) offers a wonderful 7 mile trip from upriver just beyond the Blue Ridge Parkway back to their headquarters adjacent to Wilson's. Weather has thwarted my paddling ambitions the past two trips here and I booked this weekend specifically to paddle before they close for the season November 1. Caroline could not camp with me but she drove over for an afternoon trip and brought picture perfect weather with her.

Much of the trip passes through the Biltmore Estate. This is the view of Biltmore House from the river (Photos today courtesy of Caroline, I was too sorry to carry a camera. Did I say "bushed"?!) There is a road running through the estate along the river and we saw many bicyclists, horses with riders and pedestrians on the road.

We paddled past the elegant new hotel beside the Biltmore winery. There was also a pasture full of horse trailers gathered for a sizeable equestrian event. So the estate was busy and full of tourists, but the river itself was remarkably quiet. We put in with a group of 14 and without much effort, left the group sustantially behind. Except for an occasional sound from shore we felt like we had the river entirely to ourselves.

I am sad to report we saw very little wildlife. And the drought has left the trees turning brown rather than colorful. The amazing thing we did see was this cherry picker parked on the I 40 bridge lowering inspectors under the overpass. I had never seen this equipment used this way and prayed the operator had the truck securely braced.

Caroline has a birthday before I will see her again so we ended the day at this GREAT Mexican place to celebrate. I will definitely be back to visit Papa's again.

And the title to this post? The first time I mentioned on Facebook that my kids and I had just paddled the French Broad, the incorrigible Tom Edwards made that reply. He can tease all he wants to, I plan to do it again...

Damp Yankee

The Central Carolina Paddlers took their annual Fall campout (after hearing about my great experience this Spring) at Fairystone Park near Stuart, VA. Elizabeth, Pat, Shannon and I were joined by my son Ben and his friend, Sydney. Ben and Sydney tented with me in the campground. Pat, Shannon and Elizabeth took a charming waterfront cottage with this fabulous view.

The park was created in 1936. This cabin and several others are original park buildings. I had never seen his vertical log treatment used for cabin walls before. Heavy handwrought door hinges and latches added to the charm. Despite its age, it was comfortably appointed with a fireplace insert and cozy kitchen. Newer cabins are available as well along with round canvas yurts.

It took us all a while to gather Friday night so we put a pot of chili on and sat around a blazing fire until the last arrived. On Saturday, when the morning got warm, we put in on Fairystone Lake and took off exploring.

The weather was perfect, cool and bright with a light breeze. We explored Goblintown Creek and spotted the Civil War iron furnace. We paddled the length of the lake, checking out coves Caroline and I missed the first time. Shortly before nearing the dam we caught sight of the rental cabin. We were ready for lunch when we finally got back to the cabin.

The plan was to put in at the Bowen's Creek boat ramp on Philpott Reservoir and look for the waterfall we'd seen in the Spring. So we loaded up boats and headed up Rt 57 towards Bassett. When we arrived, the boat ramp was closed for the season but the campground host there directed us to the Goose Point ramp back towards the park.

Goose Point was a trek back in the woods. Philpott is a huge lake, fingering like a tree into numerous inlets that were previously mountain coves. When we finally arrived, a light rain was falling. Not to be deterred after the effort getting there, we donned rain jackets and put in.

We paddled over two hours between bouts of light rain and drizzle. The weather was pleasantly warm and we were all appropriately dressed so we were not uncomfortable. And it was evident from the deep drop in the shoreline that southern Virginia really needed the rain. The exposed lake bed revealed vertical rock formations that split into thin layers. Ben and Shannon paddled close enough to pick up some of the flat stones and entertained us by skipping them.

The mountains get dark quickly, especially with cloud cover, so we headed back around four. We loaded up in the dry but rain fell in earnest by the time we were back at the cabin. We set up a small grill under the eaves and grilled burgers, told stories and browned a few marshmallows in the last of the coals with rain dripping around us. At this point, we were all damp and tired and ready for bed.

Our last act on Sunday was hunting for Fairystones. The rain that left us cold and damp for bed the night before was revealing treasures for us to find the next morning. Caroline and I found only a few poor examples in the Spring. This visit, everyone went home with pockets full. Elizabeth had studied and worked as a geologist. Sydney is an avid arrowhead hound, so those two had particular fun, but none of us were disappointed.

Afterwards, we gathered at the campground for lunch and then headed home. The rain held off until we were on the road though I drove home in it most of the way. The blinding stuff had the good grace to wait until I was in the house--giving me the perfect excuse for a nap before unloading.

Upgrade is a four letter word

I taught computer classes in my last position, including developing a class for the then new Windows 10 operating system. I don't mean this to become a rant about technology but it probably is. Microsoft gave Windows 10 away not as penance for the Windows 8 disaster, but because they realized they could make more money selling profiles of user behavior to advertisers than they could selling operating systems. Windows 10 is loaded with spyware. It forces updates on users, including a recent one that crashed my video card at work and it has other obnoxious habits that offend my rebel nature. I really dislike the idea of my belongings tracking me to make money for someone else. And I refuse to have my life defined by the word "consumer". My response has been to learn to use Linux and to replace my aging home computer with one preloaded with the open source Linux Mint operating system. I use the Opera browser with a built in ad blocker and the Duck Duck Go search engine which does not track my activity. I am certainly not totally off the grid but I am grateful to be able to exercise some choice.

So you would think I might be wary of upgrading my rv frig (or "refer" as the service manager calls it in his emails. Somehow that word is a little to close to the word "reefer" for comfort and I am sticking with "frig"...). Anyway, I would love to take an extended trip next year and fell in love with the idea of having a frig that would run on DC power while I am on the road. The original--and now 15 year old-- frig runs on 110v AC or propane but does not have the DC option, possibly allowing food to warm on long days of driving. Or it just might fail from age.

So I called a major rv repair shop near Greensboro and asked for an estimate. The Scamp is a peculiar beast and I presumed this shop would have the experience to to do the job right. And maybe they do, but this job has become a painful comedy of errors.

The "comedy" started when they called Dometic with the model number of my old frig and asked for the best 3-way replacement. When the new (and expensive) unit arrived, I drove LibraryAnn to their shop and left her there for the three days required for installation and testing. A week and a half later, I was able to pick her up--with the door installed backwards, the trailer full of sawdust and the cost a third more than the original estimate. The replacement frig was two inches taller than the previous frig and major alterations (which I did approve over the phone) were required. I waited while they reversed the door, paid the bill, went home an cleaned the camper, and the frig did not work. Oh, and the front door panel fell off.

The next trip involved leaving her to have heavier wiring to the frig installed and some damaged trim repaired. Picked her up to camp. Trim not fully repaired. Frig does not work. Door still falls off. Took her back again--AFTER emailing the general manager. The camper has now been fully cleaned, more trim repaired. Door still not fixed as they finally did the testing they should have done to begin with and the cooling unit is defective and they will do a permanent fix on the door when they install the replacement part. The four letter word today is "Grrr".

To be continued.

Mary Oliver

I spent the last weekend in September back in Cheraw with Ruthie, my son Ben, and Ben's friend, Sydney. Earlier in the week, another friend had sent me a poem by Mary Oliver, At the River Clarion. It begins:

I don't know who God is exactly.
But I'll tell you this.
I was sitting by the river named Clarion, on a water splashed stone
and all afternoon I listened to the voices of the river talking.
Whenever the water struck a stone it had something to say,
and the water itself, and even the mosses trailing under the water.
And slowly, very slowly, it became clear to me what they were saying.
Said the river, I am part of holiness.
And I too, said the stone. And I too, whispered the moss beneath the water.

That weekend the four of us were sitting on the lake named Juniper in a cathedral of cypress trees experiencing part of holiness.

This is my third trip to Cheraw, I made the camp reservation to share this place with one or both of my children. Ben was the only one free to come. But Ruthie is like a sister. Sydney is like a daughter. Maybe it was the sacredness

of being in the dual presence of beauty and love. Maybe the beauty alone was enough. All weekend the lake was windy, to the point of being work to navigate home. But once we entered the cypress, the air stilled and the light softened. We paddled in the reverent silence of a Quaker meeting, watchful, expectant, listening.

We did see pitcher plants, we saw the osprey nest, we saw that crazy sign posted in the lake's middle, and we toured the beautifully preserved buildings in town. But it was the presence of what we could not see that marked this trip and will bring us back to the water again.

No man steps in the same river twice

The ancient Persian philosopher, Heraclitus, said that no man steps in the same river twice. Traveling back to Morrow Mountain with my soil scientist friend, Caroline, made it a whole new park. We had a lovely time camping and paddling from the park across Lake Tillery and up the Uwharrie River as I have done often before. We saw the new fishing platform constructed in the National Forest section of river, visited the waterfall/dam Sydney showed us on our last trip, hiked the loop trail at the mountain's top. Caroline's soils interest took us on a new trail through the

quarry that the CCC used to build the beautiful rock buildings for the park. And we explored the nature museum full of the area's natural history.

In addition to the great natural beauty and fine companionship I always find here, there were a couple of events that made this trip special. The first was meeting a fisherman using hand paddles in this wonderful handmade boat designed by his uncle just for river fishing and scooting into areas otherwise inaccessible. He had a wet well under the seat, a place for his poles and a cooler for lunch. And lots of happy

family memories, a few of which he shared.

Paddling back we saw a heron perched on a boat house, clearly feeling at home.

But the highlight of the trip was Caroline's conversation with the ranger about the two kinds of rock left from the earliest volcanic activity. The Uwharries are left from the splitting of

continents. They were originally 20,000' high. Now they top out at less than 1000, they are really that ancient. Standing in the quarry with shale leaning at every angle, you could imagine the rock buckling at cooling after enormous geological force. But a different, equally fractious rock tops the mountain. Caroline kept commenting on the shards that covered the mountain and littered the mountain top path. She wondered if it had been trucked in to prevent erosion, there was so much of it. The ranger told us the early Native Americans came from all over the east coast for this rock to make arrowheads and spears. The litter we saw was the remnants chipped away from tool-making over thousands of years of human activity. Did I say "humbling"?

Ben and Sydney joined us Sunday for lunch before paddling Falls Lake nearby. We opted for home and rest before the work week with a promise to explore Falls Lake our next trip.

An Almost Eclipse

Ruthie has a Minnie Winnie and our friends Duane and Carol have a Class B. Back in April, Ruthie said, "I just made my reservation at Smokmont for the weekend of September 18. I am meeting Carol and Duane there to see the eclipse. You should come too!" At first I was reluctant as Smokemont has no hookups. It is in the heart of the Great Smoky Mountains National Park and never having boondocked, I wasn't sure I and my equipment were ready. But these are three of my favorite people, so a reservation I made. For the weekend. Sigh. I did't realize until too late that the  eclipse was scheduled for a Monday and I would be at work.

I missed seeing the eclipse there but would not have missed the trip for the world. The state is building a new bypass around Asheboro with a connector to the zoo. Ordinarily I am dismayed when the DOT removes trees for road widening but as I pulled out of town on US64 I was stunned by the beauty of the vistas opened by the road work. Greg and I had always talked of living in the mountains and as I took in the new views, I realized that I did live in the mountsins. The Uwharries, because of their extraordinary age are not tall, but they are rolling and wooded and very beautuful.

As the scenery brought Greg to mind, I was filled with happy memories of trips with him and the children to the Smokies, up this road past places fond and familiar. I have not enjoyed that kind of peace and contentment in a very long time. And it remained with me the entire trip.

Ruthie is great company and Smokemont is full of lovely places to walk. She is

also interested in mushrooms. The Smokies are famous for their biodiversity, particularly mushrooms. Her interest and knowledge made the hikes even more fun. Later, we drove to Cherokee and saw a young elk grazing on the shoulder of a busy road totally unperturbed by traffic. And we stopped at the park Visitor's Center for some holiday shopping. We ran into Duane there, a pretty amazing coincidence considering all the folks gathered for the eclipse. Carol was not well and hadn't come but we traded hugs and good wishes and proceeded outside to the historic farmstead lovingly preserved for park visitors.

The visitor's center with its restored farmstead was Greg's favorite part of the park. There was a particular corn crib that always caught his eye. Our place at home was covered with old

log buildings he lovingly relocated and restored there. When I sold it, the realtor inventoried 15 structures, none newer than 1925, the house as old as 1816. I urged him to take photos of the corn crib and years later he was able to reconstruct a copy of the graceful little crib made with old logs from a nondescript crib he'd gotten north of Pittsboro.

I headed home on Sunday and while I didn't see the eclipse from the Smokies, I did have a great time observing it at the library where I work. An older African American man asked if he could borrow my eclipse glasses as we stood among a gaggle of home-schoolers in the library parking lot. The atmosphere was festive and we chatted away between glimpses of the changing sun. At one point, a passing acquaintance asked if he had a cigarette. The man was thoughtful and said he hadn't smoked in years, couldn't remember the last time he had smoked. Then he said he did remember his last cigarette. He said he smoked the last one the day Reagan was elected. He looked at me with great solemnity and said, "I didn't think I'd survive Reagan AND cigarettes...". I am not allowed political opinions at work but I have laughed every time I have remembered this.

So I can honestly say I did not have the eclipse weekend I expected. I think this one was better.