The wall, Flat Rock
September 16, 2009

I’ve finally hit my wall, that point at which changes must be made. At all times in my younger past, I have ignored the wall and proceeded to push myself whether it was absolutely necessary or not. Of course there are times when the situation warrants that extreme effort, but I did not previously recognize the difference, struggling to forge ahead simply because I could.

Well, I still can; however, I like to think that maturity has lent me a modicum of wisdom - knowledge that says to pay attention to my needs. Good ol’ maturity - it’s gotta be good for something.

In this case, my wall is that point that tells me to hit Chris over the head with the idea that we can’t live on the run every single day just because we are in the travel trailer. I have made a declaration: I require two days off every week in order to do life things, activities like writing, communicating with friends, dealing with paperwork, mail and other obligations, perhaps even something so decadent as sitting on the porch with my feet up - book in hand and iced tea at my side.

In Chris’ defense, he points out that it is I who never wants to turn back on that dirt road, who always wants to see around the next bend or over the next rise, who doesn’t want to miss one minute of one adventure. So we see that I am most likely asking him to apply my brakes. We shall see how this wall thing pans out.

We arrived at the Lakewood RV Resort in Flat Rock Friday afternoon. This is the same place we stayed last year when we visited Mom and Dad. Their home in Tryon is about 20 miles away, but this is the closest place to hook up the Totee. We like it very well, probably one of the nicest places we’ve stayed although the spaces are fairly small. They have a great swimming pool, large community room with piano and kitchen, pond and many amenities. They are also home to many full-timers in lovely accommodations, including a couple from Prescott and others with ties there.

Chimney Rock, John Mason

I’m writing as we are driving to Chimney Rock Park in hopes of watching the hawk migration. This has led us through the most attractive and inviting canyons and valleys I believe I have ever seen. Just passed through the village of Bat Cave and driving along the bottom of the rocky Broad River gorge with the river tumbling over its obstructed bed alongside us, canyon walls reaching far above. We have passed numerous farm stands, the primary produce being apples and something called mountain cabbage, which I suspect is no different than plain ol’ run of the mill cabbage. We shall avail ourselves of this luscious looking produce in the next day or so.

Now back home, I have spent the entire day exclaiming and pointing and carrying on something fiercesome. It was just that kind of place - the drive and hikes were stupendous. I loved the Hickory Nut Gorge, the mixed hardwood forest filled to brimming everywhere I looked with a great variety of skyscraper trees, none of which I recognize, and with thick understory foliage. flowers, ferns and all manner of greenery, again none of which I know.

At Chimney Rock, we entered a 198-foot tunnel drilled through solid rock to access an elevator. That conveyance took us up 258 feet, where we were able to walk out onto the top of Chimney Rock, and to see for endless miles through the blue mists, and down onto Lake Lure.

Naturally, it would never do that we stop at that, so we climbed 352 billion or so steps to get up to the newly opened Exclamation Point. Never in the entire time did we see a sign of a hawk migration, nor did we see any birds except one hummingbird and three vultures. It’s funny how this works, but after climbing those steps, we were required to descend in the same manner. By the time we were back to the bottom step, my leg muscles were dancing an odd little quiver that said “Don’t ever do that to me again.” I hope to heed that message.

Outside the gift shop atop the Rock we found a feller by the name of John Mason who is an accomplished player of the hammer dulcimer in addition to being an entertaining conversationalist. He uttered the best line of the day while we were discussing an oversized raccoon that lives at the site and is made large by tourists’ offering. The animal, by the way, he calls King Coon. Trying to pet a raccoon, John opined, would be akin to “arm wrestling with a circle saw.” We enjoyed his music well enough to purchase one of his cds.

When John learned that we hailed from Arizona, he recounted a memory from his only trip to our great state. Arriving in Yuma (sometimes the hottest spot in the nation) in July, he phoned his father to let him know how the trip was proceeding. Discussing of course the temperature, he said, “But Daddy, it’s a dry heat.” The elder Mason was unimpressed when he pointed out “Son, your mama cooks our Sunday chicken in a dry heat.”

Hickory Nut Falls

Eventually, we tore ourselves away from his witty repartee to retrace our steps down the elevator, out the tunnel and while unconscious from a knock on the head, found ourselves doing yet another hike. I know we must have been unconscious, else why would we have begun that trek. This time, it was a mile-and-a-half walk to the base of Hickory Nut Falls. The trail wound along the base of house-size boulders through shady forest to a gigantic rocky rubble partway down the nearly vertical gorge. Water was flowing down a solid rock face and then splashing over a rougher surface. We were much too close to get a photo of the entire 405-foot fall.

The trail was not a busy one, but one foursome we met said they had just seen a copperhead snake on the path where we were headed. I have never seen one, so hoped to get a glimpse, but never did.

Lake Lure

Legs still atremble, we let the Toter transport us down the road to Lure - the lake and the town - both of which I found completely enchanting. We dismounted and wandered an extensive lovely park that winds along two different fingers of the lake, and at its farthest point looks out on the larger lake proper.

A gaggle of geese walking the trail in front of us opted to take to the water and glided along looking for all the world like a little flotilla of surfaced submarines periscope up. We also got a wood duck, the first of the trip and after much discussion realized that other oddities we were seeing were female wood ducks, the first we have identified.

I had hopes of taking Mom and Dad out on the lake in a rented pontoon boat or on a guided tour; however, the cost and logistics make it impossible.

This is where I want my vacation home - right on the lake with a private dock. I saw the real me when I spotted a couple lounging on their waterside dock.

Mom & Dad

We’ve had wonderful visiting and expect to enjoy more. Chris played golf with Dad one day while I attended Mom’s Presbyterian women meeting and discussion group. We went to church with them on Sunday, after which fine dining included fare from Wendy’s. We’ve eaten at their house and they’ve eaten at ours. It’s been fun seeing some of their friends that we’ve gotten to know and meeting new ones. There is a wonderful circle of folks here that they have become close to and worked with in their multitude of activities.

The big news was that yesterday Dad received notice that he’s been chosen for the highest governor’s award for volunteerism. I shot some photos of him to submit to the newspaper for the announcement. Truthfully, I can’t imagine anyone more deserving. We are anxiously awaiting further information about it. I just got an email from the woman to whom I sent the photos who said the presentation will most likely be in November, so I guess we’ll miss it, much to my disappointment.

Chris and I wandered a cute “tailgate market”, a farmers’ market sort of affair. While there, I saw a sign informing that Bill Williams was born very near there in 1787. This is our very own mountain man Bill Williams who spent time in northern Arizona and who the mountain we see from our house, and the town near there, are named after.

Luckily, I cannot now remember all we’ve done since we’ve been here, so I can cut this shorter than if I had a better recall.

Best sign of the day: A person who aims at nothing is sure to hit it.