Thursday, July 21, 2016: Home again!

Thursday, July 21, 2016: Home again!

Thursday morning I skipped breakfast and got an early start because I really wanted to make it home. Somewhere in rural central Connecticut a man pulled up beside me at a traffic light and told me my brake light was out. I couldn’t image where I could get it fixed without a long delay. But within a few minutes I passed an auto repair shop that had two motorcycles parked outside. Something gave me the impression that they belonged to employees, rather than customers.  I pulled in and told the man at the desk my problem, and he immediately took sympathy on me and took interest in my motorcycle odyssey. He asked me about my trip as he lay down on the pavement to reach some very awkwardly placed screws I never would have found. He looked up the number of the replacement bulb on his computer, and he had one in stock. He had it all repaired and I was on my way in less than half an hour.

Then it was Route 44 east to Providence, where I got on the Interstate again briefly, and good old Route 6 to Cape Cod.

It was wonderful to be home again. It was a wonderful trip, and I will be processing the lessons learned for years, I am sure. One thing I know is that it is a very good thing to take a few minutes out of your day to suspend your routine and to pause and reflect. It is a good thing to take a few days out of your month to pause and reflect. And it is a good thing to take a few weeks out of your year to pause and reflect.

I also know that I live in a very beautiful country filled with nice, friendly, and helpful people. And, finally, I am deeply grateful for the wonderful life I am living.

Wednesday, July 20, 2016: Pine Grove, Pa., to Brookfield, Conn.

Wednesday, July 20, 2016: Pine Grove, Pa., to Brookfield, Conn.

Wednesday was a hot and sunny day. I headed up U.S. 209 across northeastern Pennsylvania. At one small town in Carbon County  I noticed the two most prominent displays in the front of a convenience store were for Anthracite coal pellets and Hershey’s chocolate—both local products.

I enjoyed riding back up the Delaware Water Gap National Recreation Area and then stopping at the Pennsylvania Welcome Center just before crossing the Delaware River and heading into New York state. New York wins the prize for the worst paving job of the trip. When a parching job leaves a long narrow groove down the middle of a road it does not bother automobile drivers, but it is a deathtrap for motorcyclists. Trying to avoid that groove—in addition to all the other hazards—made that a stressful stretch.

After crossing into Connecticut, I decided to avoid my previous experience getting lost in Danbury by taking to the Interstate highway. It was stressful, but I cruised through Danbury and on up Route 202 to the small town of Brookfield, Conn. I stayed in a funky little motel with an even funkier little Chinese restaurant next door. Any unpleasantness from the motel paled by comparison with the unpleasantness I witnessed watching the Republican National Convention on the motel room television. That made me want to go back to the mountaintop.

Tuesday, July 19, 2016: Four states

Tuesday, July 19, 2016: Four states

I left Skyland at 9 a.m. and soon was heading down the mountain and into the Shenandoah Valley. I found a scenic mountain road to cross Massanuten Mountain and get to Route 11. Once on Route 11, I rode north along the valley through Virginia, West Virginia, Maryland, and into Pennsylvania. In Maryland (my home state), I stopped and asked a county sheriff for directions to find a road that bypassed downtown Hagerstown (where my ancestors settled in the 1750s). He was very helpful.

I was tired when I reached Carlisle, but decided to press on and make it to Pine Grove, where I stayed in a Hampton Inn three weeks ago, when I was forced to take shelter from a thunderstorm. That last stretch included about 20 miles in Interstate 81, which was nerve-wracking, and then a peaceful stretch of back-country mountain roads.

I am ready to be home, but I still have two or three more days of riding to get there.

Monday, July 18, 2019: Shenandoah National Park

Monday, July 18, 2019: Shenandoah National Park

My sadness over leaving Peaks of Otter was softened by a delicious soft and gooey cinnamon roll from the lodge before I got on the road. In the morning, I rode the 80 miles north to the northern end of the Blue Ridge Parkway, which, in total is about 500 miles long. It connects directly to Skyline Drive in Shenandoah National Park, which is about 100 miles long. I saw several more deer, groundhogs, and red-tailed hawks along this northern end of the Parkway.

I have been doing a lot of thinking on this long ride. This road brings a lot of memories of previous trips with my family. I am in a very different situation now, living alone. What will the future old for me? What are my priorities? Where should my focus be?

About 25 miles into my ride up Skyline Drive, I reached the Loft Mountain Wayside, where I had eaten dinner three weeks earlier. I had another delicious grilled cheese and tomato sandwich and a dish of local blackberry ice cream for lunch. I continued north. One difference between the Blue Ridge Parkway and Skyline Drive is that Skyline Drive has a lower speed limit—35 mph, as opposed to 45 mph on the Parkway. There are also more guardrails and stone walls to keep people from careening off the side of the mountain. I never even came close to doing that on the Parkway, but the possibility was there. I got to my planned destination, Big Meadows, around 2:30 and decided to continue on to the northern end of the park and get a motel down in the valley.

But less than 10 miles later a powerful thunderstorm rolled in. First the sky got dark as clouds rolled in, then the wind picked up, making it hard to control the motorcycle. Then there was thunder and lightning. Then heavy rain started pelting me. Fortunately I remembered that a second lodge, Skyland, was just ahead. I saw the turnoff and pulled into the Skyland Lodge parking lot, slipping in among a nest of other motorcycles seeking shelter. A lot of wet people with helmets and boots crowded the lobby, but the desk clerks took care of all of us. The next problem was that Skyland is actually a collection of about a dozen buildings scattered around a mountaintop, so to get to our rooms, we would have to go out into the storm again. So most of us rested in the comfortable lobby, which has a row of rocking chairs facing a picture window. About an hour later the storm passed, and I rode my motorcycle down the hill to my room.

I had some second thoughts about spending the night, since the storm ended so quickly, but I would have been wet and tired, and the roads would be wet and slick. This way I was able to relax in a warm and dry room and get an early start in the morning. I also know from past experience that the dining room here is excellent.

http://www.goshenandoah.com/lodging/skyland

Sunday, July 17, 2016:Beautiful Peaks of Otter

Sunday, July 17, 2016:Beautiful Peaks of Otter

I guess all the fun and festivities at Wildacres left me sleep deprived. I slept around the clock at the Blue Ridge Motel in Meadows of Dan—from 9 p.m. to 9 a.m. It felt great, as did the hot shower. I was only about a mile from the Mabry Mill restaurant, where I try to stop for a meal every time I travel the parkway. I had a short stack of their famous pancakes and still couldn’t finish them. Then I cruised on north on the Parkway toward Peaks of Otter. The deer were everywhere. I saw five deer within one hour in the area around Roanoke Mountain. The last three were a doe and her two fawns. I stopped to let them cross the road, but only the doe and one fawn were brave enough to cross in front of me. The last fawn turned back and hid in the forest. I decided to continue on my way. I assume the doe would go back and tell her baby the coast is clear and it is OK to cross the road. I also saw a little groundhog or gopher popping his head up out of a burrow near the parkway. And I saw a beautiful red-tailed hawk eating some roadkill on the parkway. Another hawk sailed along beside me for a while. I felt like I was flying on my motorcycle.

All this wildlife was surrounded by a sea of green. The oaks, maples, pines, and rhododendrons are all rich shades of green. The shoulders are often rich, lush grass, with occasional riots of wildflowers. Everywhere you look is beauty. From the overlooks, there are distant views of the Shenandoah Valley to the west or the valleys of the Piedmont to the east. A brochure I read on this trip pointed out that when the Parkway opened air travel was extremely rare, and satellite images of the earth were still decades away. Seeing the valleys from the mountaintop gave a perspective few had witnessed.

Sharp Top reflected in Abbott Lake at Peaks of Otter.

I arrived at Peaks of Otter about 1:30. It was earlier than I had wanted to stop, but I had nonrefundable reservations at the lodge, so I decided to stay. I am so glad I did. Sunlight is sparkling off Abbott Lake, red-winged blackbirds are playing in the nearby trees. A man is teaching his grandson how to fish in the lake. Couples are strolling on the path around the lake. It is one of the most beautiful places I have ever seen.

I have so many good memories of running around Abbott Lake that I was inspired to run the Lake Trail again, even though I have not been running all year. It is only about a mile, and I took it real slow, so it was just fine—wonderful, in fact. A few places that used to be a rugged dirt trail have now been paved, so the entire trail is now accessible for people in wheelchairs, and I saw a man in a wheelchair enjoying the trail with his family. It was heartwarming. It also made it easier for me to run.

Later I had a lovely meditation sitting by a tree beside the lake. I also enjoyed lovely walks to dinner and back. I'm so glad I stopped at Peaks of Otter.

 

  

Saturday, July 16, 2016: Leaving Wildacres

Saturday, July 16, 2016: Leaving Wildacres

Elaine Cohoon Miller posted this shot on Facebook with the caption: The motorcycling meditator James Kershner, heading off today after leading us in meditation "between the bells" every morning for two weeks at Wildacres.

We had one last meditation Saturday morning, and then went to breakfast. There were a lot of sad farewells and promises to return next year. I packed up the motorcycle and was on the road by 10 a.m.

By lunchtime, I was at the Northwest Trading Post, a sop mostly devoted to local arts and crafts form Northwest North Carolina. I remember buying my favorite cowboy hat there years ago. This time I was happy to see they had a selection of subs, so I got a turkey and cheese sub for lunch.

 Riding on the Blue Ridge Parkway is amazingly beautiful. Miles and miles of natural surroundings with very little man-made structures in sight.

I had planned to stop and camp at Doughton Park, but it seemed much too early to stop, so I continued on to see if there were any vacancies at the wonderful cabins where I took shelter from the storm on the way down. Unfortunately, they were all full, so I continued on and get a cheap motel room in Meadows of Dan. I had a flashback to a time about 20 years ago when I stopped there with my family. It’s still a funky little Mom and Pop operation, but a perfectly adequate motel.

Friday July 15, 2016: Last class

Friday, July 15, 2016: Last class



My wonderful Wildacres poetry class, with JaniceFuller front and center.

Friday was a bittersweet day, being the last day on the mountain. We had a good morning meditation and agreed to meet again Saturday morning. After breakfast, we had our last poetry workshop with Janice Fuller. It was a wonderful class all week. I learned a lot from reading the poetry of my classmates and from hearing their critiques of my poetry. Our class arranged to eat together at lunch, so the comradery continued.

After lunch I went back to the Guest House and did some laundry and took a shower. I began assembling my belongings for leaving tomorrow. I am really going to miss these mountains. Of course I will have several more days of mountains on the way back.

When I get home, I want to go over all the comments on my poetry and revise some of them. I certainly want to make the change Susan suggested in “Moment.” Them I want to go through all my poetry and pick out the 10 or 20 best for my “Collected Works.” I also want to send a few off to journals to see if I can get anything published.

 

Thursday,July14, Arrrrrrgh

Thursday, July 14, 2016: Arrrrrrrrrgh

Thursday morning, we had a good meditation session, followed by breakfast, and then class.

I took a nap between lunch and dinner to rest up for the big pirate party in the evening. There were pirates of all shapes and sizes. Some folks put on a skit with a panel of pirates playing Wheel of Fortune. Of course the only letter they asked for was, “Arrrrrgh.” The party went on into the night, and I stayed and chatted with friends as long as I could, but I went back to bed before midnight.

Friday, July 15, 2016: Last class

Friday, July 15, 2016: Last class

Friday was a bittersweet day, being the last day on the mountain. We had a good morning meditation and agreed to meet again Saturday morning. After breakfast, we had our last poetry workshop with Janice Fuller. It was a wonderful class all week. I learned a lot from reading the poetry of my classmates and from hearing their critiques of my poetry. Our class arranged to eat together at lunch, so the comradery continued. After lunch I went back to the Guest House and did some laundry and took a shower. I began assembling my belongings for leaving tomorrow. I am really going to miss these mountains. Of course I will have several more days of mountains on the way back.

When I get home, I want to go over all the comments on my poetry and revise some of them. I certainly want to make the change Susan suggested in “Moment.” Them I want to go through all my poetry and pick out the 10 or 20 best for my “Collected Works.” I also want to send a few off to journals to see if I can get anything published.

Saturday night was The Gong Show, a zany variety show of skits, spoofs, parodies and general silly behavior.

Wednesday, July 13, 2016:Paradise

Wednesday, July 13, 2016: Paradise

Another beautiful day in paradise. We had a great group meditation and a good breakfast. All the classes switch times midweek. Ours, for example met in afternoons on Sunday and Monday, skipped Tuesday, and now will meet in the mornings on Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday. Janice Fuller is a master teacher who empowers and validates each of us while imparting pieces of her vast knowledge about poetry. I hope to imitate some of her teaching techniques when I get back into the classroom.

The tomatoes—oh, the tomatoes! Several meals this week have included big, red juicy sliced tomatoes. They are obviously garden fresh, and their flavor is rich and sweet.
The compliments about my reading have continued to come in. My reaction has been interesting. My ego is lapping them up and making me think I am a terrific writer. On the other hand, my inner critic is dismissing all the kind words, thinking, oh they are just being nice and trying to make me feel good. I hope I can come to rest somewhere in the middle.

In the evening, we had more student readings in the auditorium. We really have some very talented writers here. Later that night I sat with a small group in the amphitheater, watching the stars and talking. Later still, I sat in and listened while Luke, Will, Debbie, and Jack played guitars and sang into the wee hours.

Tuesday, July 12, 2016: Free day

Tuesday, July 12, 2016: Free day

Tuesday morning after breakfast I continued my Buddhist-Christian interfaith dialog with Emily from Asheville. We sat on the swing outside the dining hall and talked for about an hour. We talked about David Steindl-Rast. Thich Nhat Hanh, Thomas Merton, Pema Chodron, our own callings, and poetry. It seemed an ideal fulfillment of I.D. Blumenthal’s vision for Wildacres as a place for interfaith dialog.

* * *

I spent some time before lunch doing some freewriting. I just mused about what is important to me. It was great to just let it flow. After lunch I had a nice long walk with a writer named Kathy from Boca Raton, Florida. Then I sat on my porch looking at the mountain and ended up meditating for a long time. Wild acres had a temporary interruption in the water system for the whole retreat center, but somehow they still managed to serve a delicious turkey dinner. In the evening, we had the first of two nights of formal student readings. I signed up to read tonight, and as I write this, I am a little nervous, even though it is a warm and receptive audience.

* * *

And, of course, the readings went beautifully, there were many excellent pieces. People were extremely kind and complimentary about my piece. My favorite was by Patrice, and African-American woman who wrote about saying goodbye to her African-born husband, as he left Wildacres a week before she did. She made the racial situation in America very personal. It was powerful.

 

 

 

 

Tuesday, July 12,2016: Twists and turns

Tuesday, July 12, 2016: Twists and turns.

The other day, when I was in the nearby village of Little Switzerland, I shot this picture of an asphalt diamondback rattlesnake in the parking lot of the Little Switzerland Café. It is located at the top of a famous motorcycle ride up the mountain from Marion to Little Switzerland, Route 226A. I probably won't take the time to ride the rattlesnake this trip, but I have certainly had my fill of similar winding roads.

Tuesday morning after breakfast I continued my Buddhist-Christian interfaith dialog with Emily from Asheville. We sat on the swing outside the dining hall and talked for about an hour. We talked about David Steindl-Rast. Thich Nhat Hanh, Thomas Merton, Pema Chodron, our own callings, and poetry. It seemed an ideal fulfillment of I.D. Blumenthal’s vision for Wildacres as a place for interfaith dialog.

Monday, July 11: Good Vibrations

 Monday, July 11, 2016: Good vibrations

Morning meditation was excellent today. We had about eight people sitting together. One of them is a wonderful woman who practices contemplative prayer and is “unapologetically Christian.” At breakfast we had a delightful talk about the connections between Buddhist and Christian practice. 
Sitting on this mountaintop paradise, I am reminded of how beautiful the world is. I hope I can bring that sense of joy with me when I return to the real world.

Freddy, Jack, Mike, and Luke jamming Monday afternoon.

We had another excellent poetry class, and after that, a group of musicians gathered in a meeting room down the hall. There was Jack and Mike and Freddy and Tim and Luke.  They alternated leading songs, and they were very good.

In the evening, five more faculty members presented readings. I was particularly impressed by a hilarious short story by Tommy Hayes, who teaches at UNC Asheville. Apparently there was a great party that went on until midnight, but I went back to the guest house and went to bed early.

Sunday, July 10, 2016: An American Song

Sunday, July 10, 2016 Sunday morning

Here is the poem I wrote yesterday.

 

 

An American Song

 

Now they’re shooting cops in the street.

It’s got to have been getting worse

I don’t remember this when I was young.

Yes, they shot JFK, but that was bizarre.

We just didn’t have such violence over here.

Except on TV, where the cowboys shot the Indians

And the white hats shot the black hats.

Of course, there have always been shootings

From the Boston Massacre to Wounded Knee.

And Gettysburg and Antietam:

Mass American shootings.

Assassinations in the ’60s were more one-one:

Malcolm X and Medgar Evers,

Martin Luther King, and RFK,

Some guy in a tower in Texas shot a lot of people,

But it was an anomaly, wasn’t it?

We don’t really act like that.

Then the Kent State shootings,

Four Dead in Ohio.

And Jackson State,

where the victims were black.

And it was cops killing students.

Then some nut shot 22 people in a McDonalds.

You want fries with your mass murder?

Over 10 billion served.

There was Columbine in ’99,

students killing other students.

Moments of silence,

our thoughts and our prayers

 

Meanwhile, in the cities,

cops are quietly killing black men

Pulled over for “driving while black.”

Nobody pays much attention;

black lives don’t matter.

Then Virginia Tech scares everyone to death;

The freaky image on the Facebook page.

How many likes for mowing down classmates

Then it seemed to be everywhere.

Breaking news; broken lives.

Gabby Giffords seemed so nice.

Sandy Hook made it all the worse:

Little children shot in school.

Now we teach them to shelter in place

in the safe zone away from the windows.

Like duck and cover drills in the Cold War.

Then more black men are killed by white cops:

What’s going in here?

Michael Brown and Eric Garner,

Walter Scott and Freddy Gray, and …

 

Oh my God, what’s happening now?

They’re shooting folks in a famous black church.

More black lives; what’s the matter?

How can you shoot people when they are praying?

Then Orlando took us over the top.

Fifty Pulses ceasing to beat

How can you kill people while they are dancing?

Blood spills all over their rainbow flag.

When is it terrorism? When is it a hate crime?

When is enough enough?

When is it just plain crazy?

When is it just the norm?

Films about Rambo, superheroes and super-killers

First-person shooter video games

Then these videos start going viral

More white cops killing more black men

It’s on video again and again.

Outrage explodes into marches

Demonstrations explode into gunfire

A lone sniper mows down five cops

who were trying to keep the peace.

Now that they’re killing cops in the streets,

Where do we go from here?

 

--James W. Kershner, Wildacres, July 1016

 

 



The inspiring view from the Guest House at Wildacres.

 

Sunday morning was terrific. We had tem people at meditation—double our previous level. At breakfast I sat beside Jack McGregor, who asked me all about my motorcycle trip. Jack is a longtime Wildacres regular, but this was my first extended conversation with him. What a nice guy!

After breakfast I went to the lodge, where there is a limited Internet connection, and updated my blog. I also took the time to reread the poems we will be discussing in class this afternoon.

The afternoon poetry class led by Janice Fuller was stimulating. We talked about our favorite poems by other poets and why we liked them, and then we critiques one poem by each student in the class. Mostly we identified those special passages when the phrases sing or shine with beauty. I got some good feedback on my poem about phragmites. It is more universal than I thought.

 

 

 

Saturday, July 9, 1016: Changeover Day

 

Saturday, July 9, 2016: Changeover Day:

Today was the end of the Wildacres Writers’ Retreat and the beginning of the Wildacres Writers Workshop. They ask that we vacate our rooms so that they can be cleaned. So I went to Little Switzerland, the quaint little village with the great bookstore and café. After I finished a great chai tea latte at Beans and Books, I saw that the cable connecting my cell phone to the battery on my motorcycle was not functioning properly. That’s not a problem while I am at Wildacres. I can just plug the phone in beside my bed. But I may be camping on the way home, so I rode the 10 to 12 miles into Wal-Mart to get a new charger cable. Returning to Wildacres, I had to endure the mile or so of rough gravel road. That short stretch has been the least favorite part of the trip for me. The road is so rutted that I feel I’m going to drop the bike at any minute.

After dinner, we had an orientation meeting with the new larger group. About 60 new writers and six instructors joined us, so there are now more than 100 of us for the workshop week. We also had a first, brief meeting of the classes. I am looking forward to the class. The first regular class is Sunday afternoon.

In the afternoon, I wrote a poem. It is a reaction to this week’s news, so I am sure it is a little raw. Still, I like it. I’ll see how I feel in the morning.

Friday, July 8,2016: Finished MyBook

 Friday, July 8, 2016 Finished My Book

After meditation and breakfast, I went straight back to my writing desk in the Guest House, and finished what I set out to do. There wasn’t all that much writing. I had already finished writing the book four years ago, when I first came to Wildacres. Since then I had tried to rewrite it twice. This week, my goal was to assemble all the parts beck into a coherent format. I think I have done that. By lunchtime today I had completed one final read-through, and then I made a copy, saved it to my hard-drive and to a thumb drive memory stick, and I also emailed a copy to myself.

After lunch, I took a pleasant walk around the Mountaintop Trail with Katie and then returned to finish my homework for next week’s poetry class. We have to critique six poems from each of our nine classmates. I am having a lot of trouble figuring out what to say about one of my classmate’s poetry .Celisa’s poems are so beautiful, so perfect, so exquisite that I am reduced to writing banal comments like ”Wow!” Everyone’s work is good, but hers is so exceptional that I just feel inadequate to critique it.

I also took time to take a shower and do some laundry, which always makes me feel better. I wish a poem would come to me, but it ain’t happening!

After dinner, Will broke out his guitar and did a few songs. He is very talented and I enjoyed the music. It reminds me of days in the '60s, hanging out with folksingers.

Thursday, July 7, 2016: It's all about the book

Thursday, July 7: It’s all about the book

After meditation and breakfast, I was at my laptop, working on the book solidly from 9 to 12:30. I got all the content copied into new files reflecting the new organization. After lunch I made a mid-course correction and broke out two new sections, so it will be a book in six parts, rather than four.

By 3:30 I had organized all that. I think I’ll need to read through the entire thing in one sweep tomorrow (Friday). I am amazed at how much progress I made.

At about 5:30, after a walk, I decided to join the group of writers on the porch. There were about 20, and most were drinking wine and chatting happily, but between my hearing loss and the correction made by my hearing aids, I couldn’t understand a word.

So I returned to the lobby area, which was silent, and wrote a poem about my hearing problem. Its just a sillylittle poem, but I liked it enough to read at the evening readings after dinner.

Say what?

I can’t decode the cocktail party banter
hubbity hub bub, hubbity hub.
Can they even understand each other?
cackle-cackle, haw haw, he he he
What’s the joke? Should I laugh along?
mumbly, mumbly, mumbly-peg
How much of the world passes me by, misunderstood?
huh? huh? Pardon me, something-or-other, wha’d he say?
I guess it doesn’t matter, anyway.

--James W. Kershner, Wildacres, July 2016

The lobby, where we have the evening readings, is a very large room—about 40-by-60—with glass walls framed by oak woodwork on three sides. There is a huge stone fireplace and leather furniture reminiscent of a Victorian Library. Everyone is very supportive in the readings.

Thanks to Elaine Cahoon Miller for this panoramic photo of the evening readings in the lobby.

 

Wednesday, July 6, 2016: Poetry homework

 

Wednesday. July 6, 2016: Homework

Frustrated by lack of vision on my memoir, I decided to do the homework for next week’s poetry class with Janice Fuller. She asked us to read a long essay by poet Tony Hoagland titled “On Disproportion.” He discusses the difference between poems that lean toward “well-wrought” and “shapely, as opposed to those more “admirably lopsided, zany and subversive.” (I love thinking of the word “subversive” in terms of “verse.” What lies beneath the verse?)

Hoagland refers to poet Susan Mitchell’s book Rapture, and its tension between “Mitchell’s desire to be consumed by experience and the guarded indifference required by life in the material world.”

It is that “desire to be consumed by experience” that seems to be motivating me in my need to go off on adventures, to ride my motorcycle alone for 2,000 miles and to jump into an icy mountain waterfall.

The next essay was “Four Temperaments and the Forms of Poetry” by Greg Orr. He concludes that, “the goal will always be to have all four temperaments [story, structure, music, imagination] present, though some will arrive as guests and others must be learned and labored for.”

A third essay, “Writing Off the Subject,” by Richard Hugs urges poets to let go of the triggering subject of a poem and let the music of the words take over.

(About the book: I was thrilled to come up with my new organizational structure, but when I got around to cutting and pasting words, it felt like rearranging deck chairs on the Titanic. But I feel now like I really must complete that process and see how the whole thing turns out. I might be pleasantly surprised. I ended up copying a list of chapters from version 2 and listing where each part should go in my newest, which I’ll call version 4.)

In the evening I read the invocation I had written for the interfaith service after Orlando. I added in references to Zimbabwe and Nepal, and the next morning, the man from Zimbabwe and the man from Nepal both thanked me.

Later, Will and I sat on the porch of the guest house and watched a beautiful lightning storm.

Tuesday, July 5, 2016: Crabtree falls

 

Tuesday, July 5, 2016: Crabtree Falls

The same five showed up for meditation this morning. After breakfast I worked all morning on my Happiness book. Got a little discouraged, but it’ll be OK.

After lunch Marsha organized a trip to Crabtree Falls. Just as we were about to leave (at 1:30), a severe thunderstorm rolled in. We decided to wait it out and see how things looked at 2:15. When that time came, most of the 12 people who had planned to go decided to try again another day. But by 2:30 things looked more promising, and five of us die-hards decided to go anyway. We all fit in Celisa’s car, so I didn’t bring the motorcycle, after all.

Crabtree Falls.

Standing under Crabtree Falls.

The Crabtree Falls parking area is about five miles down the parkway, and then the hike to the falls is about 1.5 miles each way. There is a significant change in elevation, making the return trip quite strenuous. Although the weather remained a little misty and damp, it was lots of fun. And Celisa and I both got into the pool at the bottom of the waterfall and ducked into the falls. It was frigid and invigorating. This was my fourth time to the waterfall, and I like it more every time.

I don't know exactly what it is about getting right into the waterfall, but I love it. It is very natural, very elemental. The first time I was there I was drawn in with such force, that I forgot that I had my cell phone in my pocket and hearing aids in my ears. Fortunately the hearing aids survived, and I was able to replace the cell phone. Now I take more precautions, but I just can't help going for that momentary exhilaration of standing under a waterfall.

After dinner, the evening readings were excellent. There are some excellent writers here.  Back at the guest house, I fell asleep while listening to Will teaching Marsha some new guitar chords downstairs.

 

Monday, July 4:The Fourth of July.

Monday, July 4:The Fourth of July.

There were five of us at meditation this morning. It was delightful to sit with other kindred souls in silence before breakfast.

After breakfast, I sat in the lodge lobby and used the Wildacres connection to update my blog. But it was so slow that I couldn’t successfully down load and upload photos from my camera to the blog. I think there is a way to send a picture from the camera to the blog, but I haven’t figured that one out yet. Will and I rode in his pickup truck into the Wal-Mart, about 15 miles away. I got some Diet Mountain Dew—so much for my resolution to stop drinking that awful stuff. It’s a pretty strong addiction.

At lunch, two retreat groups intersect. They interact, but not much. There are writers and potters. Some of the writers have T-shirts with sayings printed on them. Yesterday I saw, “I’m silently correcting your grammar.” Also, a strictly Wildacres witticism, “What happens on the balcony stays on the balcony.” Today one of the potters had a T-shirt reading “The Dark and Stormy Night Potters Guild.” Seems like that phrase should stay in the writers’ territory.

What am I doing here? The book:

My book—Happy, or I Just Want to Be Happy, or Happiness—is ready. I just need a good beginning and ending, and some paring down of redundancies. Guess I should pick a title—or maybe that doesn’t matter. Let me think this out. Here’s the story. I used to be very unhappy. Then I figured out why. Then I figured out some ways to overcome those reasons. The more I follow these guidelines, the happier I am. Now I am happy

Worked all afternoon on my Happiness book. Good organizational breakthrough…

In the evening we had readings in the lobby. I read my “Pee and Politics in North Carolina, and it was well received.

Sunday, July 3, 2016: “Dedicated to the betterment of human relations.”

Sunday, July 3, 2016: “Dedicated to the betterment of human relations.”

Brandon and I had breakfast together at the inn early Sunday morning. We had expected there to be an interfaith church service at the campground campfire circle, but for some reason, there was no service this Sunday. So Brandon and I sat and held our own brief service, with a few words about gratitude and some meditation.

While I was breaking camp and packing up, I had a nice chat with Jim, the motorcyclist from a nearby site. His bike is more of a sport bike, or “crotch rocket,” whereas mine is more of a cruiser, meant for slow, easy riding. He discussed a ride he had planned for the day and said he would be “wicking and barking” down the parkway. I asked him to explain that phrase and he made a perfect imitation of a sport bike winding out at higher and higher rpm’s and then downshifting to go into a turn.

“Wi-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-ick… bark, bark, bark.”

My motorcycle, on the other hand, made a comparatively quiet hum as I cruised back up north on the Blue Ridge Parkway Sunday afternoon. I stopped in Asheville for gas, passed Mount Mitchel and Craggy gardens and arrived at Wildacres Retreat Center around 4. Several people I remembered from my three previous retreats were there when I pulled up, and they greeted me enthusiastically.

“You out-cooled us all, James,” said Mike, the resident manager of the property.

My fried Marsha, who has been at three of my four Wildacres retreats took a picture of me on my motorcycle in front of the sign declaring that the Wildacres Retreat is “a conference center dedicated to the betterment of human relations.”

Arriving at Wildacres Retreat.

 I was delighted that Judi, the retreat director, once again, assigned Will and me to the two little rooms off the balcony in the guest house. There were some announcements after dinner, and I invited folks to meditate with me at 7:30 every morning in the meeting room off the canteen. After dinner, as Will and I sat on the porch admiring the view, five or six other retreatants came down to admire our special view, and we all walked over to the nearby amphitheater and talked about writing until it started to rain.
For the next two weeks, I will be living at Wildacres, writing, learning about writing, and learning about myself.

Saturday, July 2, 2016: Dog days of summer

 Saturday, July 2, 2016: Dog days of summer

OK, dog lovers, I know your dogs are members of the family, and you want to include them on your vacations. However, most of us come to national parks like the Blue Ridge Parkway in the hopes of seeing some wildlife, such as bears, deer, wildcats, bobcats, rabbits, raccoons, opossums, squirrels, and a wide variety of birds. Last night the campground was completely full, and several of the campers brought their family dogs, who barked quite a bit in the evening and morning. I’m pretty sure the barking dogs scared away the wildlife, which I think is a shame. Next time, consider leaving your dogs behind and letting your children interact with some non-domesticated animals.

This morning started off chilly, so I collected my laundry and hiked up to the camp store to do my laundry and have a cup of hot tea. By the time it was finished, it was warm and sunny on the mountain.  Now I am writing this in the comfort of the inn office, where a string of guests has been checking out with expressions of delight and unrestrained happiness. Everyone seems to love it here.

Saturday evening, I enjoyed a delightful dinner with my niece Rachel and her boyfriend, and his mother and her boyfriend. They were all from out of town, but by coincidence they were visiting the Asheville area the same time I was. Through the magic of Facebook, we figured it out and arranged to meet for dinner at the lodge. After dinner Rachel and Wylie and I sat around a campfire at my camp site and talked late into the night. Wylie and I bonded over our jobs teaching college writing, and Rachel and I bonded over family relationships. Her father is my brother, which makes for a very close connection, even though she and I haven’t seen each other very often.

 

 

Friday, July 1: "Get in touch with your inner tube."

Friday, July 1, 2016: “Get in touch with your inner tube.”

Friday morning was cold and damp, so I walked up to the Inn for some hot oatmeal and a hot cup of tea for breakfast. Then I rode down to a great place just outside of Asheville on the French Broad River. It’s called Zen Tubing, and their motto is “Get in touch with your inner tube.” We tried it last year, but this year was even more fun because the water level was higher. We parked at their downstream headquarters, and they gave us a ride a few miles upstream, where we got our tubes and splashed into the river. It took about three hours to get back to the put-in place. I had stayed largely dry while floating downstream, but when I was getting out, I lost my balance and fell in the river, getting completely soaked. But I was dressed for it and only lost my dignity. The whole morning was lots of fun.
link to Zen Tubing Website

We had lunch as a Sonic Drive-In which is on my must-do list for Asheville. I love their orange cream slush—it’s like drinking a creamsicle. After lunch I stopped at an REI store to replace my REI travel pants, which split at the knees. Then I noticed that the amber lens of my front left turn signal was missing. A fellow biker directed me to the largest motorcycle shop in Asheville, but they didn’t have the part in stock. A helpful clerk there suggested I use amber tape as a temporary fix, and she even directed me to an auto parts store that had it.  It’s not beautiful, but it ought to do the trick until I can get back to Cape Cod.

Back at the campsite, I notices a man in a nearby campsite had a motorcycle in the back of his pickup truck. I watched him survey the surroundings, trying to figure out the best way to get the bike off the truck. After he turned the bike around and set up some ramps, I walked over and offered to help him. He said he just didn't want to end up as one of those You Tube "fails." "Let me get my camera," I joked. Together we rolled his bike down without incident. More bonding over motorcycles.

In the evening I had dinner at the inn again with Brandon and Poppy Kay. The soup of the day was split pea, and it was so good I had two cups of soup and a salad instead of an entrée.

The campground is full for the Fourth of July weekend, but it doesn’t feel crowded. The campsites are separated enough that we each have our separate spaces. Everyone exchanges friendly greetings when we pass. Everyone seems to appreciate the fact that we are celebrating America’s birthday in one of the most beautiful places in the country.  

Pee and Politics Part 2:

Before I forget, three more thoughts about “pee and politics in North Carolina.” (See my earlier rant.) Last night I heard two little girls as they passed by my campsite.

“Comfort station, but where is the bathroom?” asked one.

“Comfort station means bathroom,” explained the other.

“But how can you get comfortable in a bathroom?” ask the first.

Good point.

I was also reminded of the time Beth and I went to see the Dixie Chicks in concert last month at the Xfinity Center near Boston, a huge venue. At the end of the concert there was the typical huge line at the women’s room, but none at the men’s room. When I went into the men’s room I saw a line of men at the urinals on one side of the room, and a line of women using the stalls on the other side of the room. It seemed like a very reasonable solution, and I didn’t see anyone upset by it. And, finally, I saw a political button at Maliprop’s yesterday that summed up many people’s attitude about the bathroom law known as HB2. It said “HB2: Homophobic bullshit.”

 

Thursday, June 30: I love Maliprop's

Thursday, June 30, 2016: Made it to Maliprop’s.

I woke up Thursday morning to a chilly dawn on the mountain. I decided to have my protein shake and head down the mountain to Asheville, to make my pilgrimage to Maliprop’s Bookstore, the best bookstore and café in the entire world. I’ve been to Nirvana in Barnstable, and I have been to Shakespeare & Co in Paris, and Maliprop’s is better than both combined. They have readings by best-selling authors almost every day, and authors go out of their way to read at Maliprop’s. A big sign in the front window proclaims, “PEACE, LOVE, BOOKS.”

Black Jack in front of Maliprop's in Asheville.

They have a café that makes the best chai tea latte I have ever had—not to mention a variety of hot and cold drinks and pastries. Best of all, they have free wi-fi, and my computer connected with no problem, enabling me to post the last week of blog posts.

I love Maliprops!

Wednesday, June 29: Pee and politics in North Carolina

Wednesday, June 29, 2016:

Brandon at his office.

I woke up about 6:30 in my tent after a chilly, peaceful night. Getting dressed is a challenge in my little tent, but I managed to put on all clean clothes. Brandon showed up just after 7, and we walked up to the Inn and had a nice breakfast with a spectacular view. There was a thick layer of fog in the valleys, making them look like lakes. After breakfast we took a walk around the campground, and then sat at my picnic table and meditated together. I gave Brandon a ride back up to the inn on the back of my motorcycle.

Then I did a load of laundry at the camp store. While it was washing, I tried to use the free wifi connection at the inn, but for some reason it wouldn’t work. I tried again on a different hotspot at the camp store, but I still couldn’t connect my laptop. The reasons for the problems weren’t even consistent, so I couldn’t diagnose the problem. Finally, I figured this is a fine time and place to just forget about the internet. I had hoped to post a blog on my travels, but I guess that wasn’t meant to be. I can still write, as I am doing here.

And here I am in North Carolina, the state whose legislature and governor passed HB2, the infamous “bathroom bill.” I feel a little guilty even visiting the state after people like Bruce Springsteen announced a boycott of the state to protest this hate bill. Of course I don’t think my presence or absence will have the same impact as “The Boss.”

It seems like America is divided. On one hand are people who want to love and accept other people knowing that the things that unite us are far greater than the things that divide us. On the other hand are people who are afraid of people who are different. To say “America has never been so divided” is nonsense. Both the 1860s and the 1960s prove otherwise.

But this “bathroom bill” is certainly a highpoint in absurdity. Apparently it decrees that people must use the bathroom that corresponds to the gender they were assigned at birth. Damn, I came to North Carolina and plum forgot to bring my birth certificate! Will there be state troopers are every men’s room door asking to check my gender assigned at birth? Perhaps I could just show them my wiener? (I’ve never typed that word. before; I wasn’t sure if it was w-e-i… or w-i-e…)

I suppose what the Republican legislators were attempting to do is protect the delicate women of North Carolina from the perceived dangers associated with having to share a bathroom with someone who was assigned a male gender at birth and transitioned to life as a female. I am not sure, but I believe some of these people have their penises surgically removed. Surely they can’t be the problem. I’m really not sure what the problem is.

I was once a teenage boy who was looking for every advantage I could find in “picking up chicks.” Somehow changing my identity to live my life as a female never occurred to me as a path to sexual conquests.

The only bathroom law I ever heard about when I was young was the unstated rule that guys don’t talk to each other in men’s rooms. Apparently women chat it up all the time while tinkling, but men stare straight ahead, never glancing from side to side, and certainly not talking to each other. I suppose that policy probably grew out of the homophobic culture of the 1950 and ‘60s in which I grew up.

The men’s room I use at work is near the English Department at a community college, and several of my colleagues are gay men. They aren’t afraid to talk in the men’s room. Maybe I need to brush up on my urinal conversation skills. But the truth is that I have been peeing with gay and straight, and transgender men all my life—I just never knew, nor did I care. Urination and fornication are so widely separated in my mind that it’s hard to believe that they may involve some of the same body parts.

If the esteemed legislators of the Tar Heel State (I had to work that in) are so worried about bathroom sex, they have a serious problem. They would need to make sure that nobody entering a men’s room is interested in having sex with a man, and nobody entering a women’s room is interested in having sex with a woman. So we could have a straight-men-and-lesbians’ room, and a straight-women-and gay-men’s room. Uh oh, what about bisexuals? I think they’d have to pee in the woods.

Of course there is nothing funny about rape, sexual assault and sexual harassment. Those crimes should be strictly enforced and severely punished wherever the violations occur. But, please, North Carolina, if a guy realizes he is really a gal, and he changes his whole life to dress, act, and present as a woman, please let her go into whatever stall she chooses, close the door, and do her business in private.