Rendezvous on the Bright Blue Sea

Birthday in May (but It's Really in December...)

I've turned 47 three times. The first time was in 2007, when I said all year I was 47, when I was actually still 46. No idea why I kept convincing myself I was 47 - I did it when I was 36, as well (insisting all year I was 37). Then I turned 47 in December 2007, as expected. But we ignored that event in this house because I declared last year that I had done enough birthdays the week before Christmas and I was going to move the celebration (though not the actual day) into April or May.

So we cebrated my 47th birthday again on May 9th. I took the day off and had a great time, creating a Flickr page, (finally), and doing some painting, walking with my dearest, and going out with the family for pizza.

Daughter knit me some sushi (photo above). Rice, kelp wrap, rolls and sashimi, shaved ginger and even some green wasabi - it's all here, and it was presented in a sushi tray with the chopsticks.

Oldest son drew me something from Hamjamser. This one is called Trumpets - it's about 6x8 inches, ink and colored pencil (his mediums of choice).

Youngest drew me a card that showed some interesting arithmetic.

Dear wife bought me a replacement for my car stereo. It has been wonderful this week to listen to music again on the way to and from work. And several other odds and ends, including the French Dunny in the post about my workspace.

Mountain Gardens - Pisgah National Forest

Earlier I promised to share some photos of the amazing plant life along the trails in the Pisgah National Forest. These photos were taken on a trail off 276 between Brevard and the Blue Ridge Parkway on May 18th. Everything was remarkably lush and composed. Ferns covered the slopes rising around us under hundred foot tall tulip poplars and hemlocks.

There were solitary white violets (see photo above) along the banks at the start of the hike. These gave way gradually to a taller species, with branching habit and leaves like halberd leaved yellow violet, but with white blossoms. The photo here shows them with two magnificent angel hair ferns and wild oxalis, possibly violet wood sorrel.

When we got to the falls at the end of the trail, a long liana of Virginia creeper played counterpoint to the cascade.

Camping - Lesson 6 - Hypnosis

The days are counted in campfires.

Warm hands held to the blaze while cold backs are turned to the darkness made stronger by the light of the flames. A shifting breeze closes the eyes of each of us in turn as the smoke seasons hair and cloth. Cooking sausages on forked sticks gives way to toasting marshmallows and making s'mores. We toy with the fire, and paper plates and cups flare up suddenly, as do twigs and pine needles. The conversation grows softer, as camp sites around us go dark, and more chairs are empty. Finally the last few sit in silence, and the dying embers, the last few flickering tongues, and the rustle of the fire's end, nudge us toward sleep. Leaning over the last of the dull red heat, it's hard to stay awake, hard to hold hands out for warmth when the body is so languid and the mind is so quiet.

Camping - Lesson 5 - Late Evening Light

And yet...

It is the evening light that still makes my heart race, and dazzles me with gold. Late shadows differ from early shadows, and I love their warmth and sharpness.

We climbed Black Balsam Knob in the late afternoon, and were there long enough to see hillside cherry trees glowing above the shadows at their feet.

On the return hike I lagged well behind the others, taking shot after shot of the shadows cast on the trail, and the hills rising around it in the deep yellow of the day.

Above it all shone the western slope of the knob, bald and rock strewn, magic and dreamlike in the last moments of the sun.

This return hike was the best I felt on the whole trip. The waning golden light is my elixir.

-----------------------
Click on images to view larger.

Other posts on light, end of day, shadows, and old roads.

Camping - Lesson 4 - Early Morning Light

The first hours of daylight contain a particular kind of quiet. Exploring a new place while everyone else is still asleep feels like gleeful stealing to me, as delicious as if time stopped for the rest of the world while I alone could still move.

And I forget, in my love of the light at the end of the day, the beauty of the sunlight kissing some things good morning while others are still in shadow, and the mirror of lakes still untouched by the first breeze.

From our campground ran an old road bed, which, I discovered, goes to a neighboring state forest. There I climbed a cutting, taking an almost forty five degree slope to gain more than five hundred feet of altitude.

Yellow star grass (actually an iris relative), mountain laurels, wild geraniums, and one rare (but wilted) bird foot violet greeted me on that slope.

The road continued along the ridge top, as the newly risen sun shone through the trees on one side and lit the valley far beneath me on the other. It was good to be alone, giving my INFP soul some room to breathe and relax a few notches.

When I got back, the mist was still rising off the pond behind our campsite, and it was still peaceful.

Camping - Lesson 3 - That Too

You may recall a previous post which mentioned That. Here's the photo again, to refresh your memory.

On route 276 between Brevard and the Blue Ridge Parkway are a number of parking areas and hikes to waterfalls. We took one to a lovely falls that drops fifty feet free, with plenty of room for a whole crowd of people to pass behind it. On that trail were a number of beautiful plants. It was like a garden, actually, and I'll post some photos of the plants later.

Along the trail was That. But the closer we got to the falls, and the further into the cove, the more exotic the That became, until by the end it was so lobed and divided of leaf that I barely recognized it. Something about its growth habit, the proportions of the outline, and the arrangement of the veins still made it plain to me that it was the same plant.

Biologists are aware that often there is more variation between individuals in a species than there is between species. I think we saw some individual variation on this trail.