The Peace of White Lilies

On the first weekend of summer, we drove down about an hour to the sleepy town of Southern Pines. We spent no time in the little Southern town, although we have heard good things about it and plan to go check it out at leisure one day (we figured there won’t be much open during this pandemic, anyhow), but we went there with one purpose in mind only: to have a 2-mile walk (and a picnic sandwich) around Reservoir Lake, the David R. White Greenway trail.

I won’t bore you with all the details of that walk – an easy, wide, dirt trail around Reservoir Lake, not as populated as state park trails around the NC Triangle area – but I will share some of the pictures I took. There were not many creatures out that day, although the day was not hot, but crisp and fair, but the one thing that just left me speechless were the thousands of water lilies. I love water lilies and lotuses because they are such an oddity. They almost need no soil and they come from the dirtiest, nastiest, smelliest, marshful depths to only be one of the most delicate, fragile, and absolutely perfect creations that ever existed on this earth.

In these times of such unrest and turmoil, they were like a pathway to freedom and peace …

Enjoy …

We did the David R. White trail (green) - about 2.2'ish miles

The first peek at Reservoir Lake. It looked so peaceful. Not a sound, not a boat. Just pines, oaks, and water 

They don't call this area "Southern Pines" (next door to Pinehurst) for nothing. Huge Southern pines lined the lake and the trail

The trail was mostly shady, easy and flat. Wide enough that we could dodge other people and puppies without too much closeness

At one point, this opening revealed some creatures: ducks and turtles, and white water lilies beyond. More peaceful.

The ducks shared the log happily with the turtles. And this cute mallard had an awful itch he had to get to! 

More ducks were asleep in the shade of this beautiful branching tree.

About mid-way on the trail there was this tiny stream, flowing lazily into the lake. Just a trickle made a peaceful sound in this mostly quiet area. 

The trail is peppered with these peekaboo "windows" into the lake, where more waterlilies and ducks disturb the spotless surface.

Carpets and carpets of white and green water lilies everywhere, beautifully laced together in perfect harmony.

You don't have to be a Buddhist to believe in enlightenment. For Buddhists, enlightenment equals becoming a Buddha. As living creatures, we're all on a journey to seek enlightenment. 

Water lilies are a close cousin of the lotus flower. When I see them, it reminds me of the most ubiquitous mantra of Buddhism, "Om mani padme hum". 

There are many translations and interpretations on the web for it, so look it up and find your own. For me, the most eloquent one says this: "We have within us the seed of purity, the essence of a One Gone Thus (Tathagatagarbha) (sic), that is to be transformed and fully developed into Buddhahood." (quoted here: https://www.shambhala.com/snowlion_articles/om-mani-padme-hum-dalai-lama/)

Click the last picture to see the entire album.

The Patriotism of “Now”

Random Thoughts on Memorial Day

I grew up in a country that worshiped the past in a present that was corrupted, crooked, unfair, and hopeless. That was and still is called patriotism there. I developed an early, almost visceral dislike for those who worshiped that past while not doing one thing to better the present. One thing to ensure the past stays great through the present and to ensure they hand it even better to the future. I moved to a different country lured by promises of freedom and equality and fairness, and some days I think of my new home and tell myself: “Boy, not much has changed.”

Patriotism, to me, is not remembering those who died for the country once or twice a year, during long weekends between two burgers on the grill. Patriotism should be what we do every day, with all of our own actions to ensure the country moves forward. Patriotism is actively ensuring the future generations will have a better, more secure, brighter future than we did. Patriotism is truly believing to our core that people are equal, that they deserve freedom, unconditionally, and free of labels, and that it does not really matter where we’re from but it matters more what we do, every day. Our individual story and our intrinsic value of who we are, wherever we are and wherever we come from, matters infinitely more. How do we ensure we stay valuable for moving forward age-old ideals? Because, yes, we are the ones called upon that now.    

Sure, the past is great. Sure, those who died defending values such as independence, free knowledge, culture, freedom of speech, freedom of choosing, fighting bondage and unfairness should never be forgotten. But as great as all that was, that is and will forever stay in the past. What we do every day, with every action, with every thought, the way we carry ourselves into the world, the way we teach our children values that will move them forward and not get them stuck into a time earlier than even that of those who already died for these ideals – this is true patriotism and that should be celebrated when we realize, and only then, that everyone is doing it. Until then, we got work to do.

I fear a fake patriotism for all of us, especially today. Folks who today show up on social media to bow to those who made the ultimate sacrifice only to laugh at their next-door neighbor’s ask for freedom and safety for their own children, only to shrug at lending a hand of kindness and thoughtfulness to the less fortunate on account that “handouts are not what this country needs” – I fear these folks might be guilty of fake patriotism.

Sure, sacrifice is deserving of praise. But where is our sacrifice? Why do we think patriotism is a thing of the past? Why do we not think that whatever those people fought for stopped being important? And who do we think has the duty to ensure the future remains as they dreamed of it?

It’s easy (and cool) to worship the greatness of the past. It is mostly hard and uncomfortable to ensure what’s in front of us is not going awry. It’s hard and inconvenient to ensure that in our country (whatever you call it, because this is happening all over the globe) we still defend those ideals for the generations to come. The freedom, true freedom for everyone, not just those who fit snugly into our moral mold, and the defense of that, at all costs, seems to me more patriotic than flying the flag, or saying “we won’t forget.”

Maybe today is not the day. Maybe today should be a day of worship. But this is what today, just like July 4^th and Veterans Day - this is what days like these make me think about, every year. These days are a stark reminder to me that we should risk being a little more uncomfortable to try to do our share to right some wrongs. Our work is not done. It never will be. This is what I celebrate today: the hope that we will finally, as nation, understand that our work is not done and that we will ensure that our good ideals will continue to be fulfilled and guarded viciously for those who will, one day, look at us as the past. After all, this is the only way I know that those many people who died already will not think that did so in vain.

Escaping for a Day

We’ve been sheltering-in-place since March. Almost two months. We have cleaned the house, cleaned the yard, re-cleaned the house, did some crafts, worked, cooked, ate, walked around the neighborhood and discovered new parks and trails around our town. But some days I have kinda reached the limit of what else I could possibly do to fill up my time.

I can do a little longer without people. But I could not do anymore without getting out of town. Truly, just driving away and leaving home behind. Going away is vital to me. I need to get away, to not see my hearth just so I can recharge, just so I can look back at my life with perspective and re-plan, rearrange and find efficiencies. If I just sit in one spot, I churn the same garbage every day and nothing new nor good emerges from it.

I am also a Gypsy by heritage. We cannot help it. We wander. If we don’t move about, we don’t breathe. If we don’t dream and plan in our head our next trip, we suffocate. Without this, I could no longer do.

How much harm can it be done to just get into our own car and start driving on the open road? Maybe get to the edge of a hill, stop, look down at the valley and breathe in the wind. Then snap a few shots, turn around and come home. How much harm? We won’t run into anyone. We have only our home, and no other people, to come to. No one to meet at the end of that road, no one to come home to but us. How much harm?!

We’re somewhat lucky in this country: we’re free to drive anywhere. Some people abuse it, unfortunately. But we try to use that privilege carefully. So, to get us out of this funk, we jumped in the car and ended up in Mayo River State Park, about an hour and 20 minutes North of our house, on the North Carolina – Virginia border.

This is what Highway NC-421 looks like in a pandemic

I know you’d think that it would be repetitive to say that a forest is green. But this forest was green! I mean, even branches and dried up pine cone which are normally brown turned green under the intense green reflection from the leaves and from underbrush vegetation around on them. We took pictures of each other and our skin looks green in them. It must be the spring fresh, virgin green, not sure, but everything was drowned in in.

This green forest ... 

We hiked a 1.8 mile trail up in the woods, and then down. A loop. One foot in front of the other. We took about 200 feet in elevation, and then lost it back on the way down. We had no idea the trail was uphill, and the bitter wind and the 58F temps made my chest tighten up and wore me out.

More pure and reflective green on the forest floor, most of these were along or on the trail

The trees were dense and tall – some of the tallest trees I have seen in The East, for sure. The interpretive panels scattered along the trail told us their names: American Beech, Red Maple, Sweetgum, White Oak. 

I have never seen so many fallen trees in a forest in my life. It felt like either their roots were too shallow to hold them up and they grew too tall for their roots, or that wind might have been permanent to knock them down daily. The trees that were still standing were whining. Almost every other tree was creaking like an old person’s joint with arthritis. Then branches, or half trees were falling all around us. We feared a big beast was near from all the noise of broken branches we were hearing, but there was really nothing but butterflies, lots of bugs and a tail-less lizard. Not even a squirrel. Birds were few. Just the trees complaining and breaking …

There was a spit of rain in the dry spring benches under the green forest, but no big water in the woods. There were a couple of ponds framing one end of the parking lot, before we started the walk with a couple of families of geese having a day out, too.

One of the peaceful ponds before we headed to the trail

The trail looked very wild. If it had not been for the marks on the trees that told us we’re still on it, we might have thought we’re not on the trail several times during our journey. There were ferns and other vegetation growing on the trail. And moss, too. Sure signs that the trail is not that busy.

We walked and walked and saw maybe 6 people in total during our two hour hike. Most people were hiking alone. A couple of teens were on a date, possibly. They hung a camping hammock between two trees away from the trail (thankfully) and they were telling each other sweet nothings.

We stopped often to wow at the trees and to take pictures. To take the life in, because every whimper of every tree, every swoosh of the ferns in the wind, every chirp of a random bird screamed life. Gentle life coming back to the world: butterflies, baby geese on the lakes, bright bugs eating leaves, lizard with no tail, halved but still alive and moving.

After the walk in the woods, we walked around the lakes and chased the geese one more time. 

Then, we took the car, and headed past random barns leaning on one side, past log cabins with darling little geranium window boxes, past old Southern homes with columns all around and deep porches with hanging fans on ceilings, past lazy cows watching their new-borns running about, chewing their lunch in approval towards another entrance of the Mayo River State Park. 

Driving around the country-side of North Carolina and Virginia, through the deep green forests, tires caressing the gentle sloping hills, and taking in the quiet, peaceful life of a people that have seen and done too much to rush is like driving through a fairy tale. 

Could be a shed, or a house, but it's poetic nonetheless

The second part of the park that we went to was right along the Mayo River proper – as peaceful and serene (besides the whining trees and the wind) as the forest was, the river was loud and screaming. Swallows were dive-bombing into the water, barely touching it with a wing. The current and rapids were too massive for any fish to swim about and not smash against the huge river rock. The roar was deafening.

After a 20 minute or so break for more nature watching and picture taking, we headed back home. I felt like we at the very least spent one night away from home! I felt like we headed up there at least 24 hours before. The richness of another place filled my voided soul with so much beauty and freshness.

I am so grateful we are well enough to travel, even for a day, and we live in a place so beautiful (really, the whole world is, if you look for it!) that allows us to take it in in a few hours (or less) so close to home. For half of a day, we did not stare at a screen, we did not read one piece of bad news, we did not eat uselessly for the fourth time in an hour. For half of a glorious, chilly, bright, windy May day, we renewed our breath and our retinas. We took in almost no people, either: only nature, clean air and promise of life eventually winning …

Swallows swooning into the Mayo River.
Click the picture to see the entire album from this trip. 

The Pup

“Who needs a house up on a hill

When you can have one on four wheels
And take it anywhere the wind might blow
(…)
Just hang a map and throw a dart
And pray to God the engine starts and go.

(…)

Parking lots and county lines
Countin' mile marker signs
Where the buffalo and antelope
(…)
One more postcard for the wall
Off in our home sweet home away from home”

I dreamed of camping in The Rockies since my first trip there, to Vail, CO in 1999. You can say that was a century-old dream. As such.

We were lucky enough to move Out West in 2010 and we tent camped in various places, but not as much as I wanted to. I was too scared to. Too scared of bears and too scared of the random (and frequent) rattlesnake.

In the summer/ fall of 2015, we bought a camper, for added security and because neither one of us was done camping. We called it “The Pup”. That was really, its name – “The Wolf Pup” from Forest River. 

The Pup

We bought it for one feature only: it had an enormous window right in front of the dining table. We dreamed of having many meals on that table while watching the wildlife and the vegetation. And that, we did.

That window!! 

My mom made us a cross-stitched framed “poster” to hang in it. It felt like home. If you’ve never owned a camper or used one, it’s like having a vacation home anywhere you want to be. Wherever you go, you change your landscape, your view, but you’re still home. Like you never left. No need to sanitize your bathroom when your hotel is your own house.

Mom's cross-stitch 

We kept a “Wolf Pup Journal” in it and we both wrote about every stay in The Rockies, and then across America, and then around NC and VA. Here are some samples from our adventures.

“First trip ever together, in a camper. Beautiful fall colors. Temps dropped to 65F. (…) The campground is full of mooing cows. Love it! (…) Our favorite meal was the baked potatoes. Just wrapped in foil and cooked in the fire. Tonight we’re having pancakes – just fried dough in the flat iron press. The fall is gentle and gorgeous, but it is bitter cold at night. Grateful for the camper! It’s been a no phone and no internet kind of weekend.” (me) – September 2015 - Diamond Campground in Spanish Fork Canyon, UT

“As I write this we are sitting in our camp chairs, relaxing, enjoying the sound of the river, the falling yellow and orange leaves. And the sounds from the river.” (Aa.)

“This is a gorgeous campground – very woodsy and shaded. We’re camping by The Salt Creek and the mountain stream song is soothing. It’s late in the year but it’s 80F+ today. So peaceful.(…) A deer came and drank from the creek this morning, over breakfast. ” (me)  – September 2015 – Ponderosa Campground on Nebo Loop, UT

“Our site has lots of sap on everything, from the towering pine trees above us. Yesterday, around 5PM, we were having a snack and Aa. saw a deer outside our dining seat window – so close, just outside - eating trees.” (me) – June 2016 - Timpanogos Campground, Alpine Loop, UT

“Reason #1 why we bought a camper was so that we could feel safe to camp off the grid, meaning not in a campground. So, this is our first try. (…) We picked a pasture by the side of the river, on the right of the road. (…) There is not much to be heard, other than the occasional breeze through the tall grasses and the stream right in front of us. There is a rare car, and lots of close gun shots. I am thinking of the Old West: we have a shovel waiting right next to the firepit, gun shots, tall grasses, a big, cloudless, tall sky above us. Old and New West at its best.” (me) – August 2016 - off the grid in Diamond Fork Canyon, UT

“This time the campground is a ghost town! Maybe two other couples and the camp host. I love camping in the fall for this reason: quiet and uncrowded. We didn’t forget anything this time, … but we needed more duct tape! Always can use more of that!” (me)

“Shortly after arriving we had a short thunderstorm. We sat under the awning and read. After the storm, we shot the water on leaves then went for a hike. Had a lot of trouble keeping the fire going today.” (Aa.)  – October 2016 - Cherry Campground – Spanish Fork, UT

The West and The East

“We’re above 8000F and my heart can tell you that. I don’t have enough air, and my throat feels strangled, but the view from up here is stunning! We’re parked atop this huge pasture covered in yellow daisies. Bugs, butterflies and birds hover over it in droves. Then, in the way distance, the Nebo range stands tall and green with hints of red rock. It’s probably one of the most beautiful places we’ve ever camped in.” (me) – July 2017 -  Blackhawk Campground on Nebo Loop, UT

“After lunch we explored the river behind our site. The river’s so full and as loud as a torrential downpour. The whole weekend we felt like it was raining outside, but it was just the river. The site and the entire campground are the most forested that we’ve ever camped in. (…) On Saturday, I painted a campfire in the woods and a lotus flower. We napped. At night, Aa. learned to play Macau and he loves it.” (me) – July 2017 – Tanners Flat Campground, Little Cottonwood Canyon, UT

The past-times

“The trip Eastward started yesterday. We spent the first night on the road at The Moab KOA. It’s a lovely, quiet place on Highway 191. (…) Gypsy is still a bit scared, but he is better by the hour. He’s scared when the heater comes on and when he sees other people outside our window.” (me) – October 2017 – Moab KOA, UT

“We drove on Historic Route 66 the whole way from New Mexico. I felt like such a hippie. Oklahoma is humid and hot.” (me) – Elk City KOA, OK

The KOAs

“The first camping trip since we moved back to NC. We were reminded very quickly on our first night, that we can no longer camp in the summer in NC. The heat, humidity and bugs made it impossible to be outside or have a pleasant campfire. (…) We hiked, we napped, I wrote, we read and it’s been fun to do something else than be in the house.” (me) – Holly Point Campground, Falls Lake, NC

“After getting the pup situated, I checked in with the campground host. I then delivered firewood to friends (…). It’s cold and rainy, so we did hot dogs and beans on the stove. It was a delicious dinner.” (Aa.) – November 2018 – Camping with friends in Hanging Rock State Park, NC

The food gets a different dimension out there 

“The site we have is right on Smith Mountain Lake. (…) It’s been great to look at this huge lake, hear the geese and crickets sing their song, hear the waves splash the shore when a boat goes by, see the huge fish jump out of the water for a sip of real air. (…) Surely every trip is a lesson and a memory for both of us.” (me) – August 2019 – Camping with friends in Camp Kilowatt, Union Hall, VA

People buy campers for various reasons. Some buy them to have them as their home. We bought ours to find peace in The Rockies. Off the grid. When we moved back East, the landscape, the weather did not allow for the same wilderness and getting-lost-ness that we had experienced in The West. It was time to say goodbye. And we did. This week. We’re left full of longing, but happy that we had these four years of learning and communing with nature in a way you can’t do from your couch.

Good bye, Pup! We both hope you can make many more people 

feel at home and safe, like you did with us!  

Never understood whether the rainbow starting in my home was supposed to be a good omen or not: Driving back East to NC we drove for a whole day into a downpour which became a tornado at one point. As we were getting closer, the rainbow dumped into our Pup. At that time, with the Utah house sold and the NC one not bought yet, The Pup was our only home.