I’m back in Michigan, and it’s lovely here, with sun and blue sky, a bit of white snow left on the ground. It might get to 50F this afternoon.
My last night at the lake the sky finally cooperated and provided a worthy sunset.
Still.
The fact that it was a foggy morning made it somewhat easier to leave.
In Alabama it was beginning to warm up too, daffodils were blooming, and when the sun broke through the rain clouds we enjoyed temperatures in the 70s.
For weeks, this trip, I passed this field and remembered one year when cows where there and how photogenic the spot was. But I never saw any cows there until the day I was leaving town.
My last day in Alabama I sat on the deck and enjoyed listening to the birds singing. The brown thrush were chasing each other around the yard. Blue birds were flitting everywhere. Robins sang in the morning and ducks and geese gathered in the lake.
I took tiny little two lane roads that curled through the mountains as I headed north. The better to find interesting things to photograph.
It would have been wonderful, after almost a full month of rain, to sit there for a few more days.
There were a lot of interesting places along the way.
Still.
You don’t always have to have a structure to make an image interesting. Especially with fog.
My husband and my Katie-girl were in Michigan and I’d been gone a long time. I felt somewhat guilty lounging around in the South while my husband dog-sat the demanding princess.
So many old, abandoned homesteads tucked in the hills.
Still.
I think about all the families whose dreams moved on to somewhere else.
My sister and brother are in the South and I hadn’t seen either of them in more than two years, so it was great to spend weekends with them, painting with my sister, going on a boat ride with my brother. It would have been nice to stick around and spend more time with them.
So many barns hanging on.
Still.
So many decisions to make.
My girl, who lives in the moment, had spent enough moments without her mama. She must have felt like she’d never see me again.
A high point in Alabama. Plus the sun started to break through the fog.
Still.
Lots of barns still in use.
There were more adventures to be had in the south.
I turned around to get this, because of the car.
Still.
A cozy barn nestled in the hills.
There are adventures to be had in the north too.
Solidly facing a new day.
So here I am, enjoying sunshine while wearing a coat, tickling the princess tummy, feeding my birds, watching the squirrels. And it’s good.
Some grey barns are by design, not by age.
Still….
Photos in this post are from my last evening at the lake, and my drive north.
I’m still driving home from my month in Alabama. I should be home tomorrow afternoon.
Walking on the Gulf of Mexico beach early in the morning.
Today I left a friend’s house in TN a bit later than I might have had I stayed in a hotel, but it was so much fun to visit that I didn’t mind. And then I took a 3 hour detour in the wrong direction so that I could see a big waterfall.
Sunset at our lake house.
Which I saw, but the pictures of which are still on my camera and I don’t have time to download them tonight, my last night on the road.
Sun making water sparkle.
I’m not even totally sure what day it is…or whether I posted a ‘smile’ post this week.
A long walk in a wildlife preserve.
So in case I did not, which is highly likely, here are a few things that made me smile this week!
Today, after our regularly scheduled morning rain, I decided to climb Smith Mountain. This is something we always do at least once when we’re here at the lake.
The goal on top of the mountain.
You have to climb the mountain before you can climb the fire tower. It’s a long way up.
At the beginning of the trail I encountered this sign.
Well darn. But the access road will get me to the same place.
Huh. I like going up the trail, it takes longer than the access road but it has some ups and downs. Unlike the access road which goes up. And then it turns a corner and goes up some more.
Just the beginning of the upward climb.
Along the way I stopped, ostensibly to take pictures of pretty things.
Luckily there were plenty of pretty things to stop and take pictures of. Like this orange lichen on a big rock.
But really I stopped so I could breath. Did I mention that the access road goes straight up the mountain?
As I was walking a work truck crawled slowly past me, headed for the top as well. I seriously considered jumping on his tailgate.
I thought this stone, embedded in the asphalt near the top of the mountain, looked like a sketch of a girl hiking. I might have been delirious from lack of oxygen.
Once at the top I read some of the newly placed signs, about the wildlife, the birds, flowering shrubs. Anything that would stall the hike to the top of the fire tower.
But it turned out to not be that difficult. Guess the mountain warmed me up for 111 stairs. That’s one of the numbers I stopped to read about on the way up.
This sign was about 1/3 of the way up. Lots of interesting facts. Like the gazillion gallons of water in Lake Martin!
Once at the top I spent some time just enjoying the lake. I love being up there. I especially love being up there when there aren’t a lot of tourists around.
That little spit of land, with the trees reflected is on the back side of the mountain, where I walked my first week here.
Unfortunately, on this Monday there were workers down below, complete with generator going full speed to power up their tools. They’re fixing the stairs you’d climb at the end of your trail hike if you came up the mountain via trail.
Three guys and their generator sure can make a lot of noise.
I guess that’s nice. But it sure would have been nicer to listen to the wind in the pines and the birds calling. But I’ll be back, once they’re done with their project. Meanwhile I enjoyed the lovely poofy clouds and the red-ringed lake.
The Sandy Creek Narrows (I only know that’s the name of it from the new signs on the way up the tower) out to the ‘big water.’
I love this lake, it’s so beautiful, and not completely built up like most lakes are.
Sure, it’s more crowded than it was when my folks moved here in the 80s, but it’s still has a lot of empty land filled with trees and wildlife.
I loved the stripes of green fur trees against the empty limbs of the deciduous trees. Also the two turkey buzzards flying below me.
The clouds were beautiful, and sometimes the sun would peek out.
Bits of blue sky.
As I walked back down the 111 steps and started my way back down the access road I was happy that I’d made the effort to climb the tower on a beautiful afternoon. Even if it wasn’t as peaceful as I’d have liked.
It’s always a good feeling to see the world from way up high. If you’re ever this way you should definitely climb the mountain!
Yesterday started out with fog but ended up warm with sunshine filling my space.
It was 70F with sun by the end of the afternoon!
Like most evenings since I’ve been here, there wasn’t much of a sunset even though there were a few floaty clouds overhead.
Wispy bits float by
The sun quietly slid below the horizon while I was busy talking on the phone.
Evening falls on a fine day.
It was a good way to end a day I’d spent mini adventuring. More on that in another post.
This morning, just like a certain sheltie-girl who will remain nameless, the light woke me at 6 a.m. The strange glow in the room had me leaping out of bed searching frantically for my clothes and then the camera.
Because this was outside:
This hasn’t been edited. This was the color I wasn’t sure I was seeing.
The whole world was orange and I knew it wouldn’t last.
It looks like a sepia photo from my grandmother’s time.
Sure enough, after only a minute or two the grey fog began to creep in, damp on my cheeks and the camera lens.
The fog moves in, obliterating the light.
And the whole world changed to grey.
Turned to black and white.
But wasn’t that orange moment worth getting up early for!
Katie says that would be a lesson well learned.
I have faith the light will return.
Edit: If you want to see an extraordinary sky, check out this post from 3 years ago about now when I was down here with Katie-girl.
As you know I’m in Alabama. You’d think it would be warm being in the South, and it sort of is. It’s warmer than up where I came from. But it’s not really warm.
Looking at both sides.
I arrived late Friday night. Saturday was cold and rainy, but Sunday the sky brightened and turned into big puffy white and grey clouds and it got way up into the 60s! I just knew I had to take advantage of the weather, so I headed over to Smith Mountain.
The beginning of the fire road around the mountain. One of Katie’s favorite places to walk. Mine too.
You’ve heard me talk about Smith Mountain before. You can climb up the mountain and then climb up a fire tower that sits on top of the mountain and you have a glorious view of Lake Martin.
From another year, another hike up the mountain.
It’s one of my favorite things to do, but I didn’t do that on Sunday.
No, Sunday the parking lot was full of cars when I arrived and I didn’t want to deal with a fire tower filled with masked or unmasked people. Plus I wasn’t in the mood to climb the mountain.
So I took the walk around the base of the mountain. It’s one of Katie’s favorite places to walk, a big fire road that circles around to the back of the mountain.
The water is low, but the area behind the mountain is still beautiful.
She and I never tried to go all the way around the mountain, because I wasn’t sure if the road actually did that and I didn’t want to get stuck with her and have to make her walk all the way back. So we usually turned around on the backside of the mountain.
She was never happy about turning around.
Little stuff caught my attention too.
So this time I thought I’d just see if the road (which I used as a trail, though it is not part of the trail system, went all the way around. It made sense that it might end up right back at the parking lot.
Lots of interesting shapes and colors.
I was so confident I didn’t look at the map posted at the beginning. I figured it would all work out. I also didn’t take any water. And I accidently left my phone in the car. But I had my camera, so all was good. Right? Of course right!
Such pretty colors on Sunday!
I stopped and got lots of pictures, and when I got to the spot where Katie and I always turned around I figured since the road/trail continued, a nice wide path that had obviously been used, I’d just keep going too.
Hmmmm, are the clouds looking kind of stormy?
Eventually I got to a spot that said “To the tower this way,” and “To the parking lot this way.” Bingo! The parking lot was only .4 miles away! (disclaimer, I was already sort of tired and was disappointed it was .4 miles away, I figured it should be around the next corner.)
This looks promising!
So I kept going on the nice wide path, covered in pine needles. Which got narrower and narrower and there were no more signs and it didn’t seem to be going in the direction that I thought the parking lot should be.
Eventually I saw a pink mark on a tree, and I thought “GOOD! At least I’m on some sort of trail. Maybe I can figure out where this goes!”
Is this trail really going anywhere I want to go?
But shortly after that I saw houses off in the distance where there should be no houses, and water on my left when it should have been on my right. And I knew this was not going to get me to the parking lot. Plus I’d been walking a long time and surely had traveled .4 miles by now.
So I turned around and went back and eventually crossed a trail that had a blue mark painted on a tree and I figured maybe that was a good sign (if I’d looked at the map I’d have known I needed to stay on blue!) Using the sun as a guide for which direction I was going I headed out, hoping it was toward the parking lot.
Maybe THIS is the right way.
A fisherman came the other way and I asked him how far to the parking lot (acting like I KNEW I was on the right path) and he said about half a mile. Sigh. But at least I knew I’d get there eventually!
I see a car!!
When I finally made it to the parking lot I smiled a lot, and then I studied the map, and figured I had taken some of the blue trail, some of the fire road, some of the pink trail and a whole lot of who knows what. I wasn’t at all sure where I’d been, but it sure had been pretty!
When I finally got home I had sweated through my shirt, sweatshirt and jacket. I opened all the windows, and enjoyed the lovely breeze.
After a long drink of water I decided to download the pictures, and noticed that the memory chip that belongs in my camera was sitting on the kitchen table. Which meant it wasn’t in my camera during that walk. Sigh. Double sigh.
I was really sad.
Monday it was very cold, no sun, sleet and rain. No walking around the mountain for me.
But Tuesday, oh Tuesday was bright and sunny! Not a cloud in the sky. I set out for the mountain, determined to retake the best of the pictures I’d gotten on Sunday. And ready to figure out the right way to walk around the mountain.
OK. Here’s the map. I’m sure you’d have had no trouble figuring this out. But most of the fire road isn’t even ON this map.
I studied the map again before I started out. I even took a picture of it in case I needed it out in the field. I am a slow learner, but I eventually figure it out. The fire road isn’t on the map, but it connects two sections of the blue trail and you need to stay on the blue trail to get back to the parking lot…except when it’s a white trail. Either way, DO NOT GET ON THE PINK TRAIL.
Tuesday was windy, with no clouds. The tall pines were waving in the breeze.
And just before I started I checked my camera to make sure the memory card was in there. And remembered this new camera has 2 slots for 2 memory cards. And guess what? There were two memory cards in there.
It was a beautiful day, not as warm as Sunday, so I wore my winter coat.
Which means there was probably a memory card in the camera on Sunday. Which means that the pictures I took on Sunday were probably on that other card. Which means that I really didn’t have to walk around the mountain again.
Pretty stuff everywhere. But pay attention to where you are this time.
Except I really wanted to prove to myself that I could figure out the right trail.
So I did.
And here’s what I learned. It might apply to life in general too.
When you come to an choice of paths to take and there are no signs, and one path seems easier, wide and sunny and covered with soft pine needles, and the other path looks tough, uphill, rocky and narrow, take the harder path, and look for signs that you’re on the right one.
This is where I made my mistake on Sunday. See that path to the left? I never saw it. The sign that says parking lot .4 miles? It has an arrow that points slightly UP. The correct path is the one on the left. The easy path is the one on the right. But that takes you to the PINK trail! WRONG WRONG WRONG!
The easier path will never get you where you need to go.
And that’s the truth. Every place I had to make a decision, if I took the easier choice I never saw a blue (or any) mark on a tree denoting the correct trail. So I’d backtrack and try the other option and there would be that comforting mark.
Even when it seems like you need to be a mountain goat, follow the harder path, it’s the right one.
Every single time if I took the harder option I soon learned I was on the right trail.
Keep your eye out for trail markings, those blue rectangles mean you’re heading in the right direction.
Let that be a lesson for us all.
If you just look there are always signs to point you on your way.
And may you always find your way, following your own personal markers in life.
Signs of spring.
PS: Happy birthday, Dad. I’m at your house, adventuring in some of your favorite places. I know you’re with me. But you would have looked at the map first. I know. Lesson learned. 🙂
Something horrible happened in this beautiful place.
We’ve all seen them, those markers of loss by the side of the road. Do you wonder about the person they represent? When a new one appears do you feel a sudden stab of emotion?
I do.
Sometimes these memorials act as reminders to drive safely.
I think I’ve always unconsciously noticed the markers, but ever since my dad was killed on a Georgia freeway I’ve been more aware.
And more curious.
I don’t know who this was, or what it symbolizes, but I nod hello when I go by.
Because I know we as a family wanted the spot that dad died be marked. A life changing event happened there and it seemed wrong that the road returned to normal almost immediately after. That thousands of people passed by and no one knew what an extraordinary place it was.
Somehow you want people to know.
Sadly, turned left in front of a truck.
So for a few years I’ve stopped at roadside memorials, wherever it was safe to do so, and taken a picture to document the name and dates.
The driver lost control, she was ejected from the vehicle.
And back at home I’d try to find something out about that person. Sometimes I’d find a report of the crash, or the obituary.
See the gash at the bottom of the tree? I think she became an angel right here.
And then, each time I passed the memorial I’d remember that person, sort of an acknowledgement of their existence, a bit of sorrow at the way they left.
State trooper hit by vehicle pulling a trailer, dragged to his death.
I think that’s what the families want, to keep their loved one alive in the minds or hearts of people.
It’s not always a religious symbol.
I feel sad for all of them, but none so much as the young ones. The young drivers, the children who happened to be in the vehicles.
A young driver, he crossed the center line on a curve.
There seem to be so many of them.
Nothing permanent, just left the flowers from the funeral. Motorcycle hit a deer, then a car hit him.
So what, are you asking, did we do at the site of the crash that killed dad? It’s on a very busy piece of freeway, about an hour west of Atlanta, right at a truck weigh station. We knew we couldn’t safely stop there for much more than a moment.
Some crashes happened so long ago, but family never forgets.
So we concocted a plan.
We bought three bags of daffodil bulbs, loaded up into the car with a pic and a shovel and drove there one rainy afternoon. We pulled over as far as we could, piled out of the car, hacked a hole in the soil, tossed the bulbs in and covered them up as fast as we could while cars and trucks streamed by.
Some are so recent.
In the fourteen years since, I’ve rarely been in the South at the right time of year, and never have I taken the more than hour drive from the lake over to the crash site to see if they’ve survived.
The loss of small children breaks my heart.
But last spring I went.
And the road was still as busy, several lanes of trucks and cars flying by. Lots and lots of trucks on all sides of me. I couldn’t really take a long look. But out of the corner of my eye, as I passed the site I saw something.
Waiting in the dying light to offer solace.
Just a simple flash of yellow, there below the guardrail.
I’m not sure how many daffodils were in bloom, I think more than one. To be honest it could have been a yellow solo cup, but that doesn’t matter. What matters is that for a brief moment, driving down that freeway, my heart sang and I smiled.
So many stories lost.
So if the daffodils really bloom, there along the highway every spring, then I have to think a few other people have noticed them as they speed past. And maybe they smiled too, and wondered at their meaning.
And I think dad would have enjoyed the beauty and mystery of that.
Some of you have been wondering exactly what we do when we go to DC to work on truck safety issues. And now that I’ve brought that up I suppose there are some of you newbies to the blog that wonder what truck safety issues I’m talking about. So here’s the short version of the story.
We had dinner along the river at sunset our last night in DC.
My dad was killed almost fourteen years ago by a tired trucker. He was stopped in traffic on a freeway in Georgia, headed to the Atlanta airport, when a semitruck, being driven by a relatively new driver hit him from behind going 65 miles per hour. He died, they say, instantly.
The driver said he had fallen asleep.
The driver was over the number of hours he should have been driving, had been driving all night. The crash happened around 6 in the morning on a straight piece of highway. Police, ambulances and firetrucks were already there, working on a previous crash. Everyone had slowed down and stopped as they worked their way around the existing crash.
The semi driver didn’t see any of that.
After dinner we went for a walk.
Once we got over our initial shock and began to learn the truth we found that the problem was much bigger than just our crash. In the fourteen years since I’ve met dozens of people who have either survived such a crash, being hit from behind by a truck driven by tired or distracted drivers, or have lost loved ones in crashes that sound exactly like my dad’s.
And that’s why I go to Washington regularly.
We talk to the staff of Representatives and Senators. We ask for legislation to fix some of the loopholes. We ask for support of legislation that is already pending that will make the roads safer for all of us in passenger cars and for the drivers of big trucks too.
A new building, made of green glass. I thought it was stunning.
We talk to agencies in the Department of Transportation; to staff and management of the Federal Motor Carrier Safety Administration, to the people at the National Transportation Safety Board, to different departments within the DOT, all of whom are responsible for different aspects of road and vehicle safety.
Sometimes we talk to truck manufacturers and trailer manufacturers. Some of them are moving forward with safety technology even though the government is all wrapped up in studying stuff and not willing to mandate safety.
We spent a long time watching this fountain as it changed colors.
This past week we had a meeting with the FMCSA Administrator. He is new this year and is facing an uphill battle to get much of anything done. What else is new in Washington, right? He said a lot of the right things, but the reality is that very little will change.
Maybe nothing will change.
I’m not sure they’re even studying much of anything now. I looked at those (mostly) men, sitting in their expensive suites and wondered how much money they made to get absolutely nothing done. They talked a lot about what they were doing and why things were hung up.
We talked a lot about how frustrating it is to work on issues for decades without seeing movement. They mostly didn’t look us in the eyes.
There were lots of pretty lights.
And while we were there we met with a few Senators and Representatives’ staffs. They aren’t doing much either, but they listened politely.
Studying our notes before meeting with Minority Leader Pelosi’s staff.
It’s not enough. I’m tired of getting symbolically patted on the head and told they’re sorry for my loss. I’m way beyond needing to make them cry. Unless it’s to cry when their boss loses their next election.
Time to vote people. Vote your heart. Vote for people who might be willing to work on the hard issues, and maybe even be willing to work with people from other political leanings.
This bridge was beautiful too in a sort of patriotic way.
It’s the only way we’re going to start making a difference.
While we were in the FMCSA meeting on Wednesday the 2017 truck related deaths and injury numbers came out. Four thousand seven hundred and sixty-one people died. That’s up 9% from 2016.
That’s staggering. And it’s why I continue to go to DC.
So now you’re up to date. Pictures were taken on our last evening in the city, using my cell phone. Not quality pics, but they do give you a glimpse of the pretty side to the city.
Change Is Hard 