The Pursuit of Happiness

Hiking down the Champion Trail, completing what would look like a large snake on Google Earth, I looked over to the left of me, and the wind created waves on the lake where Farmers Branch and Elm Fork Trinity River meet.  Across the lake were large buildings, office buildings with the well known brands displayed proudly upon the apex of the structure. To the right of me, a neighborhood of spacious, well built houses around park lands and canals and sidewalks.  People rode bicycles or tended plants near the trail, and it all seemed peaceful and calm.

I wondered, "Is this Happiness?" Of course it is, the realization of an American Dream, a house, a job, a considerable amount of security, the ability, probably, to go wherever you want.  Now that's freedom.  "But," I asked, "I'm happy. Does all this make them any more happy with their lives?"  I have an apartment, and it's not big, nor do I have the elegant openness of the houses I saw, nor the office in a large, glass-filled building where, at my leisure, I can look out over the parks and the lake and the canals and see my house. But I have a job that I am happy with and grateful for.  What makes my happiness different from theirs? 

I remember back in Georgia, as I have talked about many times, that my stepdad drove an ice cream truck around the poorer neighborhoods of Rockdale County.  We actually sold more ice cream to the children in the trailer parks than in the affluent neighborhoods.  The people watching their large televisions or playing whatever console was out at the time would not have bothered with the ringing bells of the rickety old van when they could get ice cream out of their own freezers.  But in those small streets that wound their way through the mobile homes, the ice cream truck  distributed not only ice cream, but happiness.  They ate sugary goodness, then continued to play outside.  I never once saw those children unhappy.  For while I'm sure they were aware of those places where rich people lived, where they were was home for them.  It was their world, and the things they had were good.  I will not pretend to think that it was all roses and lollipops for them, either.  I'm sure some had parents that were abusive, or drank, or worked all night to provide a roof over their shoulders.  I'm sure they came home tired and had no time for their children.  But so, too, are the people who live in the opulent homes.  They could be abusive, or drink, or spend too much time at work, not able to see their kids.  The conditions in which they live might be different, but often, the emotions around them are the same.  

So, back to my own situation, yes, I am happy.  I thought about it further, and realized that the ability to be happy in this country is the main reason why so many people come here, legally or otherwise.  And that's a rather common thing to say... you hear it on the radio and the television all the time.  But I don't think that people really know what that means.  To people who live in those houses, to them, why would people cross a river with nothing but what they could carry just to come here? I mean, poverty (as we define it) is here as it is elsewhere?  The difference being that here, there is the opportunity for happiness.  It's an old argument, one that goes back to the Declaration of Independence.  "Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit of Happiness."  The argument from the free market 

Trail underneath I-635. Dallas loves their bridges!

world is that our government provides for the opportunity for happiness, not necessarily that you will achieve it.  Honestly, happiness is relatively easy to achieve here, with a job, and the basic needs of survival met, the rest is the pursuit of being happy, comfortable with your life.  Any external force that interferes with this should be dealt with by the Federal Government.  I will admit that this is a little more liberal of a stance than what I would normally take, but every citizen should be afforded the "opportunity" to pursue happiness.  According to Maslow, this cannot happen until the basic needs of human survival are met.  Shelter, Warmth, Food.  I think this is ample justification for the programs that welfare extend to those people who might not have it otherwise.  And this is something that is taken advantage of and used for political gains, undoubtedly.  I do not agree with the extent that these programs are used, but that they are absolutely necessary, I will stand by and defend.  I would even go so far as to agree with the need for basic health care, the basics that keep us all healthy and able to pursue our goals.  Again, this is not to say that everyone should be taken care of completely for their entire lives, as we have had thrust upon us, but for children and those who cannot afford it, it's absolutely necessary.  

I have digressed some, but that's okay.  My main thought was that I am just as happy living my life right now as the people living in those houses and working in those buildings.  I know I've had a lot of stressful things that have happened to me (my Cousin who is a psychologist pointed out that of the list of the most stressful things that can happen to a person, I've had most of them happen to me in the past couple of years). I think I've come through the fire , with Help, of course, very nicely, and that, with that same Help, I can overcome any obstacles in my way.  The journey that I'm on, one that, in the end, will result in my independence, in my "growing up" as it were (you know that's not going to happen fully, but a little maturing wouldn't hurt), is just starting.  The one lesson that a lot of people need to learn is that looking up at the houses on the hill, or the towers of offices and the opulent stores that sell temporary satisfaction, all these things are just that, temporary, and there's little of that which is different from what I already have.  What ultimately improves that happiness is what I do with it.  From the people I meet to the things that I do, that will provide happiness, not the material objects I have around me.  Again, this sounds like a common theme, realized over and over again in sit-coms and cartoons, but it's the truth, and is something that is so hard to realize.  Not when every window out in the world broadcasts what you don't have, and how wonderfully happy those people are that do have it.  It's not the "haves" and "have nots,"  but the "lives" and the "lives not."  I would rather live, and be happy, in my small abode, than toil and strain, simply to get more of what is out there, and not be happy at all.  As Candide said, I am happy simply "tending my garden."  That is what I intend to do.  

Hiking at the Georgia International House of Pancakes...

... or maybe that should be Georgia International Horse Park. I decided when this long, depressing winter began that I couldn't just stop walking, but I didn't want to continue to traverse Arabian Mountain, as I wanted to see the beauty of that area when it was warm enough to enjoy it.  I wanted to stand on the mountaintops with the clear blue sky and sun reflecting off the lakes, not cloudy, dreary, overcast days where I shivered in my coats.  So I picked another area for winter hiking. The Georgia International Horse Park (hereafter referred to as GIHP) was a perfect spot.  The wetlands around it, seen from Google Earth, would be much better walked around when it was too cold for mosquitoes and the like to swarm around my face.

The true beauty of Rockdale County exists in its variety. From the Panola Mountain granite mountainsides to the forests of the South Rockdale County Park to the wetlands of the Haynes Creek Nature Center, you would never guess it's all within Georgia's second smallest county.  I started walking at the GIHP south of the Memorial Arboretum on the gray path covered in horseshoe prints.  As usual, it's the paths off the main ones that are the most interesting.  The trees labeled with pink ribbons wind through a cave of trees, past grass-like plants down to the Yellow River, where the trees flow down from upstream and get caught in the shallows.  I spooked a Blue Stork standing in one of the dried up river banks (it delivers Smurf Babies, because Smurfette doesn't, you know, Smurf.) The swampland down in this area reminds me of Degobah, and a path goes from the gray one along the Yellow River off underneath the Power Lines and through strands of grasses, where the crickets and frogs sing incessantly until you come closer to them, and then they hide.

Then, after it rained, I walked under the bridge at Gees Mill Road and watched the now brown, muddy Yellow River sweep past us, leaving each drop of water, each moment, flowing endlessly away from me.  It's true that if we wde into a stream bed, we've never actually waded in the same river twice, for the water is different each time, as it flows down into Lake Jackson and south from there into the sea.  The rain washed out part of the path, and I realized later that it would do me no good to continue, for the bridge next to the private Railroad Tracks (made for those small toy-sized trains like Ricky Schroder had in his living room on Silver Spoons ) had been washed out many times, leaving the wood rotted away.

It's amazing how many of the wooden structures I've seen that have not been kept up here.   There are

places on the web where you can see structures of past Olympics in ruins, the trees growing over the bobsled track, now covered with moss, a highway for the squirrels and such.  Such is the case here at the GIHP, but on a much smaller scale.  There were places along the trails where some wooden structure had been built, perhaps to stand a camera on, or for judges, or water stations, and now these areas are crumbling, as they aren't needed anymore. I'm glad that people keep the trails up, and cut down fallen trees and the like.  There are some places where it looks like strong storms have knocked over the trees, and so there are areas that look almost destroyed. There are areas of serenity, where I walked down a wide grassy path, finding nothing but the birds and the sunlight angling through the trees.  I could have walked for miles and found no one about.  I feel grateful that the people have let me enjoy my moments of solitude, yet I wonder, what if people could see outside their homes and televisions and smart phones? It is gorgeous, and yet I fear that the campgrounds I've seen remain vacant for much more than they are used.  What of the gravel pits
rounded by wooden benches (now half rotted), or the ones circled by granite stone, used for campfires, where boys told stories and laughed and roasted hot dogs or marshmallows in the flames? Would they remain empty while people bickered and funds dried up and everyone lost interest in raising children with any semblance of what the outdoors actually looked and felt like?  The barn houses will rot and fall down, the mills along the rivers (like the one next to the Haynes Creek Nature Center) will fall silent, standing inside of tall fences meant to keep people with beer and spray paint cans away.  Would these places become as invisible as the stone walls in the Factory Shoals area in Newton County?

I learned a few things while hiking these trails.  Watch where you step... they are horse trails, after all. For the bike paths, walk backwards from the way bikes would travel, that way you seem them and can step out of the way in time.  The falls off of some of those paths would hurt.  Follow the color codes on the main trails, or you will become lost, and then walk on the other trails some other time.  It might take a little bit to find some of the trail markers, but they are there.  Finally, take the time to see the beauty around you. I see bikes whizzing by, their riders more interested in how many calories they've burned than the marvels they are missing.  As Noel Paul Stookey said, "There's two ways to miss things. One is if they go by too fast, and the other is if we go by too fast.  In some cases, it's well worth watching the rings form around the trees, and let the speeding machines just pass by.  The cool thing is that, in the GIHP, there are tons of trails to hike, through rocks, swamps, fields, giant hills, forested lands, and it will take some time to walk through them all.  But I have the time, and the desire, so the winter's cold won't stop me from continuing my trek through the world, nor should it.

Trails I've been on up to March 12th, 2014 at the GIHP

Obligatory Thankgiving Blog IV

I actually only do these once every few years, looking back at the others.  I see how my life has changed, how different things (except my heater) that I've been thankful for, different people, different jobs.  I think it's a different button that I'm thankful for this year... the "off" button.  I've realized that there are so many electronic gadgets at my house that I never really get around to doing the things that are really important.  So I looked at what games I was playing online, "Bejeweled Blitz," for instance, and saw that it was serving no real purpose, that the learning curve was gone, so I stopped playing. I turned it off.  True, there are some useless games I still play, like those on the GSN site, but only for a few minutes, like Solitare (which actually has a very useful application if it's 3AM and you're in a dorm room with no AC and sick as a dog...long story).  It's like going to a Chinese Buffet.  You stuff yourself, and you think you've enjoyed it, but you walk out feeling "blah" and 3 hours later, you're hungry again.  Useless, but sometimes you just have a craving for an egg roll.  So in moderation, uselessness is okay.

Or the Disney Channel shows I have watched.  I think that has to do with the shut down of Shake It Up and the continuation of truly sorry shows on the station. So, I turned them off. I might one day download them and watch them, but right now, I'm content not to.  I need to read all the books I have in my house, anyway.  All these books, it's a sign of one's mortality.  I see all the people donating books to the library every day, and I realize that, in doing so, I would be acknowledging my mortality, that I would never possibly get to all the books in my library, so why not get rid of them.  May I live long enough to read all of them.

I'm thankful for the Nancy Guinn Library, and the Friends of the Library organization I belong to.  I'm still in touch with the books that I love to sell, with the authors and titles that I've read over the years, and I feel the challenge of showing the public of Rockdale County how valuable a repository of books and other media is to everyone's lives.  Here, in this building, is the knowledge we seek to grow, outside the meager education system we have currently.  All those words, all those thoughts, and they sit on those shelves and in those computer banks, just waiting to be plucked out and processed in our minds.  Woven like a quilt with all the other experiences and bytes of data jumbled like thread in our brains.  And it's all there!!

I'm also thankful to Gwen for recruiting me for the organization, and for helping me to get a car when I needed one so badly.  It allows me to walk all over this community of ours and see the beauty right beyond my own door.  You can see pictures of all that in any number of blogs prior to this.  I'm so thankful I live in a place with such diversity and beauty as Rockdale County.  I should have been walking years ago.

 I'm thankful for the conversations I've had with friends online, like Jacob, Chris, and Davis, giving me the chance to offer help and support to others.  It's amazing to see people walking down those paths, working on their own dreams and goals. I've always been a helper, it's what I do.  Use words and thoughts to help other people down that road toward whatever destination they have.  I know Davis, in particular, will arrive at those mountain tops, and stand proudly at the culmination of his dreams. I only hope I can help.  

So now I must go to bed, and rise tomorrow to face another Christmas shopping season at a bookstore, with all the hard work and joy that it brings.  Only a month from now, it'll be a new year (well, almost) and time for new challenges, new opportunities, new paths to walk down.  I will be thankful for the sun when it rises, that the warm air will pick up my feet and I shall walk those new roads, wherever they may take me.

My Blessed Flyswatter

Or, in other words, things that bug me.

Imagine David, as a youth, facing up against Goliath with nothing but a sling and some stones (and a whole lot of faith), or in the secular world, that day when the Neanderthal Man has enough of running from the Smilodon and stands up to him with a blunt object or spear. As men, we have stood up against all the predators of this world with swords and arrows, even guns and such. Modern day Man has conquered all that would prey on him (except himself), so what then, is our weapon of choice to control pests that would invade our property? The answer is simple... the Tupperware light-green Flyswatter. The flyswatter is my gun, my big stick, my automatic rifle. And I'm an expert at it. The six-legged monsters I go after like some scene out of Starship Troopers... Cockroaches. You can't live in Georgia and not be intimately familiar with the pests. The weapons one uses to fight them when seen: a heavy book (unfortunately, my collection of Orson Scott Card short stories is always handy, and cleaned afterward), a can of bug spray or Dow Bathroom Cleaner, and my trusty flyswatter. How is it that man, having been the master of all that is laid out before him, is reduced from hunting the great predators of this world to six-legged nothings. And why should we feel the same surge of testosterone when killing them? Is this what we are reduced to?
 ***

 So I'm driving through my neighborhood, trying to get the speed up to reach escape velocity, to enter the real world, and I see, out beside the trash cans of my neighbors, a large, flat box with the unmistakable symbols of a flat screen TV. The box is waiting patiently for the garbage truck to haul it off. It might as well be a giant neon sign above the house, saying "Rob Me!" It's ridiculous to announce to the world what possessions you have and expect, in today's insane world, not to get it taken away from you. I've always joked that if a robber ever came into my house, they would laugh, go break into another house, and bring me an updated television. I know for sure they can't pick up the monster we have sitting in our living room, nor would they want to.
***

I hate Jeans. They are necessary when the weather gets cold, but I think there should be a rule that says that you can't wear them between Easter and Thanksgiving. I'll go get my sweatpants.
***

A small Pine tree growing out of the rock on Bradley Mtn. 

I will say that there is nothing more awe-inspiring in my little neck of the woods than the Arabian-Bradley-Panola Mtns. just to the west. Standing atop the rocks, looking out over the countryside, or walking the trails next to rippling streams and waterfalls, listening to the sounds of birds, the rushing of water, volleys of gunfire...

???

People go to these hills for a peaceful stroll through the woods, to bike the trails and get exercise. Since the parks are in Dekalb County, quite a few visitors come from that county or from Atlanta. The one thing that they don't want is to be subjected to the sounds of gunfire coming from the Dekalb County Police Gun Range. It's located on N. Goddard Road, right in the middle of the peaceful scenery. I swear, the deer in that area must here gunfire and be totally unconcerned. They'll never hear the one with their name on it. I wonder what other sites they considered, and what political games were played to keep it away from every other area in the county. hmmm....

***

Finally, every time I go on Facebook, I am inundated by stories where someone is outraged about some cause or injustice. Something that Obamacare has done to make our lives more difficult (which it does with increasing frequency), or the latest of insane protests from PETA as they try to uphold the rights of Rats living in Washington DC (the 4-legged variety, not the ones we elected). We have shocking stories thrown at us every day, each one designed to get our ire up. Television, the Internet, conservative Talk Radio... the things to make us angry grow each day. I want a T-shirt that says "I can't find anything to be Outraged about ... I Protest!!!" Let's make a folk-anti-protest anthem dealing with the scratchy surface of walls (no kidding... sometimes I don't even want to feel the walls... I want gloss!!) And in making it so easy to be momentarily outraged about any one thing, you cease to be legitimately angry about things that are important. And then you can be distracted while true injustices go by unnoticed and unpunished. There's no sense in fixing the economy if everyone is up in arms about the latest NFL scandal, or about the latest spying attributed to the NSA. Why don't we be happy for once? Find those things in life that we can be truly proud of, that make us smile and fill our insides with that warm fuzzy feeling, and hold on to those things. There's no reason to be upset when there are joys right under your nose, just waiting to be experienced. We just have to look past trivial things, and notice the importance of the world around us. Billy Joel said it best:

I believe I've passed the age
of Consciousness and Righteous Rage.
I found that just surviving was a noble fight.
I once believed in causes, too.
I had my pointless point of view,
and life went on no matter who was wrong or right.
 ~ "Angry Young Man"

 

Climb Ev'ry Large Rock

Denzil Pugh is climbing a mountain. Why is he climbing a mountain? I've been walking trails for a year or so now, through the forests, through spider webs and around snakes and across rivers. The trails have taken me towards granite boulders that sit on the sides of hills, growing moss, collecting leaves. I've climbed hills and looked out over the next horizon and seen Stone Mountain in the distance. And the roads have curved through and exited Rockdale County into Dekalb, until my next walk took me to the Davidson-Arabia Mountain Nature Preserve.  The experience I had there, at the foot of the monadnocks (large, single rocks, like Stone Mountain), was similar to the beginning of my travels at the South Rockdale Community Park.  Coming out of the forest, following the path, I saw massive power lines stretching to the horizon.  Constructs of steel, electricity, power... how awesome it was, to see what man had built to run every aspects of our lives.  Reaching the end of the forest around Bradley Mountain (I parked at the southern end of the area, near the AWARE wildlife area, and followed the rock cairns), I saw a vast expanse of rock sloping upwards, many feet high, with those cairns like pimples spotting the landscape.  In the same way that man created the power lines, so did God create these monoliths of granite, providing evidence of His power, as well as his generosity.  The rock here, called Tidal Grey, is sought after for building countertops...etc...  It becomes the rock, the clay, as it were, that man creates his own world.  In a sense, he is emulating his Creator.  

So I climbed up Bradley Mountain, following the cairns, stopping frequently to catch my breath, as I'm not in the best of shape, but eventually, I reached the last cairn, and the top of the massive rock.  Having never been on top of a mountain before, it was a totally new experience.  Out across the horizon, I could see the tops of the skyscrapers in Atlanta, and Water Towers as reservoirs for the communities hidden in the trees.  The wind blew, and high above me, hawks or buzzards circled in currents high above the rock, looking for an easy meal.  I felt much like the Traveller in Caspar David Friedrich's  "A Traveller Upon a Sea of Mist." It gave me satisfaction, confidence.  I think climbing this mountain, or one like it, is something everyone should do, just to have the experience.  I will most definitely do it again. 

I tied two references to this blog at the top.  First, Mother Superior singing "Climb Every Mountain" from The Sound of Music, which combines the actual mountains of the Alps with the metaphors of life as a mountain.  And while I could go on for pages looking at this very obvious image, used by most every author that had a mountain in their works, I won't.  Because William Shatner did it so much better.  In his interview for Star Trek V, Shatner describes the second scene of the movie, which has Captain Kirk climbing a mountain in Yosemite National Park. He attempts a rationalization of the scene, using the mountain as metaphor, and does a great job of it, no

matter what the other people commenting on the Youtube video say.  It is man conquering nature, God, if you want to go that far (which, obviously, is the theme of that movie, with Kirk going to a world that housed "God," which turns out to be a malicious alien, which the Enterprise fires upon.)

However, I don't think the idea of climbing Bradley Mountain is analogous to destroying God. Rather, I think seeing nature in its full beauty at the top, in all its fragile wonderment, along with the sharp cuts of quarry work, carving out the stone to make the buildings we live in everyday, is a fitting relationship. We both use the stone and then let it stand.  I find the paradox in what I find beautiful about the mountain.  I've seen many pictures of the area--pictures of wildflowers, of the red moss that is unique to the rocks, of the pine trees growing strong and bold from cracks in the rocks themselves--and yes, that is all wonderful.  What I find aesthetically pleasing is the rock itself and what we have done to it and with it.  The cuts, the creations, the water carving out pools and snakes of black upon

slabs of gray.  Probably what I spent most time looking at was the square slab structure made at the far north side of Bradley Mountain on my latest walk around the trails.  Next to the fence that denotes still private property, there is a square structure of granite, solid, held together by metal bolts. Atop it, people have set smaller granite rocks, and on the back, a metal door, which I did not open.  I don't know what it was for, but it was probably made for quarry storage.  What would people, some tens of thousands of years from now, think of it when they find it in a probably now barren planet?  A shrine, a religious construct, an altar? To thank God for the rocks?  Who knows?

If you want to get more information about Arabian Mountain, especially the wildlife and plants, go to Kay's blog here.   She has walked the trails for much longer than I have, and has more knowledge of the ecology there.

I tried, before I left the top of that mountain, to stand as Friedrich's Traveller did, and feel as Howard Roark did at the beginning of Ayn Rand's The Fountainhead, seeing the hill he was standing on as both itself, the grand beauty of it, and as potential, what he could make of this beauty with his own hands.  We've been given this world by God to construct to glorify Him, but also to make Him proud, to emulate Him, to become creators ourselves.  Let us use this world in that manner, respectfully, adding beauty while preserving it. With reverence as we cut into the stone, with wonder that we are even here to see it.  Let us climb more mountains.

Workin' and Walkin'

I think I will hire a goat.  Or a llama.  They have some over on Highway 20... love to come out to the fence during rush hour and be seen, watching the cars go by.  And it's my fault really, for letting the plants grow so. Why once, after a particularly long roller coaster of a vacation, we came back to Polk Trees in our backyard, ones that had grown so large their trunks had become wooden... much higher than me (well, me at that time, anyway).  And the briars and the brambles and the bushes (where the rabbits couldn't go), they climb all over the backyard.  Just today I tried the pair of loppers to get rid of the small trees that the weedwhacker couldn't touch, all of which the mower couldn't get to because of the steep inclines everywhere.  Sigh.... my backyard is usually a disaster area, and it takes all summer to wrestle it into submission, and sometimes not even then.  And Georgia does not always guarantee that a cold snap will kill everything.  I've tried bleach, I've tried plant-b-gone.  I'd try lighting the whole place ablaze, except I enjoy living in my house, and I'm sure my neighbors like their houses.

But I've found out over the past couple of years that it's not that bad, really.  In fact, I enjoy going outside and doing some manual labor.  I'm the only one that will climb upon my roof and clean out the gutters (much to the dismay of the many bugs that call those gutters home).  And my wonderfully reliable $20 lawn mower that was bought refurbished from Lowes, I think, runs over anything, and when it hits something, you start it up and go again.  Unlike most of the $200 new ones that break within the first summer.

I think it has something to do with my walking.  I've realized that there's something vital in the doing of menial chores outside.  As if it were part of a primordial gene program, that the methods of survival go well beyond sitting in front of a computer all day.  What function does using our brain 24/7 while our bodies go to waste serve, other than to dramatically shorten our lives, while enhancing our intelligence?  We would be simply giant brains, and nothing else.  I guess that's one of the reasons why I hate Big Bang Theory, for the evolution of mankind should certainly not come to those idiots.  Rather, let us praise those who can use their hands, can plow the fields and strip the metal and take apart a motor and put it back together again, and hear the vibrations come like a B-flat hum of function and beauty.  For what would we be without people who kept the whole of this world running, repairing that which is broken, and creating that which the brains have developed.



Take, for instance, the trails upon which I walk, the power lines that stretch to the unending horizon, beautiful latticework of poles and wires, all pulsing with electricity, to power every bit of our lives. Take the bridges that span the South River, the one they just finished on Lower Alexander Lake, the wood and steel, all to bring natural beauty to the people of Rockdale County. Imagine the sweat and toil and splinters that went into those structures.  I said something similar when I talked about the Gazebo that Keith Asher made at the South Rockdale Comm. Park for his Eagle Scout project.  That's manual labor, and it's the highest accomplishment for a Boy Scout.  Not beating the latest Call Of Duty game, but making something from the resources of this Earth into something beautiful.

I realize I can't do all that... but I have been able to work outside this summer.  I took our ladder and propped it up against the tree in the front yard and used a hand saw to cut off a dead branch.  And then there's walking... purely to walk.  Miles of trail to be covered.  And it's a joy to walk in the summer heat, humid air all around me, sun shining down.  It's actually a good thing to sweat, and to feel the cool breezes coming through the forests.  It such a pleasurable sensation.  It makes me happy. Of course, the physical benefits of walking, the exercise, the Vitamin D production, the regulation of Serotonin and Dopamine levels. One of the best things to do for depression is to exercise, to walk. This makes total sense if you look at studies coming out recently which show that depression has risen dramatically recently.  Aside from all the economic, political, and other bad news, I can't help but think that depression is also caused by people being stuck in their chairs in front of computers and televisions all day.  So what if you don't have a job... don't sleep, don't just sit in front of the computer looking at the useless job searching sites.  Walk around the mall and find one, or, if that's not possible, just walk. Down the street, or if there are parks in the area, walk through the trails.  If you're in the city, and it's too dangerous, take one day a week and drive out to someplace where it's possible to walk safely.  I think even once a week would help so much.  It has for me.  I don't even mind the pain I get the next day in my ankles and feet from walking on them for miles and miles. There's bad pain and good pain.  I'd rather have pain from working than pain from not working.

The Road Goes Ever On

There's always something strangely alluring in a road or trail that winds its way over the horizon, or around a corner.  Where does it lead to?  What scenes of beauty lie just over the next hill? And what if the road never stops? If it just keeps going and going forever, where do you stop or turn around? At the moment of turning around, when the sights become something already seen, it loses its luster.  All that work never to return to that spot again, or to keep going. It's what I find intriguing about the trails I walk.  It's impossible to walk a trail and then turn around because you're tired, or because you've been at it too long, and know that there will be a part of that trail left undiscovered. Sure, I could walk it again, and continue down that path, but why put off that journey until tomorrow?

The Arabian Mountain Trails perplex with all those questions, as the trails are long, steep sometimes, and unless you're riding a bike (which I disagree with), it would take far too many steps to walk the entire thing, and it's difficult to know when to stop.  As for the bikes...I like Noel Paul Stookey's quote on his album Reel to Real, that there's two ways to miss things, either it goes by too fast, or we go by too fast.  The signs on the pathway always talk about controlling your speed on a bike, to pass people only on the left, as if you would be going so fast as to hit them.  Well, you're going too fast. I've seen rabbits, chipmunks, roosters, deer, a really large turtle, lizards, and a couple of snakes I didn't want to bother, all on the trails I've walked.  Which animals would the biker have seen? And the scenery, the sun shining down through the trees with an other-worldly glow, the creeks flowing by with water never to be seen again, do they see these things? Sometimes you have to watch the trees grow, watch the rings form to really appreciate all that's around you.

The joy really is in the journey, as I've quoted before.  It's so much fun to see your goal in sight, and in this case, the place where three trails meet, the spot almost equidistant from the three parking lots. But so much more enjoyable is getting there, through the heat and humidity, the rain (which I did today. I found that the main problem was water getting in my eyes, the wetness didn't bother me), the sun beating down on you.  I found that the best walks I've had were with the sun shining overhead, and me going through so many trails and experiencing the freedom of being absolutely alone and "off the grid," as it were.  For the path is a choice, what road you go down is, in the best of circumstances, entirely up to you.  There are no parents to decide what path to take, no societal norms, no pressure from job or religion or politics... just you and the path, and the sun and the grasshoppers flitting about.

One other thing, while I don't usually sing while I'm walking, I did discover that, at the end of the walk, singing actually helps to regulate breathing, provides tempo and rhythm to your walk. I guess that's why there are so many travelling songs out there.  Pick any James Taylor album, there's bound to be one on there.  Probably the most fitting song for this blog is J.R.R. Tolkien's "The Road Goes Ever On," with the lyrics and video below.

The Road Goes Ever On

The Road goes ever on and on             

Down from the door where it began.

Now far ahead the Road has gone,

And I must follow, if I can,

Pursuing it with eager feet,

Until it joins some larger way

Where many paths and errands meet.

And whither then? I cannot say.

Panola Mountain State Park: Return to the Wild

When we are all decimated, and the human population dwindles to far off islands where whatever supervirus has not effected people, nature will be quick to take back over.  The ivy will crawl up the walls, breaking through the doors and siding. The squirrels will make homes in our attics, and sooner or later, the termites will take care of the rest.  I don't see the house I live in now lasting much past 20 years, but it would make little difference, as there would be no one here to live in it (except maybe Will Smith, but he'll have enough to do fighting off the undead.)  Because the Apocalyptic Disaster movie is so popular, it wouldn't be above people's imagination to see mass death come out of some Robin Cook or Stephen King book and kill us all.

The planned and perfect squares of nature that we play on, the parks and golf courses, would grow wild, turning back from the patterned gardens that Wordsworth penned  to the scary wilderness even Thoreau would not venture into.  So it is that the Southerness Golf Course was given to Panola Mountain State Park and used as a trailhead for the Path Foundation's trails running through the area. Most of the course itself was allowed to revert back to natural space, with the concrete paths twisting around the greens becoming trails amongst the wild raspberry bushes, the thorny thistles, and the many maple trees dropping seed pods everywhere.

The west side of the course has been turned into an archery range, with makeshift artificial animals (it looks like a bear, but it's not moving). They really should move, automaton style, like those games at carnivals. You're allowed to walk on the trails that go from one "target" to the next, but the others are fenced off.  And while I'm used to ignoring signs and hopping over fences, I don't want an arrow in my thigh, so I stay on the trails.

photo by Rob Meeks

The east side, around the lake, where those retired from daily chores come to chat and fish, but mostly chat, are trails that wind around a huge tree used for climbing programs.  Teaching kids how to   climb a tree, which would be instinct in yesteryear, now is done with safety equipment and an instructor. I would rather have large oak trees in the park with winding limbs, just calling for kids to climb higher and higher, and if they happen to fall and break an arm... that's just the pains of childhood. But of course, that won't happen in today's litigious society.  The injuring tree would be cut  down and artificial plastic playsets would be put up, as if man could engineer anything as intricate as a tree.  You know, going to Factory Shoals Park in Covington, the thought processes needed to cross the rapids, with slippery rocks and unknown depths, knowing that a wrong move would cause injury, is the same thing as climbing a tree. Would the limb hold? Can you reach it? The strategy is worth every second.

Parks like this also have wooden things constructed around every bend.... bridges crossing creeks, picnic tables and cooking areas in former greens... built as Eagle Scout projects.  The Gazebo at the South Rockdale Community Park is another one.  Hopefully, the ideas the scouts learned in the program will last as long as the projects.  And past the bridges and the picnic tables, a path leads out to field of grass, and off to the side, a house that has long been abandoned. Perhaps it was a property that was donated to the state to make the park.  The house stands with the ivy encroaching and the animals making shelters in the attic rafters.  An example of how nature would take over our environment, as soon as we leave it.  It leaves a strong impression, not an eyesore in some neighborhood, but a symbol of the power of nature, when wood rots and the storms break through and the walls crumble.

Skywriting and Trail Walking

There are few places in the world where you can truly experience freedom.  Away from technology,  other people, all the social restraints and mental hangups we all have about most everything.  No financial issues, no cars screaming to get gas, your eyes constantly on the arrow pointing dangerously close to "E," hoping that it'll get you home and back to a gas station by the time you get paid again.  There are very few places in this world where all that goes away, leaving us with our own two feet  and our minds.  One thing I know, there's nothing like the grocery store parking lot.

Back a couple decades ago, when Walmarts didn't dot the Conyers countryside, when there was a Richway, and a Big Star, and the building behind Arby's was actually a movie theater, there was a 16 year old boy just beginning work as a Bagger at Bruno's Finer Foods.  I was the fastest bagger there, and second fastest cashier.  But late at night, when the other baggers would rather be in the back pretending to put the fruits and herbs back in the refrigerator, I'd go get buggies out of the parking lot.  And there was total freedom away from most everything.  It was in the early nineties, so the only music available was that in my head.  And I sang those songs while gathering carts.  Only 5 at a time, for safety reasons (I think I was the only one to follow that, it was so "manly" to get 12 carts and push them all in at once).  My favorite song to sing out there was "Skywriter" by Art Garfunkel and Jimmy Webb.  Simply wonderful.  That was freedom.

 I'm reminded of this as I walk through the trails in Rockdale       County.  There are no people around, no financial pressures, just the ticking of time keeping pace with my walking staff.  So a week ago, I parked on the north side of the Rockdale River Trail (you can find it on Google Maps by looking up Daniels Bridge Rd, off Union Church Rd.) and walked to the clearing where the power lines stretched north to the power station.  I started south, trudging up the hill, higher and higher, until just before the top I looked over and saw Stone Mountain over the horizon to the north.  Don't think I've ever seen Stone Mountain from Rockdale.

Over the top of the hill, underneath the giant towers of flowing electricity, and continuing, there's a valley of green flora, weeds and insects.  Grasshoppers flying away from the trail, the cicadas rubbing their legs together in the hot Georgia summer.  To the right, a couple of houses are far off into the adjacent forest, and one has a rooster, so it crows, not knowing the time
of day.  This path would take me into a valley and up another hill to East Fairview Road, but I had already been that way.  This time, I turned east and climbed another steep hill to a grassy area.  On the left, a large granite outcrop grew out of the forest like some ancient ruins.  I climbed to the top of the rocks and looked around at the beauty of the trees, the grass, the sounds of life all around me.  Around the grass, dirt had been mounded together to make ramps for motorcycles, mopeds, and the like.  I wondered, as I listened to everything, why people on motorcycles would so freely roam this area, filling up the valleys with noise and not caring about everything that surrounds them.  I wondered how many people on foot had climbed those hills, reached the top on their own, and saw everything that Rockdale County had to offer.

Then I reached the gazebo overlooking the paved trail far below, next to the South River.  It reminded me of Stonehenge, some structure built long ago to watch over everything.  Turns out, it was an Eagle Scout project made by a neighbor of mine, Keith Asher, and his troop.  The gazebo had been pulled off it's original foundation by those same moped riders, but it was still very secure and well built.  I felt like I had made it to some end goal, standing atop some mountaintop, and it was good.

There are other trails I have followed where each dirt path had imprinted on it the hooves of horses (and honestly, I had to watch where I stepped).  Again, the trails were filled with sights that you just don't see going about your daily chores, a loan tree towering above the rest, plants I had never seen with soft, furry leaves, the cooler breezes going through the forest as the sun began to set.  And while I respect the people who traverse this area on their horses, I still think that these areas would be better enjoyed on foot.   There are similar trails at the Georgia International Horse Park, but according to the map, the trails are divided between bike paths and horse trails.  Would that we be able to walk any square inch of this Earth with our own two feet.  Just to walk, we should be able to go anywhere, but the fences and the signs and the obstacles that our laws put in place keep us in tight quarters.  Walking costs nothing except time, harms nothing, wears nothing out save the soles of our shoes.  It takes no maintenance, no oil changes, no cleaning of waste products.  It is marvelous and wonderful and if we could rid ourselves of the wheels and machines that walk for us, we would be in control of where we went.

A car can only go on streets, the width restricts us, the gas limits us.  But if we could walk to everywhere we needed, we would be totally free to explore and expand indefinitely.  There is nothing to keep our legs from traveling anywhere we wanted.  That is freedom.  You will not find true freedom cruising along the highways of America, although it certainly is tempting.  In my opinion, you will find the open freedom that I seek only on your own two feet, walking up hills and through valleys to places unknown.  May I never run out of trails to travel, nor miles to walk.