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

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.

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.

Thankfulosity

Before the tryptophan, before the football, the green bean casserole (which I make a great spicy green bean dish, but my mom doesn't like it, so I never fix it :{ ) , the pumpkin pie, the Eagle Brand Lemon Pie (which I make every year), I do like to reflect on the year, and find things that made me happy.  Finding things that have enriched my life.  I always feel thankful for my large dangerous space heater that keeps my feet toasty and lessens the pain I feel.  I'd be thankful for my Meloxicam, but my doctor won't prescribe those until my blood pressure goes down.  So I stick with Aleeve. And ironic enough, it's my feet that I'm most thankful for this year.

Well, what I do with my feet, which is walk.  One foot down, in front of the other.  So I take my walking stick, some bottled water, and I go exploring through the trails and the backwoods of Conyers, Georgia.  You never know what beauty lies just beyond your street, especially when most of us are concentrating on screens of computers, cell phones, televisions.  And while I couldn't live without those things, I certainly would be far less happy without the weekly walks I took all summer long.  I'm so thankful that the people of Rockdale County decided to keep parts of the area free of civilization, and also to invest in the trails and parking areas that make these jewels of the south accessible.  The Path Foundation (http://www.pathfoundation.org) as well as Newton County Trails (http://newtontrails.org) are great resources in finding walkways and pathways around the towns and out to the countrysides, where dirt trails and nature trails take you to forests towering, hills overlooking the community, the sounds of deer bounding into the forest upon your arrival to their home (just watch out for the snakes.)  It's so wonderful, to be completely away from mankind's distractions and see the road before you.  We must be determined to walk those roads, to see where they go, how far they take us, to what hidden glade lies just beyond the next hill.  And no pain will keep me from doing this.  It is my world, and I will explore it.

I'm also thankful for my job right now, which is to sell books.  In this economy where luxuries are slipping away, and electronics are slowly killing print communication, there are still some places in this world where the written word is alive and well.  I sell books in the Nancy Guinn Library in Conyers as a part of the Friends of the Library group, and I'm glad that Gwen and the other board members scooped me out of the dying embers of Borders and let me be a part of their group.  Also, I sell Bibles and Books at Lifeway, where I was able to bring my V-cart and Steven, for all last year anyway, to keep me tied to the job I really loved.  I really do need to read more, for myself, as I have so many book now, and for the customers that I might have in the future, who will need recommendations when the computer screen will only show covers and synopses, not emotion and passion toward books that are really worth reading.  I've found Georgia Authors, like Tim Westover (and his book Auraria) and Amber Dermont (and her book The Starboard Sea) whose books will continue the fine tradition of Southern Literature.  Tim shares my love of exploring the trails of the Georgia forests, and I am glad I met him at a book signing.  So go buy their books already!!!

The winter is coming, and the cold weather will keep me indoors, away from my walks, and I will be thankful for the spring.  But in that time, hopefully I will read more, and be able to walk the trails of imaginary lands.  For those are roads that we can all walk down, taking only our own experiences with us, and those, despite what Frost said, are roads we can travel down again and again.

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.

Wild Places

I don't pretend to be an environmentalist.  Someone recycling cans could probably fund college through what I throw away.  I'm not going to make excuses for this; I'm too lazy to make the effort.  I remember listening to Rush Limbaugh on his radio broadcasts, where, during the event that has been called "Earth Hour," where everyone is supposed to turn off their lights for an hour to preserve energy / pay homage to "The Earth" (as if our power is some sort of ritual lamb were supposed to slaughter), Rush tells people he's gonna turn on all his lights.  I agree with him... I'd go buy those flood lights that rotate in the sky and pay a huge electric bill that month.  I really wouldn't do that, but I don't agree with the idea in the first place.  In fact, the whole idea of Environmentalism is about as complex as you can get.  If you would ask me my top 10 books, easily among them would be Henry David Thoreau's Walden.  Simply give me a log cabin out in the woods someplace, next to a river (and if I ever win the lottery, I've got one picked out), and an ultra-fast line to the Internet, and I'm all set.  I'll sit and watch the ants gather food for their hills.  You see, there's a distinct difference in loving Nature, wanting to treasure and relish in the glorious things of this world, and being an Environmental Activist.


I guess it goes back to political ideologies. It concerns how we want to govern our lives, how we see our contract with those who would govern over us.  Our relationship with our fellow man. At its core, Environmentalism is a genuine concern for our planet, with maintaining the beauty and wonder of the planet we live in.  While walking the trails at the SRCP (South Rockdale Community Park), along the South River, I've seen many empty beer cans, other pieces of trash, even a bag of Legos spilled out on the ground.  And at times, I've noticed the water itself has a green tinge that is probably caused by pollution upriver in Atlanta.  I am not saying that the SRCP and the South River are junky.... it is truly beautiful, as the pictures I've taken show.  It would take very little for volunteer groups to pick up what little trash is there.  It would take so little to recycle cans, to conserve water...etc...  We use a large bucket to collect the water that comes out of the compressor in our air conditioning system.  We could, if we had a garden, use it to water the plants and save on using water out of the hose.  It makes complete sense... except we don't have a garden to do that with.

The problem with Environmentalism lies in how you handle the problem.  Companies like Disney, who created a  "Friends for Change" program on TV, have used private funding to promote volunteer work from their clients.  Excellent job! Through individual efforts, so much can be done to promote conservation of our resources...etc...  However, it's when people decide that government regulation of large corporations and commercial regulations of such things as light bulbs, that I start to object.  At this point, the power is taken away from the individual and put in the hands of bureaucrats in the government.  It ceases to be about caring about the planet we live on and more about money, power, and status.  Environmentalists become identical to the private corporations they seek to drain power from.  And then I get turned off by the whole thing and start agreeing with the bombastic statements that Rush Limbaugh uses against the Environmental movement.

The Paradox comes into play here.  By that I mean the Libertarian paradox that states that limited government is ideal when the "ideal" is followed.  If every private corporation instituted measures to protect the environment, preserve resources...etc..., then no regulation would be necessary.  However, not every business is going to operate by what is right, as the desire for profit at the expense of those they are responsible to (including the customers, the Earth, their stockholders), will overcome the reasoning for self-regulation.  Thus the government is needed to assume such actions.  And it drives me nuts!  Because almost every issue runs up against the Paradox when "ideals" are brought to the table. I return to Thoreau at this point, reading his essay on Civil Disobedience, especially the last two paragraphs.  Well worth the look.

Now, jumping to my walks down the trails of the SRCP.  A song kept coming into my head, one by Peter, Paul, and Mary.  In 1982, they self-published a live concert album titled Such Is Love.  I originally found it in a used music store located by my grandmother's house in Oklahoma City. The cassette had never been opened, but what music it contained!  One of the tracks was "Wild Places."  It brings together the idea of protecting the Environment,

 

living along side the beautiful works that God made on this globe, and the idea that doing so is an act of devotion.  For the very fact that such beauty exists in this world, outside of our influence, is an argument that God created this aesthetically pleasing place for someone to enjoy.  Namely, us.  If we cannot take care of it, then it was a wasted effort on his part.  And since I know that this is a fallacy, since God is outside of time and error, then He expects us to enjoy the beauty He has given us.  And what better way than to walk down the trails of this land and witness the beauty of nature, as well as the monumental objects we have placed on this Earth.  I always get this feeling that we need to make God "proud" of us.  For He must have pride in those He loves (and by the fact that we were made in HIs image, we must have pride in the objects we create.)

The duplicate beauty of the trails I've walked is that it contains both God- and Man-made wonders.  Taking a scene from literature, Howard Roarke, in The Fountainhead stands on the hill outside of the architecture school and visualizes the magnificence he can create from simply the clay and rock around him.  A marvelous first scene of any book, in my opinion.  We create things on this Earth for our own convenience, and if we do this in a method which preserves the natural beauty of the world, or even enhances it, then we have used our talents in ways that God would approve.  We have created objects in our world that are good, just as He created this world.   So whenever I cross the hill and see towering before me the power lines that stretch to the far horizon, it is beautiful to me.  If only other people could see the aesthetics that I see.

On a related note, an article in Yahoo showed an design from Meridian 105 Architecture that would work perfectly with my idea of an apartment building that would conserve space and allow people to live in balance with Nature, with Commercial space below ground, and Educational and Religious structures in a vastly increased green space that would be created from the destruction of unneeded current buildings.  Check out more designs here!

The Joy is in the Journey

White Trail is paved, the Red are Dirt paths.

I love maps.  I've said this before, numerous times, in fact.  I know three blogs ago I went on a rant against the uses of GPS, since it is much more exciting to get lost, to find your way home again.  And every time I come home from being cast adrift in this world, I get the map (which nowadays comes from Google's amazing map program) and I see where I've been. Then I know no matter when I arrive back at that place, I'll know where I am.  The GPS shows you only where you are going.  A map can also show you where you have been.  And more importantly, where you can go.  It puts the conditional tense into your life.  What path you can go down, and where will it ultimately take you.  For that, no GPS system will show you. 




Robert Frost probably best shows this in "The Road Not Taken," which if taken literally, is about someone walking a trail, and seeing it split in two, decides to take a path, to see where it leads.  Frost concludes that, while he must take one path, he will probably never take the other.  For either time or condition will never allow him to come back to that same spot, with those same leaves covering the ground. Or, if he would return, that he would not be the same traveller, having lived a life from the one fork to another.  I accept this, but I also know that I will return to that fork, and I'll take both paths, because a traveller looks down both paths, and takes one, and does not care where the other one leads.  I absolutely do care.  


It's almost like a case of OCD. Orson Scott Card wrote a character in The Children of the Mind who had a deep case of Obsessive Compulsive. She felt compelled to trace the wood grains in the floor of her room.  The trails in the map above look almost like the lines in a wooden grain, where roads follow rivers, where straight lines of electricity cross miles  of land, where brown trails of dirt split off like water droplets flowing down the side of the windshield.  There's an inescapable desire to follow that water drop all the way to the end, to see a path curving past your sight and want to know exactly where it goes.  I want to know.  And in the case of the trails I've been walking on recently (map above,) it means little how far the trail goes.... I want to see where it leads.  

Some people think walking is an method of exercise, as if going to the gym and walking around a track is going to somehow be a means to an end.  And I guess it is, if you're willing to sacrifice time for fitness.  Because walking around a circular track never takes you anywhere but where you already were.  You should never end up where you first began, as you as a person are not the same as when you first started the circle.  So go someplace different, walk a different path.  And when the path ends, continue it, step foot into the unknown and fell the branches in your way.  Take it to the lush openings of paradise that certainly exist, but never are seen because there is no paved walkway to it.  I should never walk a trail without a machete, never to turn back because a briar is in the way.  The explorers of the Amazon could not just stop because a plant blocked their path.  For the ends were fabulous riches, treasure at the end of their rainbow.  And even if they never found it, they must still keep going, as it was the journey that was just as important as the destination.  If the end is the same as the beginning, or if you are the same as in the beginning, then what is the point of starting out at all?  


It's the same about life, going from a literal trail to one of metaphor.  If you go to church, and you come out of the doors of that church at noon, and you have not changed, if nothing in your mind is different, then what was the point of walking down that path?  I would rather take my Bible, sit upon a rock in the middle of the South River and read from there, knowing that what is said would be something to think about, going to and from that rock.  And then my trip to the cafeteria will have been worth the effort.


So when I say I'm "going out for a walk," I have no intention of getting exercise.  That is but a fortunate side effect of my real intention.  I do what makes me happy, and that, at this point in my life, is to see where the trail goes (either literally or metaphorically).  I say that the Epicurean philosophy is the best one, as it measures happiness upon any choice.  Do I pick the ice cream sundae or the cheesecake? If knowing that ice cream will give me a sinus infection and make me ill for two weeks, I'll go with the cheesecake, for that is the path that provides happiness.  If being a teetotaler or going out and drinking every night are the decisions, and I realize that drinking will probably end up in some form of accident or grossness, or at the least, a headache.... I'll stick with my Mr. Pibb, thank you very much.   Because, as Candice from Phineas and Ferb has said, after a dream about going to the land of Oz and travelling to Bustopolis, the "Joy is in the Journey."  On a similar note, James Taylor wrote,  "The Secret of Life is enjoying the passage of time."  To me, that means walking down the trails of the gorgeous rural areas of Rockdale County instead of walking around some stupid track in a gym with a bunch of sweaty people.  And if I don't burn off 2,000 calories, well, that wasn't really my goal to begin with.  If at the end of that walk, if I happen to fall down dead, like the runner from Marathon to the gates of Athens, then I will have been happier walking down the paths of my own choosing.    

Power Lines

Sometimes, I think we take for granted what mankind is truly capable of doing. What we've accomplished in barely a century of manufacturing, creating a world that was only imagined by H.G. Wells in the late 1800's. An example: When we first moved to Georgia in 1987, my dad drove us up to the intersection of I-85 and I-285, to what is called "Spaghetti Junction." What a magnificent work of architecture! Bridges spanning miles, stretching up to the sky, carrying the working force of Atlanta to and fro. Now, having been here for many years, it conjures images of traffic jams, accidents, natural disaster movies. But just look at the tons of concrete, steel beams, supporting slabs of rock and metal, all fused together by fire and sweat, by the men who worked long days, as if to make the Great Pyramids, just so we can drive our cars across them. It's hard to be humble at a sight such as this. The window-cleaners that span this countries' tallest skyscrapers should feel this pride in what this two-legged animal has done with their own hands. And the purpose for these monuments? Just to get from point A to point B. To work. To play. To earn money and support the family. We create wonders of the world just to go about our daily lives, as if this were perfectly normal. And that's because it is. We have the ability to make things that our ancestors would call miraculous, a work of God, just so we can listen to the radio on our cell phones, or drive our cars (which are a marvel in themselves) to work and back. It becomes normal that we've been in space for 50 years now, as if space were simply down the street, the local grocery store.

Power Lines at South Rockdale Community Park

To understand what I'm talking about, I propose a short walk. The city of Conyers is but a short drive from Atlanta, and we have created long paved paths for people to walk on. Go to The Path Foundation to get maps to the paths in Rockdale County. Specifically, the South River Trail that goes from East Fairview Rd to Daniels Bridge Rd. I went there a couple of weeks ago to take a walk, having cabin fever for most of the day. I trudged up the first few 100 yards, being straight uphill, through the forest, watching the squirrels gather food, oblivious to me, and I was quite out of breath when I got to the clearing. Stretching from horizon to horizon, far above my head, were cables attached to giant metal frames, carrying electricity from the power plants to the city of Conyers, operating the blenders in the coffee shops, the cash registers of the grocery stores, the lights in the houses of the people. Giant power lines, each humming with power, with the musical vibrations of power. It was amazing to see, to walk under. It looked like the parting of the forest so that this giant God could stick forks in the ground and tie them together. And yet it was not God, but us, that did this.

Some people would call it sacrilegious to think this way, but I think otherwise. We create our structures in emulation of God. We become, in some small sense, the Creator, and in doing so, hopefully, we can learn of God's love for us through our love of our own creations. Would a potter, having made an object, pulled it from the fires of the kiln, not love it as much as a child born of the womb? Or an author, who when he finished the last line of the book, closes the binding and sends it off into the world, much like a graduating senior? So did God create us, and loved us, and sent us out into the world with free will to do what would please Him. In that, we are learning to become like God by creating as He did. I did a series of blogs about the idea of creation and emulation, etc, starting at this post, and the 7 following it. Anyhoo...

So back to the walking trails. The best trails in Conyers, in my opinion, are the ones at the South Rockdale Community Park, which is where the power lines cross right next to the South River. Some beautiful bridges and shoreline scenery. I'm gonna go there more often, just to see the wonders of Rockdale County. The great part about it is that very few people know about the trails, so it's quite peaceful. If nothing else, I'll go to hear the Bb Concert hum of the power lines, and see them as they stretch onward towards forever.