The Gathering: One

On a brilliant Thursday, I flung myself out into the car, having said my farewells to Scott, the cats, Lazarus the miraculously long-lived fish, and various freshly watered houseplants.

The trip itself was pleasant enough; I stopped the car whenever my back grew tense enough to complain. One of these stops turned out to be lunch -- the roadsigns proclaimed various inedible superfast"food" eateries, but I was lucky enough to discover a Chinese restaurant which served its menu almost as cheaply (and more delectably and fillingly) as those unmentionable places. They need to advertize on the interstate.

At seven hours of drive time, I pulled into my friend’s Virginia farmstead, whereupon I got a tour of the farm (exercise and walking was welcome about then...), and a fantastic dinner, and a sound sleep. After a breakfast of farm fresh eggs I got into the car and rolled on off to Tennessee, stopping at a Cracker Barrel for lunch.

One gets off of I-81 in Bristol, Tennessee, a community with nothing to recommend it, especially not the poorly-timed traffic lights, nor the aptitude for getting lost in it, and then having to backtrack through every single one of those poorly timed traffic lights. Finally, I found my way down to Elizabethton, and then up into the mountains, heading off to Roan Mountain itself. Now the landscape turned lovely, and suddenly I understood why Searles and Trailstalker were being drawn here. After passing about three Baptist churches, I found the entrance to the state park, made my inquiries, and then wandered off to find the cabins.

Not entirely without trepidation; I was tired, and Bristol and put me out of sorts, and here I was, going to meet up with a bunch of people I’d never ever physically met any of before. A bit of nervousness settled in on me -- was this really a smart idea? (I’d met people from online before, but never with so much effort.)

I walked up to the cabins. No one home. Walked to the next one. Some folks hanging over a railing. I hoped these were the right folks. Yup. I think this is when I met Treva and James and Melvin and DebbieG and Caolainn. OD and TS had crashed in the cabin next door. My cabin mates were exploring some dam somewhere, making unintentional offerings of jewelry <G>. I wandered in, feeling road-dragged, and began to get my bearings.

It didn’t take long to feel welcome, however. Eventually, our Fearless Summerlands Leaders woke up, and the dam explorers came back, and we all introduced ourselves.  I unfolded my car into my loft room at our cabin (shared with Topaz Owl and Bear and Grey Wolf) and spent most of that evening declining invitations to sit down. Standing was good. Lying down was good. Sitting had gotten ... old.

Deborah had created a great spaghetti dinner complete with garlic bread to die for, more folks arrived (Dan and Alex, and Daibhid and Lynne, and Terry and Rick -- possibly a couple of these had gone on that dam trip, but my recollections aren’t certain).

OD got us down to some interesting trees by the entranceway to the cabins, where we did a quick but heartfelt opening ritual complete with a sacrifice of Bushmills, sort of an offering of spirits to the spirits, as it were. Two small busloads of Baptist children pulled up during the proceedings, stopped and stared, before finally deciding to proceed up to their cabins.

We returned to the Hospitality Cabin, attempted a bit of Bright-Light stargazing, carried on conversations, and then retreated to our own cabins. We in the Yankee contingent had some good conversation before retiring into our respective cozy little beds.

A word about the cabins: Fantastic! I’ve been in homes with far less ambiance, style, and furnishings. The kitchens were well stocked with almost all the essentials, the bathrooms were great (we had a bath and a half per cabin), and the beds were comfy if you were of the right length for them. At six foot one, I was not of the right length, but at least sleeping somewhat diagonal was an option. Excellent accomodations, however! I never expected these cabins to be halfway as nice as they were! And, best of all, they lacked that one-eyed idiot box crouched like an alien in some corner.

In the morning, we rose early and made a cabin breakfast of eggs scrambled in with cheese, onions, and whatever else. Bacon on the side. A good, hearty, mountain breakfast. Eventually, we ended up at the Hospitality Cabin, and more conversations flowed.

At two in the afternoon, we took our guided hike to Peg Leg Mine with our intrepid forest ranger, Jennifer. She was informative, and she seemed to enjoy us, which was just as well, as we enjoyed her. We shutterbugs were out in force: digital cameras, analog cameras, video cameras. This was a short hike, but we had a lot of fun and I don’t think anyone got too tuckered out. Afterwards, we returned to the Cabin for lunch (which included a superb tuna fish salad and a wondrous cole slaw -- a recipe page may be in order, Deb...) And then back to roam again...

We drove up Roan Mountain as far as it would allow. Brrr. One crew elected to hike from there to the top of the mountain (two miles); I considered it, but also considered that jostling around in the back of the pickup (the only vehicle staying) with my own bad back on the way down would be a prescription for unceasing pain, and decided against it. The chill may have helped me decide, but not entirely -- it really was my back concerns.

We stopped off at a couple places on the way back down the mountain, to take pictures. And to watch Deb discover snow and icicles, and play with them. In low shoes. And to watch Dan play mountain goat, and slip off into near-waist-deep snow. Somewhere, I’ve caught that on film...

Dinner was the surplus from Thursday night (which I’d missed) and Friday night. I concentrated on the Thursday night menu -- rice and beans with sausage, and nicely seasoned.

Somewhere along the line, Jennifer appeared, to tell us that the cabins on our side of the encampment were going to be without water eventually, that the pump had broken. That in the morning we could move over to older cabins on the other side of the encampment, which ran off of a a different water supply. Many folks would be leaving the next morning and afternoon, but those of us who were staying could use those other cabins -- and those who were leaving could certainly shower over there before they left.

More conversations, and a strong healthy night’s sleep.

We took our showers that Sunday morning, returned to the Hospitality Cabin for breakfast (true Irish oatmeal -- a great experience!, eggs, mimosas, scones). Our closing ritual was even simpler, but still a Good Thing, as we made our mental plans to return and renew next year. We saw off Grey Wolf, Topaz Owl, Bear, Terry, Rick, Debbie and her digital slide show, Caolainn, Treva, James, and Melvin. We even saw off the Baptists, waving in a friendly style which they chose to ignore. Finally, only five of us remained: myself, OD, Deb. Alex, and Dan. We did a bit of moving, and voila, we were over in our new cabins. It was a rainy day -- mostly a damp drizzle, however.

These cabins, though older and smaller, were still perfectly good. And, amazingly, the beds were a bit larger. Alex cooked us a spectacular Swiss-style (with adaptations) dinner, and we gnoshed on more of the ever-present Swiss chocolates and cookies, retiring after a game of Dominos (and whatever Dan and Alex were playing).

Monday dawned with clear skies, and I ate and left. More bacon, I think it was. I took my parting camera shots, and disappeared, stopping at the Roan Mountain gift shop to purchase a t-shirt and cap before venturing away from the mountains.

I avoided Bristol proper on leaving Tennessee. Took in a bit of the sights, stopped for buffalo wings and a salad at a Denny’s, and arrived back at that old Virginia farmstead with its llamas and poultry and pregnant sheep and goats for the night. We went for vegetarian Mexican takeout. The next morning, there being no births overnight in the barn, I ate a breakfast of farm fresh egg and range raised ground lamb with brown rice (super), and then I trundled off to Connecticut, playing my wierd amalgamate of music in the car to keep me awake. I ate at an Arby’s -- if one is going to stop somewhere with superfast"food", one at least should stop at a place that makes some attempt at serving a horseradish sauce. Alas, there’d been no Chinese food at that exit.

I got home in time to drop off most of the film for developing, and to stop by the local market to nab a chicken leg for dinner. The cats were overjoyed to see me, and Lazarus was still alive. (Scott was back at his own home.)

Again, next year!!! I loved meeting each and every one of you!!!