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Where I stand now, the Earth was once in turmoil. Approximately 500 million years ago, the tectonic plates containing Africa and North America converged. This act triggered the disappearance of the Iapetus sea and pushed the eastern edge of North America thousands of feet above sea level. Incredible pressure underneath this collision metamorphosed sandstones into the erosion-resistant quartzite where I now plant my feet.

High atop the exposed surface of Cook’s Wall, I stare down into the void of shadowed trees and fog below. My eye lingers on one pine in particular. It rests on a jagged upwelling of quartzite, clinging somewhat desperately to a small patch of dirt on the rock’s exterior. The central trunk emerges triumphantly from the uncertain ground, held upright from the vast array of roots unseen to my eyes. I trace the amber bark upward until the tree splits into two adjacent branches, forcing my attention to widen as to capture its entirety. Their heaviness consumes me. An icy haze glistens on the tree’s exterior as if to distinguish it from all else. The small rounded pinecones interspersed on the assortment of evergreen needles droop and sag under the blanket of ice. Despite the ground being barren of snow, freezing rain has hardened the leaves, pressured the forest, and unequivocally dominated the winter landscape.

• 

For the next hour, I lost myself in that wintry forest. My boots crunched along the semi-frozen trail while my arms braced against rigid unbending trunks to either side. Every now and then, my shoulders would collide with the rime of mountain laurel or rhododendron. Recently high winds have blown the dripping rain backwards against its downward flow. Coupled with near-freezing temperatures, the droplets have frozen in elegant curves nearly parallel to the leaves. I quickly got into the habit of grabbing the ice by its edge and carefully pulling the covering away. I would painstakingly focus on peeling it away as I would an orange, generally ending with its consumption as a ‘brief refreshment’.

After repeating the action on a nearby mountain laurel, I looked down to see a perfect iced replica of the leaf resting in my hands. Slight indentations of the midrib and each lateral vein glistened off the surface and shone brightly against the hazy sun. I twirled it slightly from side to side, attempting to comprehend the fastidious brilliance of the natural forces that shaped this object slowly melting in my grip. Wind and rain have fundamentally structured the entire composition of the region, wearing down the soft-stoned exterior over millions of years to expose the legendary quartzite cliffs of Hanging Rock today. From the grandeur of the vistas to the frozen outlines of natural flora, elemental powers stimulate the coordinated breath of this space. Listen closely, and you can hear nearly every living thing breathing together. I draw oxygen inward towards my lungs in an attempt to join them, to feel my presence in communion with theirs. I think of the rocks, the trees, and my lonesome dreams, a beautiful haze captured in my soul.

Shading my eyes from the glare of the setting sun, I descended along slippery trails into the rhododendron forests. Here the ice clung to the trees less readily, often fragmenting and crackling under short gusts of wind. I bounded over roots, scrambled up slippery gneiss outcroppings, and supported myself on slender hickory’s as the path twisted onward. I emerged out of a thicket into a new-growth forest where much of the understory had been cleared away. Damp leaves composed the base while bright green moss served as beacons through the misty trees. I took a moment to stop, planting my feet firmly into the mud, and simply listen. Absolute silence. Not even the distant hum of a plane disturbed this utter tranquility.

All of a sudden, the stillness was broken. To my right, I could make out a distant thwat, as if someone was striking the surface of a tree. From out of the fog, a pileated woodpecker soared into view in spectacular fashion. The noise, I learned, was the steady flap of wings against its agile body. Each thwat directed the woodpecker higher into the air, where it would then descend briefly before repeating the process. Against the misty background, the red plumage on its head glowed like a campfire, too abruptly snuffed out by its departure back into the fog.

Just like that, my union with the woodpecker vanished; its world remaining just out of my grasp. I realized that something is only ever given in nature; nothing is taken for granted. Though I felt satisfied, grateful, and content just being in its presence, I knew I had to return to my own world in due time. Evening’s approach did not falter but my haste certainly had, so with a short shuffle, I pressed onward against night’s formidable grip on the darkening valley.

” I wonder how they know, cause they don’t die if they don’t grow”

Poppa once told me: “You never have to be afraid…why embrace fear when you can grasp serenity instead. Be still, and know you are loved.” As I stand quietly amidst a thicket of vapor-strung pines, my grandfather’s sweet words serenade my ears once again. I perceive no movement across the saturated soil, and yet I can feel his gaze staring out at me somewhere through the fog. It’s as if the forest has soaked up his entire essence and departed it out as air. I recall the verses of Walt Whitman and, quite simply, I begin to smile.

           The impressively carved face of Wolf Rock shakes me back to reality. Luminous clouds have descended to hug the quartzite shelf in a seemingly-perpetual embrace. Bracing gusts of mountain air now cut through my polyester layers and send shivers shooting down to my toes. I took off my backpack and rooted around for my down coat and extra fleece, knowing quite well I did not want to leave this space for some time. I recalled then how that blue North Face shell seemed quite odd in the backseat of my car as I was stuffing my pack full of granola, fruit, and energy bars a few hours ago. The three-mile descent to the Hanging Rock visitor center seemed too far a commute, so I settled into iciness and stared out into the unknown.

            Hanging Rock is no neophyte to frosty conditions. As part of the Sauratown Mountains, the state park experiences ascensions anywhere from 1,700 feet to 2,500 feet across its 7000-acre enclosure. Given the nearly static 800-foot elevation of neighboring Stokes county, Hanging Rock encapsulates a monumental collection of varying habitats. From my frozen mountain perch on Wolf Rock, I could barely make out the lowland swamps that dot the inner valley and the clear pine-forests of the upper piedmont. The view splintered my concentration from the task of warming my stiffening hands.

• 

Great banks of fog suddenly plunged down from the canopy of oak and hickory, abruptly swallowing any chance of seeing the world beyond the ten-meters in front of me. I took a sip of tea and began to listen to the fog, an attempt to distinguish whether or not this force could make a sound.  My whole body slowly filled with insuppressible energy, all thoughts of coldness departed, utterly and completely immersed with the fine folds of mist wrapping around me.

• 

A passing shower sent droplets cascading onto my neck, dripping down my spine and causing my lips to chatter. Just then, I recalled the sign situated five meters to my right reading “Scenic Overlook”, a bolded arrow directing visitors to my current position. Without the appearance of stunning vistas and dramatic landscapes from behind the foggy veil, Wolf Rock would have likely remained unvisited for the entirety of that day. In that moment I did not care that the ‘scenic view’ was hidden from my eyes, for I could feel the power of the landscape without even seeing it. Even if her beauty is temporarily obscured, her influence shapes more than meets the eye. I closed my eyes and pressed my hands against the damp quartzite shelf, the accumulated water soaking into my skin as if I were a sponge. What I once believed separated me from this space now seemed to hold my hand, pulling me under and wrapping me tightly in an eternal blanket of serenity.

• 

“There’s a world that was meant for our eyes to see “

With the recent string of gloomy weather I wasn’t sure when I was going back to Price Park for my next post. But fate has a habit of giving me crazy thoughts at inconvenient times. Despite the grey atmosphere surrounding the campus, on the morning of February 11th I decided I needed a break from all the work and gloom. So naturally, I warmed up the Camry and took a drive down to Price Park for my second adventure, my head filled with ‘80s rock.

While I mainly stuck to the dog trails and the field of weeds last time, now I was ready to just let loose and head into the park’s vast forest as well as begin to learn about its history. Just beyond the public library lied the destination, a large and mysterious set of woods that remained mostly untouched by the urban world, except for a sign post and slightly man made trail here and there. Once I entered, I could just smell the cold, moist air around me as I retreated deeper and deeper in. It was quiet, not too muddy and perfect to just let off some steam. While I mainly got a quiet and peaceful vibe the last time, the grey and gloomy atmosphere this time around gave the setting a new layer of depth. It felt more alive and real than last time, because now I was seeing nature’s reaction to the weather through my surroundings. A great example of this was the plants, but we’ll get to that in a second.

As I continued my trek through the woods, I began to come across some beautiful plants and flowers that I completely failed to notice last time around. While they looked to be drooping down quite a bit from the rain, I realized this might’ve been good for them considering how dry it had been here previously. While I would say I was curious to know more about them, luckily for me there just happened to be some signs conveniently posted nearby, giving hikers like myself a great little overview of the surrounding vegetation. I believe the photo below says it all.

Once I returned to civilization, I was super curious to know more about the land’s history so I began by researching the Jefferson Pilot corporation, due to the fact that Price Park’s land was once a recreation area for their employees. From my findings it seems as though Jefferson Pilot is one of the U.S.’s largest insurance companies in terms of being owned by shareholders, originally founded in 1901 alongside 10 other insurance companies in Greensboro. Later on in 1919, Julian Price became the companies president and led it into prosperity through his leadership. It seems as though his business decisions made him  highly respected among his colleagues and could possibly be the reason for the park’s namesake.

While that’s all I have for now, I guarantee that library will have tons of better info into why and how the land became the modern Price Park. Next time I plan on looking over a management plan for the park and I’ll begin to look more into the actual park’s history once more resources become available to me. But that’s all for today. Ciao for now!

Sources:

https://www.referenceforbusiness.com/history2/71/Jefferson-Pilot-Corporation.html

https://www.ncpedia.org/jefferson-pilot-corporation

https://www.greensboro.com/news/business/tracing-the-history-of-jefferson-pilot/article_010cc7d3-6e77-5e6a-9ff0-e5ea473077a6.html

We’re from Dark Waters our camp is a good one, we fight the mosquito that are 7 feet tall. The horseflies may eat us, but they’ll never beat us cause we’re from Dark Waters and we are on the ball! Sing, Sing Sing… umgawa, umgawa, umgawa, umgawa umgawa, umgawa, umgawa, wow wow!

From the first memory of nature, I remember every summer when I was 10 till 14 years old, I would attend a Quaker camp in Medford New Jersey called Camp Dark Waters. I was fully immersed in nature for three weeks without any complaints. The camp was embedded within the pine barren woods with a beautiful creek bordering the end of the property. Dark brown water possessed the creek as a result of the sap dripping down from the Pine trees on the acre. Since the camp has the creek running through it, there has been some flooding problems destroying the dining hall as well as some of the girl cabins. There has been lots of rebuilding and renovating to ensure that the camp is more stable. Grands of sand cover the ground in the common area with holly leaves intermixed into the compound. Stepping on a holly leave was always painful, prying it out with your bare hands and continuing on your adventure. Nobody ever wore shoes around camp, which built up strong calluses on the bottoms of your feet. The cabins were separated by gender and some cabins had rivals against one another. As a young girl, my connection to nature was inevitable from the beginning. Every activity that I could possibly imagine was finally possible.

As a young girl, I was ecstatic to have the privilege and opportunity to be entwined with the natural world. The activities were limitless and free to explore my inner personal relationship with nature. The camp started with a big bone fire to introduce the camp counselors and to meet new campers. Every day was filled with extraordinary activities and events which included archery, canoeing, making friendship bracelets, swimming, capture the flag, frisbee, rope course, etc…, I cannot possibly name all the options, but there were a range of activities that campers could participate in. I can remember watching people practice canoeing in order to move up onto the next level. For every level, campers had to past a test to continue to the next canoeing level. The levels start with Bowman then Sterman and finally ended with Master. Us campers also had some responsibilities regarding the wider campus chores such as cleaning the dishes/dining hall, cleaning the bathrooms and cleaning the pool. One of my favorite memories was making chocolate chip cookies in the dining hall late at night with my cabin mates and remember hearing the cicadas and crickets chirping as they harmonized with our talking and chatter. During a rainstorm, the soothing sound of the pitter-patter water droplets showering down on the tin roof. Camp Dark Waters was my second home, and there is no place I would rather be right now than in the comfort of the natural world. 

Well, with my sign-in issues sorted all is right in the universe once more. So today I would like to begin by talking about my first visit to the beautiful Price Park just a few days ago, on February 3rd at sunset. The park was massive, with trails leading in all directions as dog owners flocked towards the woods. I took my buddy Ryan and decided that instead of going all in the first day, it’d be nice to just go hiking, get a lay of the land as I was still fighting off a bad cold at the time. 

One of the first things I noticed about the area was just how peaceful and quiet it was, despite being only a few feet from traffic and a large shopping mall district. It was like this place had been perfectly preserved in history as the world around it changed and urbanized. As we continued to walk along the trail I was suddenly overcome with a lingering sense of nostalgia as dog owners continued to pass by us. It remind me of Jack, my dog from back home that loves to go on long walks in secluded areas like this.

It made me realize that opening myself up to nature can lead to some startling conclusions about myself. I learned that despite the fact that I’m quite adjusted to living here on campus, occasionally I still yearn to be back home in Virginia, taking Jack on long walks through the creeks and woods near our old house. So, I would say that Price Park has already taught me something about myself. It’s taught me that despite what you may think about yourself and your situation, something as simple as a new environment, or even a brief flash of nostalgia, can change how you feel about everything around you. 

What I also loved about Price Park was just how much it’s surroundings suck you into the moment. We parked near this little field with nothing but a bench and a signboard around an otherwise clear and quiet field of grass, mud and weeds. With some extra time on my hands I decided to just sit on the bench and give meditation a try, see if I could clam my mind of all worries and rest away this awful cold. And I have to say, it might have been the most peaceful ten minutes of the entire semester. It gave me the chance to reflect on where I’m heading and why I’ve made the choices I have. I thought about my plans for the future and what my purpose in the world might be going forward. I’m not usually one to get deep but it was nice to finally have a peaceful to just sit down and reflect on recent events. I felt like I was at peace with myself and my surroundings and I owe that all to Price Park.

So, I’ll close out this first update by saying that I have found my nature spot and already learned a great deal about myself in the process. I’m looking forward to continually visiting this place and even more excited to begin learning about its personal history. So the next time you feel like you need to just get away from it all and find some inner peace, maybe I’ll see some of you around Price Park once in a while. After all, it’s only five minutes away.

Ciao for now!

I took the long road that was taken leading down to Oxford England on a quest for divinity. There was no turning back knowing the adventure had already begun. The sweet smell of blossoms permeated in the air as I put one foot in front of the other. This place was foreign to me, but the way the flowers bordered the pathway reminded me of my childhood. Long stretches of landscape, made me feel weightless, immersed in the natural world. The sharp beams of sunshine stroked the dandruff particles on the tips of my hair. Now, I knew I was basked in divinity.

As a young person I almost never felt drawn to the outdoors. My family did not emphasize the importance of spending time in nature and, since we lived in the New York suburbs, stumbling upon natural spaces did not typically occur. There was one day though that sticks in my mind as one of the first times I ever had that feeling of belonging in nature. I was in sixth grade and wandered off the bus from school with two other kids that lived on my street. The bus stops at the corner of the busiest boulevard in our town and Marino Avenue, where we lived. We walked away from the bustle and car rumbles of Port Washington Boulevard, past each one of our homes, down the meandering slope of the street, and into the woods that had maintained their mystery over the course of my sheltered youth. Weaving in and out of the trees, over the concrete wall covered in graffiti, along the quiet stream, I felt safe in the arms of nature. This area was not majestic by the standards of a well-versed nature-seeker, but it made my heart feel full. We stomped around in the stream and dug up silky mud. As we squeezed mud through our fingers, I began to unlearn all the fright and uncomfortability and doubt I connoted with the woods.

As though made of copper the stalks of grass seem to glint in the form of puffy white stars, earth-bound and small as they appear overhead. Bands of sun light the stray field in Greenville, North Carolina, illuminating bits of fluff as they spray from their homes and fasten to the greying fur of my dog as he leaps gleefully past. This was a fitting spot for his final walk before being put down—twinkling, soft, cool, home.