Back in April, the weather was nice. There was a lot of sun and the days were comfortable in jackets. We were looking to hike a new spot and had ask our friend Ron to suggest a place. Now he grew up around here and knows the area pretty well. He suggested we try a spot around the Nantahala National Forest area called Brush Creek. So we set off on a Saturday morning to find the place. We, of course could not find it, so we called for directions. Getting a cell signal can be tricky at times but we were lucky that morning. With additional directions we found our way to the start of the trail which was a suspension bridge crossing a river. I believe the river was the Little Tennessee which we followed to Brush Creek.

The bridge was in good shape so we crossed and took a right at the dirt road on the other side. The road showed evidence it had been used recently by a small vehicle, probably an ATV. It followed the river and the sound of running water coupled with the warm sunshine was making for a “mighty fine” day. After about fifteen minutes we passed a young man with I guess, his 10 year old son headed towards the bridge. The child was carrying a rifle, I think a 22. I think they had been target shooting although turkey season may have started around that time. There was no sign of game so I think it was practice.

After a while we started seeing some flatland on the left side of the road. There were spots large enough to raise crops, but they were covered with grass and wildflowers. When I am on these little adventures I try to imagine what a place looked like 50, 100, 200 or more years ago. I look for ways people would have made a living and survived in the environment. The flatland continued for a ways and we discovered the remains of a house. There was a stone chimney still standing and some foundation evident. Looking around it was not apparent what happened to the place. The back of the house was against the mountain and the front had faced the flatland and the creek. It must have been very peaceful.

My thoughts roam to what life must have been like for these people. Years ago the basics for life would have come from the land. They would have raised crops and probably raised a few animals. I am certain they would have hunted the woods and fished the streams. Visitors would have probably been rare and trips to town scarce. Reliance would have come from self and family. The romantic in me embraces and loves the vision of this lifestyle. The pragmatic in me recognizes the difficulties inherent in that way of life. A severe storm or drought in the summer could ruin the crops. Migration of wildlife could make hunting scarce. A bad injury or illness could have been hard to treat medically due to the remote and isolated lifestyle. So I looked at the ruins of this house I wondered what happened to the people who had lived here.

We continued pass the house, through a little more flatland to where the terrain become more challenging. We followed the path to its end. At the top of a ridge we could see a paved road in the distance. We discussed whether to go on or to return along the path to a dirt road we notice just before we reached the house. The call of the dirt road won and we retraced our steps.

As we walked along the path, peace and quiet settled on the body, mind and spirit; the sense of “here and now” was not a therotical concept but a reality. The only sounds came from the wind, water and the occasional bird. We spoke rarely and then, in soft, quiet tone. Looking back it seems we were filled with reverence for the time and place. We were in our chapel and in communion with nature. I love this space and have experienced it in many places, from the oceans to the mountains. It is so apparent when the man-made sounds of life are absent and the solitude of nature wraps the body, spirit and soul. It certainly provides a needed balance for me, to the other side of life as I know it in 2016.

Reaching the path that offshoots the main one, we started an uphill climb. The road was easy to travel but the incline had increased a good amount. These ascents do present a challenge for me so I pace myself and enjoy the journey. I’m grateful my “hiking” partner has patience with me. This path also followed a stream, the name of which I do not know. As we walked we heard and saw a few birds, of which one is a woodpecker. There a several species of woodpeckers here but my favorite is the Pileated Woodpecker. The adults can grow to 19 inches and are amazing to see and hear. We had one for a few months that would visit a dead tree to the front of our house several times a day. The rat-a-tat-tat sound as they work on the tree looking for food is a sound that always puts a smile on my face. I have yet be able to photograph one.

We followed the trail to where it ended with signs of “No Trespassing and Private Hunting Club”. While our instinct was to forge ahead, we respected the sign and took the trail back downhill. We reached another junction and followed a spur for a while. The walk was an easy path at that point. The woods were a nice mixture of trees, providing a pleasant combination of shade and sun. Along the path we had noticed a couple of places where shell casing were on the ground. These had to have been from the past as we heard no shots that day. As we approached the main trail we noticed a couple of hunting blinds. This area must be quite active during hunting season.

We finished our walk back at the suspension bridge. Taking our time crossing we looked at the river and enjoyed the view. A little tired and very relaxed, we headed home.