What a wonderful time of year. On Saturday, we hiked at Medoc Mountain State Park, one of my favorite places on Earth.
Sure, Paris is nice … Niagara Falls was lovely … but Medoc is a little jewel of a place … in some ways, literally. Rich deposits of pyrite shimmer on creek banks, and the “mountain” — actually a modest hill of 300 feet — contains deposits of molybdenum.
Medoc sits among the rolling hills of Halifax County, near Ringwood, N.C. and north of Gold Rock. It has creeks, wildflowers, friendly birds and even a historic fire tower, which reminds me of Jack Kerouac.
I began my trips to Medoc when I was only about 5 years old. That would be in the middle 1960s, when the area wasn’t yet dedicated as a state park. My grandparents had been hiking there since WWII, and my grandfather camped there with Boy Scouts in the ’40s and ’50s.
My grandmother would go there to catalogue wildflowers, and by the time I was born, it was a family tradition.
We’d pile into our old Dodge Dart, with the two bird dogs, Lady and Pepper, and head out. We bought cheap canned sodas at Big Star, and once there, we’d hike to our favorite place, down the mountain side to a hidden valley on a creek.
Sodas were placed into the creek to keep them cool; the dogs were let go to run; and Dad built a camp fire for cooking the hot dogs and hamburgers.
None of which you could do today, of course … but the park today has more trails, and has acquired more land for the future.
Last week, as I was overwhelmed with work and pressing problems, I promised myself a hike at Medoc. It was my visit to the “Promised Land,” and a perfect autumn day.
Love this column, and the last paragraph is especially thought-provoking. Why does it take such a concerted effort to enjoy life? Why do we make our own minds and bodies and sanity such a low priority? It’s ridiculous! Whole weeks go by that i can’t bike 10 minutes to Duke Gardens for a brief session of soul salvation. Some days, of course, there is simply not time to spare: you’re fighting a major corporation’s plan to erect a shopping center in your backyard, your boss gives you three new projects due tomorrow, your dog has a medical emergency. But maybe we take our priorities too seriously too often? Or maybe we confuse our priorities?
We really are afraid to be free. I continue to be chained to my desk or home or some pointless sense of responsibility, but every once in a while I manage to escape. Just walking to the park with our dogs, or chatting with a child, is claiming the freedom which is our birthright. Why does it seem so difficult?
When in 1995 I sold my stuff and moved to Prague, I needed to know whether I had the guts to do one brave, free thing in my life.
Upon arrival, I was unable to communicate (Czech language, anyone?) and without an apartment for three weeks … though I had work, I spent my life savings to stay afloat for a time, even went without food for two days before my first paycheck because I was broke.
Did it kill me? Absolutely not!!! Now I know what I’m made of, sort of. It takes a lot to bring down a human being. We’re strong stuff … though I don’t necessarily recommend selling all your stuff and moving to prove it, unless your calendar is empty for a couple of years.
Freedom includes the freedom to fail, which is another thing we are afraid of. By staying so busy, we stay connected to the things that make us feel secure: work, family, friends. If those things go away, so will our self-constructed, self-regenerating identity. Then we have to ask the hard questions: Who am I? What can I do? How is it that work, family and friends are getting along without me? It’s almost a spooky feeling that comes with having enough time to read, go for a hike or do something else “merely” for pleasure — you see your real self, and it just might feel like a ghost town.
Most of the time I’m thinking I’m nothing if I don’t finish a novel. Yet when I try to write, there I am, in that very ghost town!! What a situation.