Annie's Helpful Guide to Hiking Steep Mountains When You're Past Your Prime

 Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored!" Hard to admit, yes it is, but I am past my prime. And for those of you striplings who say, "Age is a mindset, not a number," well. You must still be young. Age isn't a number, but it's a reality.

I may be past my prime, but I'm nowhere near dotage. This means that the urge to dance, hike, and otherwise carry on is still an itch that can be scratched.

Hiking is one of those pastimes that come with an unfortunate drawback. The drawback is, if the hike is worth taking, it's going to be steep, rocky, or both. Take my word on this. I live close to the New Jersey Pine Barrens, and the hikes there are soft, level, and devoid of rocks. They are also boring as a Methodist tithing sermon. Pine trees, pine trees, and more pine trees. With an oak or ten thousand thrown in for variety.

I'm just back from beautiful Anneland, and the hiking there is middling interesting.

EXHIBIT A: VIEW FROM ANNELAND

As you can see from the helpful exhibit, the mountains in the region of Anneland are not terribly tall. But any mountain is steep when you start climbing it.

I have been frustrated with my inability to climb mountains for the past three years. But this year I figured out a hack. It will drive the striplings nuts, but for me it works!

Here are the steps:

1. When the hiking gets steep and/or rocky, proceed thirty paces, looking only at the few paces right in front of you, then rest. 

2. Do not look ahead at the trail in front of you while resting, except to confirm the next blaze. Look back at what you have accomplished.

3. If, after 30 paces you feel like you can go farther, go ahead. Stop when you run out of breath or see a cute mushroom or find a stand of wild raspberries.

4. In the summertime, go hiking early. It's too hot in the middle and end of the day.

Now you, too, can be a successful (if slow as hell) hiker!

One final piece of free advice: It's never a good idea to hike alone. However, if you do, be sure to let two different people know what trails you'll be on and when you plan to be back. When you get back, call both people to check in. This is what I did on my last visit to Anneland, and by this means I was able to conquer the nearest steep trail.

All the blessings of the bored Gods to you! Let me know about your hiking. It's a great way to spend a morning.

I Have Returned from Anneland

 Anneland. That's what I'm going to call my mountain property. It's the most beautiful little scrub forest in the world! I'm just back from my first visit, and now I am going to bore you to death with the details!

I know, I know. I should be sticking to interviews. Who wants to look at photos of a scrub forest in the middle of nowhere?

Then I will be brief.

I did not know the boundaries of the land I bought, so when I arrived to find 5 inches of snow on the ground, I was also pleased to find that the surveyor had wrapped neon pink ribbons around trees on the property line. These same trees are also blazed white. No question where my place begins. And thank goodness for that, because here's my neighbor:

I made a list of things I was hoping to find on my property. One thing was a really mature tree. And, bingo.

I wasn't kidding about the snow. It's usually cold in those mountains in April, but it doesn't often snow this much. But hey, I love the white stuff!

Saving the best for last. When I got the survey at closing, I thought there *might* be a view. On that account I was surprised to the point of weeping.

I don't have any plans to build on this property. The land is not even on the grid. But if my ship were to come in, this would be what I saw while sipping the morning tea and doing my devotions to Venus Cloacina.

And oh yeah, that ridge is Polish Mountain, where my grandfather's farm was. It's not the farm pictured, but that's a good thing.

The only other item I have to report in this boring ass blog post is that I have vowed never to take the Pennsylvania Turnpike to access my property. For one thing, its pace is worse than frenetic. For another thing, the tolls would set me back $100 per trip. So I took little ol' Route 30, the Lincoln Highway. Through Lancaster (Amish buggies), York (Walmarts), Gettysburg (battlefield), Chambersburg (city square), Caledonia State Forest, McConnelsburg (unfortunate name), and down to Route 522. Skipped that turnpike completely, and it only took me about an hour more! (It takes a solid hour to go the first 20 miles out of Philadelphia).

Something funny did happen on this trip. Saving it for the next installment of this Endless Navel Gaze called "The Gods Are Bored."

I'm Going Forest Bathing

 You've got to hand it to the Japanese. They come up with some of the best ideas.

Take "forest bathing," for instance.

That's what the Japanese call it when they stroll off into the woods and just take in all the joy that Nature has to offer. Apparently the Japanese do this in droves.

I've done this, but I never had a name for it. And it's been way too long since I have done it, mostly because every time I've gone to a forest in New Jersey, it has been densely populated with other New Jerseyans. It's to be expected, I suppose.

But the forest I am about to bathe in has no one around. It has no trail through it and no significant landmarks that I know of yet. It's off the grid and probably off the world wide web as well. Forest bathing is not done in the nude, but if I wanted to I sure could.

Gonna stroll into the woods for a nice long forest bath. Gonna stand there and appreciate the miracle of owning mountain property again. Gonna pull out a chair and a good book and just take in the view. Gonna hug every tree and kiss the ground, because I belong in the mountains, and it's been too long. 

I will bore you with photos when I return.

I'm going home.

My Plans

 All hail Venus Cloacina, and welcome to "The Gods Are Bored!" Wow, what mayhem. First we had Donald Trump, then we had a deadly pandemic, and now we have World War III. It's like the 1960s all over again. What can I do except go along with the flow and hope for the best?

For those of you just hopping aboard, I am an Appalachian American, living ex patrium for most of my life. Up until 2011 I had a hold on the old sod as part owner of my grandfather's farm, but then it was sold, and I was truly bereft.

Now I have land again, praise Cloacina, and only about a mile and a half from my grandfather's farm. At four acres it's small by mountain standards, but oh boy it has some qualities.

Probably the best thing about it is how flat it is. This is the mountains, after all. And it's shady! Lots and lots and lots of trees. You can feel them talking to each other underground. On top there's leaf litter and moss and fallen branches. The ground is springy, soft on your feet, from all the years of undisturbed leaf fall.

The ink is dry on the transaction. The seller has been paid. And everyone is asking: Anne, what are you going to do with it? The land, they mean. Tiny house? Big house? Vacation house? Gonna move there?

Nope.

When those trees talk to one another, I don't want them saying, "OH SHIT, CHAUNCY, SHE'S CUTTING ME DOWN!" Nor do I want to plow in a driveway, or sink a septic system, or try to persuade the state of Pennsylvania to run an electrical line up through the woods.

I don't want to start a trash heap (though it's a time-honored Appalachian tradition). I don't want to build a fire ring in all that leaf litter. I don't want to hang fairy garlands from the tree limbs or build some monument (though there is already a nice cairn there probably made by some farmer 100 years ago).

I've had ten long years to think through what I would do if I got a little bit of land in the mountains. And what I decided some years ago was that I didn't want a parcel with a house on it. Why do I need something more to worry about? Or a place I'll feel obliged to go just to "keep it up?" Phooey on that!

I want this land to look just like it does now. Worst I'll do is snip down a few pine seedlings to make myself a place where I can view the sunset and the meteor showers.

Some people think it's ridiculous to purchase a property while having no plans to alter it in any way. Those people aren't Druids.

See, the way I look at it, I bought a church. I'm going there to worship, and when I leave there will be no trace that I visited at all. This I consider to be bliss.

I'll close today's sermon by thanking my dear Yellowdog Granny for the bear spray. When your new next door neighbor is the state game lands, it's better safe than sorry. Hope I never, ever need it!

Meteor

 I wonder if people living in 3421 will look back on us and find us primitive? If the species survives, that is.

I ask this question because the weirdest thing happened to me, and my scientific dogma wants to dismiss it. But I just can't.

All through this Samhain season I have talked to my ancestors in all the usual ways that I do it. The only difference this year was the awesome Moth Man vigil candle I got for my shrine, something my dad would have loved.

The night before Halloween, there was an alert about a solar storm that could possibly cause the Northern Lights to be seen as far south as New Jersey. It's on my bucket list to see the Northern Lights, but I know it won't happen from the comfort of my home. The light pollution is intense around here.

No matter. After dark I went upstairs and looked out the bedroom window towards the north.

And in the split second I found myself looking out, a meteor streaked across the sky.

This had to be a whopper of a meteor to be seen over the light pollution. It might be the first time I ever saw a meteor from home. And the Orionids peaked two weeks ago, and it was only about 10:00 pm.

The day after Halloween, I got a message from the seller of the property I want to buy. She got the survey, and it's all systems "go." At the very latest I'll make the transaction next April during my spring break. Perhaps earlier if it can be done remotely.

I hadn't heard a word from the seller since August and was beginning to believe she had changed her mind.

The skeptic in me says it was a total coincidence that I happened to hear about a solar storm, and I happened to be standing by the window when a meteor blew by that happened to be bright enough to beat the light pollution. But this time the spiritual me says, "Yo, your fam be winkin' at you from beyond the Veil."

And I just can't stop thinking about that land. It's the perfect place to watch a meteor shower.