It was a wonderful afternoon for the State Fair. Cool enough for a sweater.

Everyone had treats

and rides. How many First Pony Rides do these men see in a week?

On Saturday he ate one ear of corn, one cotton candy, on corn dog,

four mini doughnuts, one carmel apple with peanuts, a philly

cheese stake, and some rootbeer.

All-puffed-up-and-no-where-to-go. Jail sucks.

In recent summers I have had the good fortune to spend a long weekend hiking in the Smokies. It’s often during the solstice. The longest day of the year is spent outdoors with tents, bugs, streams, trees, campfires and my brother’s extraordinary cooking. This was my sixth visit — yet it never ceases to amaze me how different the trips are. Saturday was devoted to tent camping in Elkmont campgrounds. Sunday morning we broke camp during thunderstorms to hike up Mt. Le Conte. We parked a car at Alum Cave and then piled in a second car and drove up to Newfound Gap. Up in the parking lot that occupies this big break in the ridge it was WINDY.  We watched dark clouds blow up the forested slopes and poured though the gap like water spilling out a break in a dam. The Smokies get their name from a fog that clings to the slopes and appears to be smoke. Trees were whipping around like toy props in some bad movie. For the first time ever my rain coat made it into my pack. Although we start up at the gap this route is an interspersed 3.5 miles of downhill and 4.5 miles of uphill hiking. The total climb is about 3,700 feet.

The hike starts with 2.7 miles on the Appalachian Trail. Walking a tiny segment of this 2,178 mile long trail is a wonderful honor. Down by the parking lot the AT is full of tourists who aren’t hiking and look at us funny. Half a mile in we have the trail to ourselves. Sometimes we pass real AT hikers. People who are walking long distances over many moons. We ogle their gear and I’m sure they think we are looking at them funny. The trail runs along ridge lines and normally affords amazing views, but this year we hiked in clouds. Once a momentary view opened on the leeward side of the ridge line before the clouds cleared the ridge and started down the slope. The path can be challenging, with large rocks and steep climbs. In the rain the trail becomes a stream.  It rained and rained on this hike. 

We reached the 5.4 mile long Boulevard Trail which cuts up to Mount Le Conte and bid adieu to the AT. Normally we stop at a rock outcropping and eat a long lunch and take off our boots and enjoy a good view. In the rain we did not sit down. We took short breaks and ate lunch standing up in under a dense thicket of lovely rhododendrons.  Like the AT this trail runs along many ridge lines where the mountain is dropping away on both sides of the trail. On this rainy day these saddles were loud gusty places compared to the protected calm of fur and spruce stands. Two miles into the Boulevard the rain stopped. A couple of miles later I was almost dry. 

The last mile of trail to High Tops is an assent of 700 feet. This stretch has many rock slide areas with steel cables to hold onto.  This climb is always very challenging but this year it was blanketed in a thunder cloud. We walked right up to the thundercloud and could hear it raining inside. I stopped and took pictures of the group hiking into it. Jon is right behind Gretchen and John but you can barely see them. I put on my rain coat and started hiking. Lighting was striking the hillside around us and it was pouring rain. A strike hit within 100 yards of Gretchen and I! Fear flooded my system with adrenaline and the last climb was EASY! All my aches and pain melted away and the rain was fun. We sped to the top and then 1/2 mile down to the lodge. 

At 6,360 feet the lodge is the highest hiking lodge on the east coast. Its a series of cabins on a terraced slope overlooking Gatlinburg. There are no roads to Le Conte and all the supplies are brought up by helicopter or llama. We unpacked in our cabin and warmed up. I could pour half a cup of water out of my boots. The rain stopped and we walked down to the dinning hall with little bottles of coffee liquor to spike some hot chocolate. Dinner was served and everyone came to the hall to eat. We skipped the sunset on the bald, which we had done every year till now. I didn’t want to put on my wet boots. Instead we played Uno in the office, drank rum and ate cookies.

The next morning it was dry but still cloudy. After breakfast and group photos we started down Alum Cave trail. The 5.3 mile downhill hike is beautiful. Its makes me feel like a super hero to walk down Alum Cave. Passing hikers on their third or fourth mile of uphill reminds me of how easy the downhill dance with gravity is. I was all smiles. Alum Cave trail has many stream crossings. The sounds of water permeate the hike. Mountain Laurel was blooming. It rained a bit but not like the day before and we were happy. I thought we got to the bottom in fine time, but we were pulling off our boots in the parking lot when Bill pulled up. He had hiked all 8 miles of the Boulevard Trail, and driven from the gap down to Alum Cave parking lot. We offered him a beer. He declined but told us about all the bear tracks they had seen in the fresh mud. Cool.

Every year (for the last seven) Pullen Park Terrace in Raleigh NC has hosted the most outrageous, totally awesome block party: Kirby Derby. It is my favorite event in Raleigh. It boasts a parade, races and drunken behavior in an explosion of color and energy that is simultaneously beautiful and frightening. It is sublime. The neighborhood maintains a singular cohesion because its One Block Big. The cottages that populate the two streets house a community of creativity both broad and deep. Our small party was hosted by the charming, dandy Scot Dunlap, an old roommate from school.  He was lucky enough to buy the cottage (out from under me and seven other eager bidders) on the lowest terrace of this hillside cantilevered over Western Boulevard. I would like to offer my thanks to him for having us over and continuing to be a good friend.

In the past I have endured this amazing hot June event eight months pregnant and stone cold sober but this year it was with my mom, three year old son, husband and a Bunch-O-Beer. The events start mid-afternoon for the kids. The block is thrown open and the loop street of Kirby closed to cars. Kids have squirt gun fights involving full blown garden hoses, innocent bystanders and zip-lines. There are treats and socializing on the street until the parade starts. This year’s theme was All things 80’s: I pity the fool. 

Donkey Kong and the Mario Brothers, the Ghost Busters and the General Lee, ET, Pac Man, Space Invaders, a giant Atari Joystick, the Robert Palmer Girls, painted trucks, a bunch of Jungle Fever dancers, derby racers and 99 Red Balloons were all in the parade. 

In years past the parade has been the culmination of the event. But recently the gusto of the races has been fantastic. A “drag” race marks the beginning of the adult racing. Men dressed in dresses and heels run to win — this year to ‘Chariots of Fire’ by Vangelis. 

The main race Kirby Derby is loosely modeled on a soap box derby. Contestants fabricate their vehicles to be push started at the top of the Kirby hill and rely on gravity (that beautiful god) to do the rest. There is a wonderful 90 degree bend in the road and the racers have to be able to maneuver this turn — often at high speeds and in front of large crowds. The rules encourage brakes and steering, but sometimes it’s hard to tell.

This year the crowd at the bend in the road burst into spontaneous “taste great vs. less filling” and 80’s anthems in between heats. It was beautiful. 

Magnum PI lost a wheel and was ‘T-boned’ by the four seater he was racing. The crowd picked up his rig and pushed it across the finish line. 

The winner sported a madras plaid sport coat and a skinny tie.

After the racing we sauntered back to Scot’s for grilled veggies and chicken. Yum. I love grilled pineapple. There is a lovely after party but I have only made it once and only about ten minutes. I hear wonderful stories and sometimes wish I wasn’t such a lightweight.

http://www.kirbyderby.com/

http://www.gamil.com/2009/06/26/donkey-kong-comes-alive/

It was the perfect afternoon for a sail so I raced at breakneck speed to Kerr Lake. At Steele Creek Marina I boarded The Skidoo — my friend Thomas’ Catalina Capri 22. He untied her,  pushed us off the dock and hoisted the sails. I always have trepidation when using sail power to leave the marina. There is a moment when all the sail area creates strong drift but not enough water is traveling over the rudder to have helm. Mucho action and no control! Woo this is all part of the fun! It is important to know that sailing happens in slow motion. Somewhere between a sail’s pace and a tree’s. Its plenty of time to get worked up two or three times over what turns out to be nothing. When I’m ready to rip off the motor cover and start her up, the helm kicks in and I get control of the boat and can relax. And that is what sailing is: 50% relaxation, 31% exhilaration, 12% sheer boredom,  7% terror!

We cleared the end of the dock after several tacks — changes in direction because we were heading into the wind. Outside the marina the wind dropped out for about three minutes. This gave the crew just long enough to get on each other’s nerves. Ripples shot across the surface of the water and then a lovely breeze filled our sails and we were off. The wind was low and steady. The weather was perfect. The boat heeled slightly but not enough to be strenuous. We sailed 6.66 miles in about 2 hours 15 minutes then I needed to head back to Cary for cello lessons.

Getting back to the dock the wind was shifty and unpredictable. There is nothing better then saying “we don’t need no stinking motor” and docking under sail, but this afternoon was not the day. I cranked the motor and Thomas gave me a conciliatory “its good to run the motor every so often.” Docking was a little tricky with a gusty tail wind. Approaching the dock I threw it into neutral long before I normally would and we had plenty of momentum to make it to the dock. All in all a beautiful sail.

The neighborhood play group traveled to the NC Zoo.

Two toddlers, three little kids and three mommies.

Lions, no tigers, and bears! Oh my.

Everybody was beautifully behaved, even the mommies. 

My mom has Fridays off, so after lunch we headed to Clarksville, Virginia to visit Prestwould Plantation. In 1793 the Roanoke River’s banks became home for this lovely house. Two giant doors sit directly across from each other on the first floor. The door that faces the Roanoke was the social door, and the door that faces the driveway was for business. I can only imagine the cross breezes that would flow through this generous house, because it closed up tighter than a tic. The tour is wonderful because much of the furnishings are original and the wallpaper is restored. They still have all the receipts for the hardware for the house. It had to be sent from England. Many of the materials (all of the lumber) came from the site. The beams span the entire length of the house. The floor boards span the entire room without a break. The forest must have been HUGE! An old Oak stands between the house and the River and it might be 216 years old. But it might not.

The second wife of Sir Peyton Skipwith was a Scot. Unlike English or American women, Scottish women had been granted the right to own property, the ability to inherit, and the right to an education. Lady Jean Skipwith ran the plantation after her husband died in 1805. Her library was one of the largest assembled by a woman in America. The house is restored back to Lady Jean’s era of influence. It’s fabled she had a telescope in her room to watch operations on the dock. She was very private. No likenesses of her survive, but a painting of her daughter reveals handsome large eyebrows.

I love the grounds of this plantation. When arriving at Prestwould the stone walls are the first element to greet you. Driving down the road I thought, “who would build this great wall around a stand of forest?” and then I realized the wall was older than the woods and my pulse quickened. The walls run down the drive and up to the house enclosing grounds that stand in strange space — maintained but really unoccupied. So the wildlife around was quite surprised when I popped up in the gardens. The tour guide said we had been the only tour all day. I started wild turkeys who cleared the low stone walls gracefully but were quite distressed. A black snake reared half a foot off the ground to get a good look at me. All I could think was “COBRA” because Cobras do that in movies. My second thought was “Hoodless Ninja Cobra” before I downgraded to “Three Foot Black Snake!!!” My mom did the adrenaline dance in my peripheral vision, so no picture because I was too busy laughing. The original landscape plans are intact and are in a free brochure! Landscape Plans are FREE. I got into the wrong line of work. 

A stroll sounded in order, so I hopped over to Durham. The Nasher is a great art cache for the triangle. Its a beautiful space. “Picasso and the Allure of Language” is starting in August.  I’m definitely seeing that.  On a ‘Family Day’ the Nasher is a madhouse but today I had the collection to myself. Escultura Socail: A New Generation of Art from Mexico City was not what I had in mind but stretched my head and ideas of art like a yoga workout.  I like being skeptical right before lunch.

After consulting a map, the best route appeared to cut across Duke Gardens. Ellen Shipman designed the gardens after a flood wiped out the original started in the 1930’s. The gardens unfold around a stream that connects several ponds. My beeline sauntered through the Terrace Gardens a sensational show of flowers.  Jack-in-the-pulpit abounded in many shady spots.

Duke Chapel is a wonderfully large church and the key organizational element to Duke’s campus layout –the crowning jewel. The woman giving out maps informed me that I was right on time for organ practice. I got inside, turned to take a picture of the organ and  the first notes rang out. This organ is 10-15 years old and came from Germany. The soaring ceilings and stained glass were eclipsed by the thundering music. When I entered it had been hushed. Later I realized I was almost yelling. It was liberating to be in a church and not use an Inside Voice.

On the walk back to the car, I meandered through the Asiatic Arboretum section of Duke Gardens. It centers around a large pond that is habitat to many ducks. One had two dozen ducklings. They were so tame I could stand right over them.  A storm moved in and I got caught in a bit of a shower but it was beautiful.

A short drive from Cary through Fuquay Varina, Raven’s Rock is a complete treat! The temperature was beautiful and gusty winds occasionally thrashed around the tree tops. Lizards scattered in the crunchy leaves as I walked by.  At first the trails seemed like nothing special but only a quarter of a mile into the woods the Forest transitioned to a giant stand of blooming Mountain Laural. It was unbelievable to walk under a canopy of white flowers.

After too short a walk a wooden stairwell spilled down the 150 foot bluffs to the Cape Fear River. Uncommon angles made every landing a unique experience but they all felt like tree houses. Near the bottom a sudden rustling noise rose directly  beneath my landing. A wild turkey strutted out onto the trail below. She made several low clucks. There was a long pause and then she clucked many times. Eight little chicks started moving. They appeared out of nowhere and one by one crossed the trail into the woods on the river’s banks. She followed, stopped, looked back and clucked. A straggler chic materialized from the forest floor and joined the flock.

The Cape Fear River is a nice big fat juicy river at Raven’s Rock. The power of the river carved out a mile of the bank leaving a beautiful rock cliff. Undercutting of the bank created massive, cantilevered cliffs overhead. It is truly a sublime landscape. Rhododendrons sprout off the lip of the cliff, high above, and shower down purple blooms with chartreuse speckled throats. Even the trees are dwarfed by the scale of the rocks. Little toads are everywhere.

Walking up to the Overlook above the bluffs I came face to face with hosta’s most fierce predator: a white tail deer. We stared each other down until another hiker broke it’s gaze and it escaped.  Deer are like cats in that you can trap them with an unwavering look.  The Overlook allows for a  larger glimpse of this amazing river system. A Blue Heron sailed high above the river slowly gliding downstream. It was amazing to be above such a graceful flight.