Marriage, or Talking to Myself

The Bible says
   A man and his wife
      Become one flesh and that
         Must include the brain as well as
      The heart and all the rest
   Perhaps this is why
Our eyes always
   Meet in mutual
      Recognition of the
         Crude cruel funny and sad and
      Why we laugh and cry at
   The same time maybe
That’s why we have
   Ended up liking
      All the same foods and same
         Movies and music and have
      Generally become
   Inseparable
Not in the so
   Sappy romantic
      Sense which usually
         Is meant by that word but just
      A simple statement of
   The fact that after
So many years
   There really isn’t
      A distinctive you and
         Me and even when you’re not
      Here you don’t won’t rub off
   This is probably
Why most of the
   fights that we’ve had with
      Each other in truth have
         Been fights with myself steady
      Internal dialogue
   That slowly flows down
To acceptance
   Pooling into faith
      In jumped-to conclusions
         And a brave face toward the world.

Morning

A sweetgum is silhouetted
        against the east cream-sky, leaves like
                star-shaped kids’ cereal sogging
In forgotten milk.

Weathered, brittle plastic toys lie
        scattered in the backyard glowing
                in faint beatific rose light
For a little while.

The house sits quiet and languid
        as the summer air outside feels
                like a held breath, waiting to burst
Out, then in again.

When the kids wake, the spell will be
        broken, but for the time being,
                the world itself seems possible,
Open, blank, watching.

Maybe today’s news won’t happen,
        and all is cream and roses and
                God is standing back of it all
                        Breathing, “It is good.”

Image: Appalachian Sunrise, Watauga County, N.C., July 2018.

Unripe

unripe blueberries are
not miniature death-stars
waiting to zap planets
with blinding acid juice
but if they were how would
we even find out? all mine
in the backyard find
their way to the bellies
of mockingbirds before
I can verify the
destructive potential
of future pies and jams.

Image: Original Artwork, May 2019.

Into the Woods: Ritchie Hollow

Just downstream from Chattanooga, the Tennessee river takes a sharp westward turn, leaving its meandering (though now tightly TVA-controlled) path through the Great Appalachian Valley to squeeze through a narrow cut in the Cumberland Plateau like so much toothpaste.

In earlier times, the Tennessee River Gorge was one of the most feared stretches of waterway to navigate. This immense volume of water in a tight space between rocky banks created a fast current with numerous shoals and eddies, before the construction of the (now-demolished) Hales Bar Dam in 1913 regulated the water level. Even today, by virtue of the terrain, the gorge is one of the least developed and least accessible areas of the Chattanooga metro area.

The same features that keep this area inhospitable to development have helped keep it wild. The steep, rocky slopes rising directly from the river harbor impressive biodiversity, and much of this natural wealth is protected and managed by the Tennessee River Gorge Trust and Prentice Cooper State Forest.

Until recently the only easy ways to explore this area was from above (via the Cumberland Trail and other trails in Prentice Cooper or at the TVA’s Raccoon Mountain facility on the south rim of the gorge) or below (via a long drive down Mullen’s Cove Rd.). The only folks able to enjoy the slopes themselves have been the rock climbers who flock to the “T-wall“.

A new TRGT-managed trail opens up a beautiful cleft of the gorge for day-hikers. The Ritchie Hollow Trail opened in January 2018, connecting the top and bottom of the gorge. For about a mile, the trail weaves side-slope from Pot Point through a lush cove forest and across several small streams, before turning to chart a steep, strenuous course to the top of the plateau where it meets the Cumberland Trail at mile 2.2.

I finally made it out to try this one on April 14 (a hot, muggy day in the midst of an otherwise chilly spring), and it seems tailor-made to take advantage of the spring wildflower season. Mayapple, fernleaf phacelia, crested dwarf iris, bellwort, solomon’s seal, woodland phlox, trilliums, blue cohosh, rue anemone, ferns, maple-leaved viburnum, red buckeye, and many others were in full display along the lower section of the trail. Higher up, it looked more like winter than spring, with minimal foliage, but the first of the Pinxterbloom azaleas were starting to pop up there. Moreover, the whole route was generally devoid of the invasive shrubs and vines so prevalent around here, save the odd bush honeysuckle or paulownia.

The steep climb of mile 2 caught me a bit by surprise after the gentle rise of the first mile, but it’s nothing more intense than most routes in the region that make the ascent up to the plateau. Because the trail begins right next to the river, the full climb to the rim rises nearly 1,300 ft. At about the 1.6 mile mark, mid-climb, there is a nice 30+’ waterfall just off the main path. After the last pull, I took a short (.5 mile) breather stretch along the relative flat CT, and even scrambled off-trail to a rock outcropping at the actual summit. The woods were very quiet, so much so that I even scared up a large turkey trailside, who then proceeded to fly downslope a few hundred yards. Quite a sight.

Even at that, it only took a leisurely hour to get to the top. The descent was much faster, though I’ll chalk that up to keeping a near-running pace as I tried to beat a thunderstorm back to my car.

In all, this is a fine addition to the great trails of our area, and one I’m sure I’ll be back to visit again.