What did I discover hiking 140 miles or so through Vermont?
1. First, I love Vermont.
2. I tried to have conversations with local people when I was in town. The Vermont people I met care about their land and love to be outdoors—hiking, boating, camping, skiing, fishing, hunting. They are serious about recycling, passionate about education as a priority, are concerned that their young people are moving to seek jobs outside the state, warn us besotted tourists about the long winters, like to see independent businesses thrive (forget the chains stores/restaurants whenever possible), and are hospitable and friendly once you take an interest and get them talking.
3.I love Vermont.
4. There is always one spot every season along the trail that “shimmers” for me as holy ground. In Vermont it was Kent Pond in Killington. The A.T. went along a portion of the pond, but it was also accessible by car. Because I took a “zero” day at a campsite near there, I had extra time to spend by the pond, observe, be still and be in awe of the light and life of it all. At night in the shelter where I was staying, I could hear the loons on the pond below. One day I was lucky enough to see the loons as well as a bald eagle. Some kind of mountain cat was howling between my campsite and the pond one night. And the combination of light, mist and reflections on the pond at various times of the day broke my heart open. It was a “thin” place for me.
5. Again, I love Vermont—even knowing it has long, deep winters.
6. Because of the geology of the area—the rocks, the ponds and the bogs— the A.T. usually includes much ankle deep walking through mud that sucks feet and covers shoes. But this year Vermont was experiencing the driest season on record for a while. In some ways that is sad and hard on the ecosystem. The normally dancing, gushing mountain creeks were running low and slow. As a hiker that meant, however, that the trail was drier and easier to traverse.
7. We walked through history. There were forest paths along stone walls once built by farmers who in another century had tediously cleared the land for plowing. I was told by a passing hiking Vermonter that much of the overgrown pastures the A.T. traverses had once been sheep farms until the wool industry went bust. The forests we walked through were second or third growth trees. Many houses dotting the landscape are from the 1700’s and 1800’s; a good number of those have been restored, modernized and cared for. Things aren’t thrown away; they are valued and passed on to the next generation.
8. I was exhausted climbing with a full pack some of the taller peaks in Vermont like Killington, Stratton and Bromley. Yet the White Mountains in New Hampshire—next summer’s challenge—are triple the height of Vermont’s. That means if I am exhausted toting a backpack up a Vermont mountain this summer, then I have some serious work to do before I even attempt the Appalachian Trail in the New Hampshire Whites next summer. Most thru hikers on the A.T. have spent over 1500 miles getting their trail legs before they reach the awesome Whites. Those of us who section hike are starting fresh with wimpy legs each season we get on the trail. The Whites will winnow out those with wimpy legs. Sounds like a winter of working out at the gym—and if you know me, you know how I resist the gym thing. But if I truly want this, if I am to successfully hike the Whites in NH, I must swallow my gym antipathy and get to work. It will take much more than an occasional hike with pack on the hills around here to get ready for what is next.
9. More than ever on this hike, I realized the importance of watching each step—where are the roots, where are the flat spaces to step, where can I save pounding on the knees? Hours of concentration went in looking down at the ground, choosing the line of least resistance along the path. If I spent too much time looking up and around, I would end up stumbling. So I noticed small things—the designs of the ferns’ shadows, the tiny wood anemones, orange newts crawling across the path, the sound of the wind in the trees, the new (to me) song of the winter wrens, the play of sunlight and shadow on the ground, the variety of mosses, the damp, granite stones shimmering in the light, the softness of needles under my feet when I walked among white pines and the rich smell of the balsam fir. Most of my time was spent learning to respect each step and honor the earth that absorbed my weight—not just pay attention to the expansive views from mountain heights.
10. I understood afresh how the challenge of the trail—and, in fact, the challenge of life— is more about attitude than physical capability. My body has the capability to climb mountains with a pack if I am in shape and prepared, but my brain regularly tells me on the steep climbs that I cannot do this, I am too old and I should quit. So I develop mental games on the trail to keep me moving forward one step at a time:
Walking to a recitation of Psalm 121 in rhythm and counting how many times I must recite it before reaching the top of a climb;
Walking ten steps and taking a mental picture of something in my path (a fern’s shadow, an interesting shaped rock, a caterpillar eaten leaf), then reflecting on that image while walking another ten steps, then taking another “picture” for the following ten steps. The “picture” can also be a sound or a smell;
Simply counting the steps it takes to get to the top and allowing myself a brief pause every 25 steps or so depending on the steepness; will I get to 1000 steps?
Praying for people on the way up.
Noticing the wind and breathing deeply.
11. On the trail there is the practice of hospitality with strangers I am meeting all the time: an opera singer from Los Angeles where we discussed similarities of art and preaching as we packed up our tents , a young British couple relieved to find kindness on the trail when the world news about America has been more foreboding; a young woman who was discouraged and just needed a little encouragement; a passerby from New Zealand who joined my hiking buddy and I for breakfast conversation, shared her a deep faith and love of God in nature and prayed our daily walking prayer with us before heading on; the Jewish widower in a town library who just needed someone to talk to and was surprised he had so much in common with a Lutheran pastor—name, birthplace and love of God and neighbor; the shy and cautious dog whom I passed four times on the trail but who by the 4th time came running when he heard me call his name. This is only a small portion of the myriad of passing conversations. Many people came from backgrounds and places so different from my own that I would never have met them or had conversations with them had we not confronted each other on the trail. God’s family is large and I am grateful to have glimpsed it. I hope I can carry that vision of God’s expansive family with me in my daily life back home.
12. And, in case I didn’t say this enough: I love Vermont.
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