Hello from Rutland, VT! I'm sitting in the Rutland Free Library right now, warm and dry: A nice change of pace. The rain has been relentless as many Vermonters reading this now can attest. Each day leaves my shoes and clothes, a soggy mess. But that's the trail for you.
I'm currently staying at the Twelve Tribes hostel here in Rutland above the Back Home Again Cafe. This little religious community (read: cult) is putting us up and feeding us all for a work-for-stay arrangement. And despite the fact the police raided their compound years back on allegations of child abuse, they seem quite nice and I've enjoyed my stay thus far.
In other news, I have less than 500 miles to go at this point, and I can smell the White mountains just around the corner. We have officially diverged from the Long Trail so maybe it will get a little less crowded now that we only have one set of thru-hikers.
Well since I'm wasting precious calories typing, I believe I will stop to gorge myself yet again today. Next stop: Hanover, where I will see the brother and the Uncle (and maybe the 'rents again!).
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Mother Bear’s fur was thick with the mists of summer as she stared out across the mountains. He was coming. She couldn’t quite smell him yet, but there was something in the air. She gathered her cubs and began the arduous trek west to the next peak, where she planned to show her cubs a bit of humanity. For two days they marched, foraging for berries along the way, and taking ample time for the cubs to be adorable. When they arrived at a suitable spot along the trail, Mother Bear gathered mosses with which she might build a tiny fort for her beloved offspring. She piled logs and plopped her moppets down to wait. A short while later, The Long Shot rounded a corner and Mother Bear inspected him carefully from her hidden perch. Behind him bounded his two companions, sultry ninja warriors of great mental elevation. Trail names mean nothing to bears. Nature only knows nature, and thus the deepest spiritual being of an individual leaps across space for Mother Bear to introduce The Wanderer and The Agile Glance to her cubs. By a series of cosmic coincidences and the tendency of entropy to be amusing, The Long Shot was known to Nature as The Long Shot. Having fully vetted the tiny band and declared their status as good role models, but still fearing parasites, Mother Bear nudged her cub's tiny faces up over their cover so they might watch as our scientifically-formulated-plastic-clad hero walked briskly down the trail from a distance. The youngest, unskilled in the ways of people-watching, let out a tiny mew and the band of bipeds stopped abruptly. Mother Bear raised her head. The Long Shot stared at the bear, and the bear stared back. Both unafraid, they watched each other until The Long Shot could no longer stand the raw cuteness of the cubs as they clamored over their protecting log to play along the trail. As the last cubs barrel rolled down from his hiding spot, a crack shot through the air. All eyes turned up as a large branch fell from a nearby tree, splintering off other branches as it crashed and roared. Mother Bear let out a yelp as she tried to jump out of the way, but was unable. The Long Shot raced to her side. She barred her teeth and growled, fearing she may have misread this tall fire-bearded creature and he might be after her cubs, but when she tried to move she realized she was pinned. Her leg was broken. As is Nature’s way, she would likely perish. Unable to care for her young, her genetic line would end in a pitiful display of starving orphans. Mother Bear wept. The Long Shot acted. It is rarely worth contemplating the actions of another. We do things because the energies that race through us command us to. If there is free will, then we might choose to act for the betterment of our world. If there is no free will, why not just go for it? Mother Bear cried out in pain as The Long Shot broke off a piece of sturdy branch and used some of his rope to build her a splint. In minutes he was done, he stood, packed, pet the cubs, and gave Mother Bear a few of his Strawberry Pop Tarts to speed her recovery. Life goes on. Day in. Day out. We march. Don’t get bogged down in the details. One foot. Other foot. Save a life. Sleep. Eat. The merry band continued up and down the trail, working their way toward the end. Toward that last great climb. Beyond that, there was only action. The Long Shot stared at the mountain, and the mountain stared back.
I was going to post some sort of congrats about surpassing the 3/4 mark, but I'm far too mesmerized by this story. And the sultry ninjas it references.
Hey LongShot, We love reading your blog and getting to see through your eyes how beautiful and generous the trail (to say nothing of it's "angels") is. We think about you often and send up prayers for your continued good health and safety. We take the liberty of sharing your adventures with friends and family who would otherwise never know about the beauty of the trail and the adventurers who seek to thru hike. As you close in on the trail's end know always that a couple of folks in Manassas, Virginia are blessed to have met and spent time with you. Love ya.... JJ&Don
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