Blue
Blazes
The
trail to Rufus Morgan falls starts in the Nantahala National Forest
outside Franklin, North Carolina. This area of North Carolina is a
tropical rainforest, so why name it Nantahala? Nantahala means “Land
of the noon day sun”. So, why would you name it that if it rains
so much? Well, the mountains in this section of the Appalachian
mountains are very steep and the sun only reaches the floor in some
places when it is directly overhead, as in noon. Hence, Nantahala.
Nantahala
is a Cherokee Indian word. I “learned” about the Cherokee
Indians in 8th Grade at Monroney Junior High School in
Midwest City, Oklahoma. I never went to “Middle School”. We
were in Oklahoma because my dad was stationed at Tinker Air Force
Base, flying Boeing 707s for the FAA. I had to take Oklahoma History
and that's where I learned about the Five Civilized Tribes, of which
the Cherokee was one. We weren't taught that the Cherokees had be
forcefully removed from their home in the Appalachian Mountains.
Nobody mentioned that Cherokee means, “Those who live in the
mountains”. That named doesn't even make sense in Eastern
Oklahoma, where they live now: No wonder they called it the “Trail of
Tears” when they walked to Oklahoma in the 1830's. Five tribes
(Cherokee, Chickasaw, Choctaw, Creek, and Seminole) were chosen to be
ripped from their good lands in the East, because of my ancestors
greed for land. In Oklahoma, the tribes were assimilated into the
European-American culture and technologies. In other words, they
were profoundly screwed. This point was overlooked in my all white,
middle-class Junior High Oklahoma History class.
I
did, however, learn a few things in Oklahoma and the most valuable
were not learned in the classroom. First, I learned to love the
outdoors, which is why I'm hiking the Rufus Morgan trail in the first
place. I immersed myself in Boy Scouts and became a Eagle in 1963.
I held tightly to Scouting because of the pain I was suffering at
home. My father was an alcoholic, and a mean one. He beat my mom
when he was drunk, which was after work on Friday until the following
Monday morning. He rarely “came out” on the weekends. He just
drank, slept, and drank some more. If my mother interfered, he
became very ugly, sometimes hitting her. So, to escape all that, I
turned to Scouting. My parents made enough money to let me go to
Philmont Scout Ranch during the summer after 9th grade.
Philmont
change me. I loved the mountains, the forest, the ruggedness of it
all. I decided “this is what I want to do”, although I didn't
know what “this” meant. (Now that I think about it, I guess I
still don't.) It was a great summer. Backpacking before there were
backpacks and all the super light-weight gear. Cooking with
firewood, not white gas. Sleeping under a sheet of plastic, not
ripstop nylon. Everything was too heavy, making it that much more of
a challenge. We didn't know any better.
It
was also during this time in Oklahoma that my character traits
started to manifest themselves. I stuck with it and made Eagle
Scout. But when it came time to buy my musical instrument, I had to
make decision: trumpet or cornet. I chose cornet because my band
director advised me that there are many cornets in the Midwest City
High School orchestra, but only two trumpets. One would have to be
extremely good to be selected as a trumpet player. So I gave up. I
did know it at the time, but I was afraid of failure, so I gave up.
I didn't realize it yet that I was a perfectionist and would not
proceed if there was chance of failure. I got that from my alcoholic
father. It's genetic. It's one of the seminal traits of alcoholism.
And it has stopped me cold more than once. I just didn't know it at
the time.
I'm
an only child. I don't know if there are universals about only
children, but I know for me, a couple of things emerged. One, I was
Sargent Major of the Band, which was the title bestowed on the top
student leader. I was the Senior Patrol Leader of my Boy Scout
troop, which is also the top leadership position. I was emerging as
a leader.
In
sports, I didn't do team sports. Swimming, wrestling, and track were
my sports. I wasn't too good, but I enjoyed participating in them.
Since I was in band, I couldn't participate in team sports like
football or baseball. I sucked at them anyway. I got to play
football, basketball, and baseball when we lived in Fort Worth but
that was because they let everyone play in those days. The idea was
to play. It was before we as a society became obsessed with winning
(at all costs). One of those costs being, mediocre kids like me
don't get to play. We missed out on the fun, and that makes an
impression, even if it's subconscioius. All that is overcome by
events these days by all the cuts to education: sports is a luxury
most schools cannot afford. It's too bad. As President George H.W.
Bush said, “Sports is good for the soul”. I agree, especially
if it's used as a tool for “inclusion”.
I
reach the first blaze on the Rufus Morgan trail. It's blue and it's
painted on. It's the new Forest Service. Blazes use to be carved
into the tree trunk with an axe. They stood out, white, like the white blaze on
a horse's head. They are used to mark the trail, to help you stay on
course as you proceed or find your way back should you become lost.
I'm following the blazes to a water fall on a trail in memory of
Rufus Morgan.
I
first came across the word "rufus" as a Wildlife Science
student at Texas A&M. It means "red" or "reddish"
or "red-headed". I saw my first Rufous Hummingbird at the
Black Gap Wildlife Management Area in the Transpecos area of Texas
near Big Bend National Park. I was there during the summer between
my Junior and Senior years to do field work. Wildlife students were
required to either work for the Texas Parks and Wildlife Department
or do six week of field work with a TAMU wildlife professor. My guy was
Arnold, an ornithologist. He knew a lot about birds, but he was a
jerk; very little respect or hands-on with the students. He didn't
talk to us much. He was arrogant. Not much of a "teacher".
His teaching assistant however wasn't that way and he spent a lot of
time with us helping us identify birds in the field and "birds
in the box". We had lots of preserved bird specimens in a large
wooden box and for our "test" we had to memorize the scientific names and the natural history of all the birds in the
box (about 100).
That's
not the way the John C. Campbell Folk School, Brasstown, North
Carolina, would have done it. They use the Danish folkenojskole method
which is teaching primarily through discussion and conversation.
Reading and writing are not
emphasized; most instruction is hands-on. What a way to learn
wildlife ecology. Blaze.
During
my time at Texas A&M, my personality and character continued to
develop and expresses themselves. I started in Biology. I did
alright grade-wise, but there was a foreign language requirement.
I was totally afraid that I'd fail. I took Latin 1 three times in
high school to get the required "year of foreign language".
I believed I had no aptitude for language, so I switched from
Biology to Wildlife Science: no language requirement. Another major
decision based on fear, but I didn't recognize it at the time. I
also had a very bad, memorable experience in my "Comparative
Cordate Anatomy" class. Dr. Dobson was the professor, and I
liked him, but he lied to us at the end of the course. When we asked
him what was going to be on the final, he said, "Everything you
haven't been tested on already". That meant a lot to me since I had good notes and knew what that meant. But that's not what was
on the final: it was everything. So I went from an A to a C. I'll
never forget the "draw and label" the shark skull question.
(We'd already been tested on that and it's not something that stayed
in my long-term memory.) Being lied to by a professor I really
respected was a hard lesson. Another blaze on the trail of life.
My
character continued to develop along the same lines. I continued to
be a leader (Commanding Officer of the White Band) and I became more
fearful. I started drinking seriously as a junior and was totally
alcoholic by my senior year. I would never have said so. Being an
alcoholic was an impossibility for me since my dad was an alcoholic.
I didn't want to be like him, so as long as I was not mean and
beating my wife (which I didn't have), I wasn't an alcoholic. I just
stayed drunk. And failed almost all of my courses. I blamed
everyone but myself: professors, the bulls (officers) in the Trigon,
or the Corps (taking too much time). I didn't recognize what was
happening. My parents kept paying and didn't ask any questions. I
was completely selfish and self-centered. I didn't know it. I was
very isolated even though I was the commander. I was also full of
fear: of not being good enough, of failure. Always thinking about
me. I had to do another year to graduate. And then the Air Force
didn't take me. Vietnam was winding down and they were cutting back
the officer corps. They didn't need me! Blaze.
Back
to the Rufous Hummingbird (Selasphorus rufus ). The
scientific name means red-headed, light-bearing hummingbird. It's a
spectacular animal and once you've seen it, you know how it got it's
name. He was one of the birds in the box. And I like it that he
spell's his name like Rufus Morgan: Rufus (Latin) vs. Rufous
(Anglicized).
Rufus
Morgan was an Episcopalian minister for Franklin, North Carolina,
who was an early conservationist and preservationist. He cared about
his congregations and he cared about the Appalachian Mountains. He
modelled his approach to life on St. Francis of Assisi. He tried to
live the Prayer of St. Francis:
Oh, Lord our Christ, may we
have Thy mind and Thy spirit. Make us instruments of Thy peace. Where
there is hatred, let us sow love; where there is injury, pardon;
where there is discord, union; where there is doubt, faith; where
there is despair, hope; where there is darkness, light; where there
is sadness, joy. Oh, divine Master, grant that we may not so much
seek to be consoled as to console; to be understood, as to
understand; to be loved, as to love; for it is in giving, that we
receive. It is in pardoning that we are pardoned, and it is in dying
to self that we are born to eternal life.
Which
is all pretty weird because St. Francis is a Catholic Saint. And
Catholics aren't real big in this part of North Carolina. But if
you're going to model your life after a Saint, St. Francis is a good
one to pick. He was a little too extreme for me, but his pray does
provide some good guidance. It leads to the Serenity Prayer:
God,
grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the
courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the
difference.
Today,
because of much pain, almost to the point of death, I have some
understanding this prayer. I cannot change anything but myself. I
have no power to change people, places, or things. Even though I've
been a leader for most of my life, I cannot change people, places,
or things. I can change myself. I don't because of fear. The same
old fear that's been with me all these decades: a fear of failure.
At least now, I recognize it and know that I can work on what I can
change: myself and my attitudes.
My
core sin is greed. For me, it's a desire for more knowledge and the
belief that if I read just one more book or take one more course,
I'll "get it right". That's not true of course and a least
I recognize it. I recognize my fear of looking dumb, of looking
stupid, of not knowing. And I'm starting to let go of that deadly
sin. Blaze.
I'm
starting to look at core values, the things that really matter. I
believe relationships, a job of service, and family are the important
things. Relationships being the hardest for me. I have and always
have had a good job. I have a family that loves me. I have a family
to love. But relationships for me are hard. I have always lived,
"You leave me alone and I'll leave you alone". And that
doesn't work. What I am starting to believe, especially with my
peers, is:, "Everyone at this table has suffered" and
that's a common bond which I can build upon. Blaze.
The
directions to the Rufus Morgan waterfall say to return on the same
trail after visiting the falls. So, since the trail kept going, we
weren't sure if these falls were "the fall" when we saw
them. The falls are neat. Falling about 60 feet through heavy
vegetation. The water flows to the Wayah River. Wayah means wolf in
Cherokee, so it tells you something about the wildlife that use to be
in this country. The cabin Catherine and I are staying in is on this
river about 5 road miles from here; a crow could fly directly and
that'd be about the square root of 13 miles away. We got the
directions from the owner of the cabins.
We
keep going. The trail continues on and we find a tightly built
spide web with a recent catch. But we can't see the spider. We
expected him to attack as soon as the prey was in the silk, but it
didn't happen. We intend to check again on our return trip. We
continue on.
Coyote
scat on the trail. (Wayah of today.) Nothing unusual about that;
use the trails too. Much easier. But there's a large snail, like a
garden snail, which we usually kill, eating the scat! Ecology in
action.
We
continue on following the blue blazes, looking for "the"
waterfall. And we arrive back at the road about 20 meters from our
car! It's a loop. Why had the directions told us to return on
the same trail we had come up after seeing the waterfall? Is this
part of a trail new? We should tell the cabin owner so she can
update the directions.
Carl
Sandburg
“who
am I, and where have I been, and where am I going?”
I'm
following the blazes laid out for me by God. And although I'm
following them, just like on the Rufus Morgan trail, I don't know
where I'm going. My guess is, I'm going to return to where I
started: a love of nature, mountains, the outdoors. Only during this leg of the journey, I don't have to do it alone.
If
someone asks me, "Where in the blue blazes have you been",
I know to just smile, because now I know for the first time.
(We never did find out what happened with the spider on the downhill side of the Rufus Morgan trail.)
(We never did find out what happened with the spider on the downhill side of the Rufus Morgan trail.)
“where
in the blue blazes have you been?” blaze = fire =hell
patch
of white on a horse's head = bark from a tree” W
mark
the trail in
blaze
a trail...find your way back --- carel sandburg.
