Project Eveningland

6/8/2023 Thursday

The smoke had thickened by morning into a haze. I decided to do a backwards (southbound) 12-mile slackpack and stay at the same B&B again tonight. I’ve had enough introspection for a while. Let’s talk scenery from an unusual and varied day on the AT.

The walk began in overgrown grasses, a real theme for the day. The trail mostly follows little tree-lined paths along fields of wheat or just grass. But first it turns rocky and climbs up two hills in an actual forest. I passed the ultras again, since I am headed SoBo today (in the opposite direction of my normal NoBo travel).

I had enough water so I didn’t visit Darlington shelter. It has an “intermittent” spring according to signage I read on the way down. I talked with Mom by phone and we tried to identify a bird with reddish orange patches on its little shoulders. She gave me some family updates before I lost signal.

The first four miles of the day took a long, long time. It’s rocky up-and-down and likely a preview of what is to come north of Duncannon. I’ll have to take my time through those sections. I take my time through every section.

I crossed many huge highways, including, I think, a big turnpike. Some of the overpasses are narrow, connecting more obscure, lightly-trafficked roads. I stopped for homemade ice cream and a Gatorade at a roadside stand administered by an Amish girl who had to be around 11. (I’m not great with ages.) She was also watching an infant sibling who had gorgeous blue eyes. There were signs nearby for raw milk that made me nervous about my ice cream. Is there such a thing as raw ice cream?

Sometime after the ice cream—or, honestly, maybe before—the trail walked along a large but narrow field of wheat that itself ascended a gentle hill. It was bordered on all sides by mature trees. It was stunning. The ripples are what really make it grand. Each time the wind blows the thing becomes an inland ocean.

Speaking of inland oceans, I have visions sometimes of owning a home in western Nebraska or eastern Colorado that’s near an ancient shoreline. Perhaps a sandy embankment, now far from anything wet. I feel a call to windswept high prairie! I’ve just realized where this compelling image first caught my attention. It’s in The Gunslinger, the first Dark Tower book. The way station. That’s what I’m imagining, only nice and welcoming and safe.

One section, which came late in the day, had a kind of black rock—my brain says “soapstone” but I have low confidence in that. Anyway, many years of footsteps have worn grooves and polished the stone. It’s like those medieval castles, or in Baker Hall, at Carnegie Mellon, where more than a century of people walking up and down the stairs have worn smooth grooves into black stone.

Another section had beautifully built boardwalks through mostly dry wetlands. It’s still lush. I looked for lizards but saw mainly chipmunks and bunnies.

At one point a rabbit burst out of the brush and across the trail, startling me. I’m near the end of my Leviathan Falls audiobook. I caught up on legal podcasts—the word “imminent” is getting thrown around a lot lately, if you catch my drift.

I made up quite a lot of time on those highways and byways as the afternoon passed into early evening. The particulate from the smoke gave the whole day a sunset quality. I tried a mask but mostly couldn’t bear it in the heat. I can’t smell the smoke but I can see it.