4/20/17 -- Mile 469 -- Damascus, VA Dear Andrew, While you have been in Germany living, laughing, and loving, I have been in the woods, hiking, hiking, and hiking. I made it to Virginia! I saw a snake! I ate two foot-long subs from Subway in one day! Three memorable moments: 1) Camping alone at the foot of a waterfall off the trail and finally understanding the concept of white noise as a sleep aid. 2) Hiking with a groundhog--the furry lil' guy would scurry up the trail in front of me, freeze, and then shoot a furtive glance back to see if I was still behind him. It took him a good quarter of a mile to figure out that I wouldn't follow him if he dove into the bushes. 3) Talking to the titular Brown of Brown's Grocery in the unincorporated town of Hampton, TN--which I hiked four miles out of my way to get the aforementioned two subs from Subway. "How long have you been out there?" The pot-bellied old man Brown asked me (people are often asking me this, I think it is because I resemble Tom Hanks from Castaway more and more each day). "About a month," I said. "Well," he said with a smile, "I reckon you'll be mighty tickled to get home." I laughed, mostly I was just tickled that this grizzled man in overalls had used the word "tickled." "Where are you from?" he asked. "Maryland," I responded. He gave me a long look and then said, "Well, I don't know if you'll be all that tickled to get back there." Guess that's southern charm for you, huh? It feels stupendous to be in Virginia, and absurd to have already walked as much as I have. The soft green of spring is slowly seeping into the forest, the violets are blooming, and the chipmunks are brazenly chattering. Spring is nigh! Current mood: optimistically exhausted. Can't wait to hear about Germany and mostly all the food you ate. Most of my social interactions involve collective fantasizing about food we can't have. I've attached a few pictures for your visual consideration. Love, Laura
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Pic 4/7--Mile 240--somewhere outside of Asheville Dear Andrew, I write to you today using the modern marvel of the interwebs because I am off trail in a real human house with real human walls and real non-human cats. I survived the Smokies and saw three wild turkeys so I think it's safe to say I'm living the dream. I'm at a friend's house outside of Asheville, a retired woman in her 50s who goes by Lambchop. She's a wildly speedy hiker who speaks with a friendly southern twang and instantly makes you feel like you've always known her. Her partner rescued us from the pit of despair known as unexpected freezing temperatures and wild storms with pizza, smoothies, fresh fruit, and best of all--a ride back to their house to soothe our weary souls and cleanse our blisters. Did I mention that I have like, a lot of blisters now? Thank you, soggy socks and wild Smoky storms. Here's a recap of the Smokies, as told through the few pictures I could get when I wasn't busy getting blasted with 30 mph wind or hiking through confusingly unseasonable snow. *Pictures attached below* NOT PICTURED: Hiking nine miles in a torrential downpour, getting everything I owned entirely soaked, sleeping in soggy and smelly and overcrowded shelters filled with old snoring men, hiking twenty miles a day for two days in a row to escape dangerous weather, meeting new friends, doubting myself constantly, eating way too many clif bars, surprising myself constantly, burning the last few pages of "The Waves" by Virginia Woolf, and of course, as always, continuing to walk. I will return to the trail tomorrow refreshed and replenished and filled to the brim with specially-made vegetarian chili, brownies, and all the fresh fruit and vegetables I've fantasized about while eating instant rice out of a ziplock bag. Lambchop and her partner Chris have given me a comfortable bed, hearty home-cooked meals, insightful wisdom, quality time with two lovable cats, and the irrepressible feeling that people are kind and good. I am trying to be cool, but I am blown away by the generosity, hospitality, and love emanating from these two. So I mostly just say "thank you" every three minutes and internally vow to do the same for another weary soul when I have the means one day. Oh, and Chris and I discovered that we are both alumni of good ol' Montgomery Blair High, albeit 44 years apart. What a delightfully weird world it is to walk 240 miles in (and counting!) I hope you have a wonderful time in Germany! And entirely unrelated, I hear that you may have a sister whose diet is now 60% chocolate... Love, Laura
3/31/17-Mile 152.8 Brown Fork Gap Shelter
Dear Andrew, Today I have been on the trail for a fortnight, and I’m mostly the same except now I casually drop the word “fortnight.” I think I’m starting to get my “trail legs,” which means my body has begrudgingly accepted that I’m going to make it do this shit every day. Hiking this trail has meant the insane dichotomy of being intimately in tune with my physical well-being (do I need food? Water? Sleep? Usually all three) while simultaneously ignoring the blaring red alarm that sounds with every step. It is shrill and high-pitched and sort of sounds like this: WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS DID YOU KNOW YOU COULD DRIVE THIS DISTANCE IN 23 HOURS BUT YOU ARE WALKING FOR SIX MONTHS LIKE A DAMN FOOL ALSO I’M HUNGRY AND THIRSTY AND TIRED AND- But as loud as the alarm is, I still want to be here. I don’t think I can explain why, yet. This is a culture unlike any other I’ve ever known and the only unifying characteristic is that everyone is somewhat unfit for society. There are college dropouts who are too philosophical to choose a major (study PHILOSOPHY, I tell them), retired blue collar workers trying to reclaim their vitality, fathers reconnecting with sons, sons proving they’re different than their fathers, middle-aged mothers yearning for adventure, and of course, lots of fellow 20-somethings who can’t quite figure out why they exist, yet. It’s good company, but mostly it’s weird company. The strangest character I’ve met is a pot-bellied man with a tangled, filthy, gray-white beard who is usually so stoned his sentences do not make sense. He ties back his scraggly hair with a karate bandana and always wears blue scrubs-which has earned him the name “Papa Smurf.” He looks and acts like a Vietnam army nurse who defected and has been living in the jungle ever since, and also he only eats marshmallows. He hikes excruciatingly slow and yet inexplicably he has been sighted up and down and all over the trail-even after passing him I’ll find him a few days later, crouching on the side of the trail, tearing into his marshmallows like he’ll never eat again. Either Papa Smurf is teleporting, or a diet of weed and marshmallows is the secret to a successful thru-hike. Oh, also-I have a trail name! Everyone here sooner or later abandons their boring real person name (I have met an unseemly amount of Johns and Jakes) for a silly nickname that is born out of an identifying characteristic or story. Some of my friends go by names like Ice Pak, Stretch, Abstract, Shaggy, Oh Well, Lamb Chop, and Minnie Mouse. And then there’s me- Lobo. As you probably know, this is “wolf” in Spanish, which came out of a conversation in which I mentioned working at the wolf sanctuary and has stuck ever since. It is thrilling to have a new name at 23, and perhaps that is why being out here is so liberating-you can be whatever the hell you want to be. I am making friends whose real names I don’t know, and the best part is that doesn’t matter. Tomorrow I will hike into Fontana Dam, NC- the last stop before six days in the Smokies. It’s the highest elevation in the whole trail, which means snow is possible and cold is definite. But if Papa Smurf can do it, so can I. Love, Laura P.S.-That knee brace I picked up has been doing wonders! |
LettersThese are the letters that Laura has sent her brother over the course of her hike. They are faithfully and painstakingly transcribed in their entirety. They are meant to keep people updated on how many facts she has learned about trees. Archives
July 2017
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