Thad Hope

I saw old Thad Hope today
while we were driving past his place.
First time I seen him since last autumn.
He was out in his garden, standing tall,
looking good, real good.
Best he has looked in years.
I was happy for him, and I tooted my horn
and waved. “Hey Thad, way to go boy!”
He turned and waved back at me.
My wife was sitting beside me in my pick-up.
She shook her head and looked at me sadly.
“Honey” she said, “that ain’t Thad,
that’s a scarecrow.”

© John Womack, 2006. All Rights Reserved.

The Moon of the Mountains

The moon is reckoned from New Moon to New Moon. The year is reckoned by the Harvest Moon which is defined as that Full Moon which occurs closest to the Autumnal Equinox. There are often 13 moons in a year, so there is an additional name each of these years to be fitted into one of the seasons. In that case, one month will have two full moons; the second full moon in one month is called a Blue Moon. The fixed moons, which occur near the equinoxis and solstisces are Harvest, Midsummer, Christmas and New Leaf. The additional moon names to be fitted in as Blue Moons appear depend on the season of their occurance. They can be called: in Winter, Wisdom; Spring, Joy; Summer, Grace; Autumn, Glory. When two Blue Moons occur in the same season, the second one can be called the Moon of Peace. Other names are always appropriate.

January Ice
February Wolf
March Storm or Easter
April New Leaf or Dogwood
May Flower or Blackberry
June Honey or Midsummer
July Thunder or Cherry
August Haze or Grain
September Harvest or Fruit
October Falling leaves
November Frost
December Christmas or Long Night

©John Womack, 2006. All Rights Reserved.

Siler Bald

The view from Siler Bald is probably one of the most beautiful views on the planet Earth. Of course, that’s open for discussion. Everybody has their own candidate for that honor, and it also depends on the weather; there are some days you can’t tell the top of Siler Bald from the inside of a small gray bag. But if the weather is clear, or if the clouds are high or even if the mountains are misty, so you can kind of see into the mist, Siler Bald is a magical place. And even on days when the view is restricted, when you’re on Siler Bald, you can still feel the magic.

On a beautiful day in May, I watched a Golden Eagle sail low over the summit, and slowly descend as he followed Roaring Fork Ridge down toward the river. Later that afternoon, a Great Horned Owl could be heard hooting away over in Big Oak Gap. I saw tracks of deer and fox, but no sign of bear.

© John Womack, 2006. All rights reserved.

The Jumpoff

The Jumpoff. Easy to see why it is so named: There is a compelling urge to go jumpoff the rocks. That's partly because it’s the easiest way back down. The last few hundred yards through high grass is claustrophobic and can heighten the blood pressure even if you don’t happen to think about snakes. So when you finally break out on top of the cliff you get a soaring feeling, and as you get closer to the edge you suddenly see that the back side of this cliff really isn’t there and you get the feeling that you may already have gone too far, so at least you get urge to jumpback and maybe that’s what the place really should be named. But you definitely get the feeling that you ought to jump somewhere!

The view is far-away and long-ago, and you can’t help but pick up that feeling, too. It’s a form of immortality, that's for sure, but it’s hard to feel immortal when your body is hot and mosquitoes are biting and you are afraid you might fall (or jump) off a cliff. And then there are great hollow, echoing, booming peals of thunder cascading down the canyons, rolling out into the valleys and soaring up, sweeping the peaks and cliffs with resounding acoustical energy. It sounds like a great giant is bounding across the mountains hunting humans and zapping them in twos and threes, and roaring with every kill. (And he’s hoarse!) But we’re immortal now, remember? Ah, but along with that feeling come swift reminders that the non-immortal part of you is about to get wet again. Then, clouds blot out the view and transform your spacious world of soaring sky into a spooky realm of dark rocks and tree shapes. Immortality is probably going to entail more changes than we can handle. Maybe we’ll get used to it.

Choosing the coward’s way back off the Jumpoff, we wrest and tug our way through waist- and chest-high grass, wet now in places, and occasionally stumble through water. About thirty minutes into this new eternity we’re back on the beautiful trail and the sun is shining, the birds are singing, and the cool Smoky Mountain breeze has transformed the human body into an abode of summer delight. Great rasping peals of laughter reverberate from the Jumpoff as the storm giant, no coward he, leaps into the abyss.

© John Womack, 2006. All Rights Reserved.

The Wild April Wind

The smell of fresh earth and the sound of rain drops falling. Cold icy winds in the morning, and the warmth of sunshine in the evening. Ah, that's April in the mountains!
The chill of winter has fled these hills - scared away by the Wild April Wind, which now sits purring in the tops of the trees - as if to say: "I don't know if we'll have a summer or not, you'll have to wait and see . . . It all depends on me!"
A white oak leaf, brand new and bright green; half an inch long and half a day old, lies dead on the deck; killed and brought home by the Wild April Wind which now sits purring up high in the trees.

The pathway that leads between the compost and garden into the woods now lies mired in mud, and it’s rough and slippery. Green things cautiously peep out of the mud, keeping an eye on the April sky. These are the leaves of the flowers of summer; but the flowers still hide from the Wild April Wind, which still sits and purrs - watching - from the tops of the scared April trees.