Lord Willin' and the Creek Don't Rise in the Black Balsams

Hey you,

It’s been a hot minute since I’ve been on this blog, or indeed writing anything other than personal journaling. I accepted a job promotion at work and even before the promotion officially began, have been deep into learning new things and processes.

But tonight is just right for writing, which happens rarely for writers. A storm just cooled off the world outside, and I’ve got my window open to trees shaking off raindrops and cicadas singing their raspy vibrato. The photos are downloaded from my phone. My trusty Fuji x100t is being sent for repairs so I challenged myself to use only my iPhone this time, which is old and cranky about photos.

After our frigid episode of camping in the Black Balsams in March we promised ourselves a warmer redo. On Independence Day weekend, we had our redemption. And boy was it ever a redemption. It’s the most beautiful weekend I’ve seen in these mountains, and I’ve seen some lovely days there. It rained on and off for the three days we camped and created vistas that felt like parts of Washington state.

Did these Chacos know what they would get into straight out of the box? Nope. But they’re Chacos. They win every time.

What happens when the idea that sounded so pretty from a back view, turns into Pinterest gone rogue from the front.

Last time we camped we set up down a steep hill where you could practically roll down whatever you wanted, if it didn’t matter about getting dirty. This camping spot was full, so Michael and Rhoda spent a few sweaty hours investigating other sites. Effectively, because they found one much nicer than the other one, with a nice stroll to the campsite instead of a roll. The river was a few paces beyond the campsites, and the sort of rocky spot where one can sit and build rock towers for hours, or just listen to the world of the woods.

Earlier this year I told Rosetta it would be so much fun to see the rhododendron in bloom because I never have. We arrived to the campsite late Friday night, in deep twilight, and it was a lovely surprise to walk through tunnels of blooming rhododendron — gleaming white petals spread on our path. It was an extra bonus to set up the tent in a glen of blooms.

One of the noteworthy things about camping with NC people is how well we do food. This camping trip outshined any previously with omelettes, fajitas, and finally, low country boil on the menu because Rhoda has a lavish garden. This was the pièce de résistance, and I’m spoiled forever by getting to eat it off a rock table in the woods. It is the height of “primitive” camping. Hey! We didn't have bathrooms, it was still primitive.

The water was cold, especially when compared to how NC summers feel. Those mountain streams haunt me when I’m not in them, and they haunt me when I am. It felt so good to jump in after a hot hike, or a low country boil meal where you practically get greased up to the elbows in butter. Not quite, but, you know.

A stroll up to Black Balsam Knob.

You know how sometimes you go on a vacation in the middle of a busy time, and you can’t quite seem to really appreciate life to the fullest? That was not this vacation. Even were I not filled up to the brim on beautiful views, hiking, time with friends, and the best food, this vacation would have been earmarked by one thing, the Sunday adventure.

Sunday evening was a little hard for me. I’d gotten service up on the mountain top and messages from family, and it hit me hard that one year ago exactly I was seeing mom for the last time. Guilt flooded me. I hadn’t gone home to see her in months, and she died days before we were going to have coffee together again. The exact view you see above is the exact view I wasn’t sure I deserved to see. Grief does many things to you, but surely one of the hardest is the lost regret. You cannot go back. You can’t change anything. I know mom understood that it was a hard time for me, but something in me still thought she died disappointed in me, you know?

It’s not true, some of her last words to me were how proud she was, but it’s hard to face the regrets anyway. We got down off the mountain and I knew I had to get away awhile I process, so I laid in my tent and listened to the rain and prayed and wrote and listened to the voice of my Father. God told me what he wanted to tell me, and I could face people again. I decided to go for a quick swim to clean up before supper and bed, and you know, just kind of get a clean slate.

I crossed the creek and got in about waist deep, contemplating striking out for midstream. Just a swim out and back. I ditched the idea. It was so cold, I’d do a partial wash, so I stayed in water up to my chest instead. I was behind several large rocks which in retrospect was the mercy of God. A roar penetrated my consciousness, and around the rocks I saw water, a lot of water, rushing out of the narrows. I got up on the low rock and watched in surreal disbelief as a flash flood roared in. It couldn’t have been more than a few seconds, but it felt like minutes before I realized I had better get up on higher rocks, because it might rise higher. I was on the wrong side of the creek, and looked over to see everyone congregated on the opposite shore, gawking at all the water.

Before.

After.

Where I was standing was too dangerous to try crossing, as all the extra water congregated on the narrow spot. We thought maybe the water would go down fast, but after a couple of minutes Philip decided he wasn’t going to leave me stranded on the opposite side and went upstream to find a crossing. He brought a rope across to tie up, and Sam and Michael took care of tying up the other side. To get back, I was in water up to my chest which would’ve been too much for me if Philip hadn’t brought the rope and been there to keep a hand on my back for that part. A little further across was easier to manage, but I’ll forever be grateful for his calmness and strength. I’m not one for being a damsel in distress, but since I had to be, I was terribly glad to be with a friend like Philip who keeps cool and clear in crisis.

At any rate, it took a day or two to sink in that things might not have gone so well had I taken that swim out into the middle. I know that God takes care of me, but it was a clearcut reminder that I am in safe hands. One of my fears right now is my family getting another devastating call, and sometimes I don’t do things just because of that, but this makes me feel as if perhaps it’s time to get out there and live fully again. Few of us can control what happens to us, so in the middle of that uncertainty our best response is childlike trust, and wisdom to take risks. Lord willin’ and the creek don’t rise, I’ll be around for awhile longer.

We finished up that evening with a trek up to Devil’s Courthouse to see the last streaks of a coral sunset over the blue ridges. To the south we could see fireworks in SC. Above, we found the Big and Little Dipper, and the North Star. To the west the sun faded away to a soft blue crowned by a crescent moon covered in a silvery mists.

God is in his heaven, and all is right with the world.