I turned 44 years old a couple of weeks ago and made my ritual drive to the top of Roan Mountain to watch the sunset on another day. Anyone who knows me well enough has heard tales about the comets, the starscape, the eclipse and even the bear story from this sanctuary in the sky here in East Tennessee.
It was a hazy Sunday with a dull sunshine streaming down from cloudy skys. Our company picnic was my first destination for the day. It’s kind of a relaxed meet and greet of all the folks that work or used to work at The Kingsport Times-News . They did wish me birthday greeetings and I got a handful of photographs, but my real desire was about 50 miles away.
It’s kind of like a pilgrimage to me. No steeple, no man-made altar and no entertainment to keep me awake, but rather a place so quiet – above the clouds – the only thing you hear is the wind and your blood rushing through your veins. It’s a great place for church.
Many times, I go alone. It’s especially spiritual then, but friends can make it all the more enjoyable.
It’s one of the highest spots here in Tennessee – just on the North Carolina line and a comfortable 5800 feet high. Easy to get to from Elizabethton, this range is noted for its early June blooming of one of the most concentrated Rhododendron Gardens in the South. But for me, it’s the slooping grassy tops that make Roan Mountain special.
They call them Round Bald and Grassy Bald and albeit there is a collar of evergreens at the lower altitudes, the tops of the mountain are soft, cushiony folds of reeds and moss. In September, it’s especially nice because of the rich mustard color goldenrods that dot the landscape. Unfortunately, it was a little early this year for color that I had seen in the past and a afternoon shower had just passed, but it was still early and the sunset was the goal.
I usually take my journal with me too. It’s a good time to relax and stream out some words that frame the experience each time and it’s rare that I get to sit down without any distractions. Matter of fact, other than the rush in your ears and the flashes of thoughts from down below, the only distractions on this mountain are deep purple folds of Southern mountaintops that seem to layer over each other in blue ridge blankets.
I wasn’t up there long before my good friends, Danny, Tracy, Evan and Carson joined me for a bottle of wine on this annual marker. Forty-four. Double digits and the only thing I’m thankful for is another year and the fact that I’m still less than my mid-forties…for a short while anyway.
My eyes are blurry now. Reading labels have become a challenge. My ankles bother me in the morning and when I get up from my computer and all my friends are starting to be more conservative and reclusive. I’m still leading my own destination alone with the help of a grey cat named Dido, lots of memories to tell and the hope that each day will be as new as the past.
A toast to another year – with family, friends and the future still unfolding. Here are the photos from that day.