To Be Continued

I regret that the preceding will likely be the last installment of this story for some time. I may get a chance to type a line or two on a guest computer when I stop, but I can't count on it. So, I will continue this story after I get back.

Also, I'm thinking of changing the title to "The Pierced Heart". Thoughts?

The Scarred Princess (part 5)

After Sir Perditus’s departure from the castle, the king and court had finally recovered from their shock and had set out to pursue him, but to no avail. Princess Viola had been bustled to her tower chamber by her mother, and there comforted and consoled, for she was overcome with intensity of emotion. But in all the confusion, nobody seemed to have noticed what became of the rose, although the king had the entire castle scoured from high to low in search of it.

Viola went on with her life as it had been before the knight’s coming, but something was different. She smiled less often, and when she did, it lacked somewhat of the radiance it had always had before. She still played and sang with skill and sweetness, but there was a note of melancholy in her songs now, and sometimes she would falter, and stop before the song had ended. In short, everything she did seemed now to her to have lost some of its meaning, and she found joy in little.

(music to read by: Regret)

Sometimes, alone in her tower, she would take the magical rose from its hiding place, for it was she who had stolen it from the table before her parents could destroy it. She would gaze at it with tears in her eyes and an empty aching in her heart.

She thought of the breathless thrill she had felt when she had seen her friend march into the hall with it, and the exhilarant rapture when the tall knight had knelt and bowed his broad shoulders before her. And she could not forget how his hand had trembled as he held the rose. She imagined what it would have been like, to accept the rose, and with it the love of a good, gentle, and strong man, and she wept quietly, softly, peacefully. But then she would look down at her chest, and she would be jolted out of her beautiful reverie just as suddenly as she had the night she had refused the gift, and her tears would turn bitter. “If he knew,” she thought, “he could not love me. And I could not bear to open my heart to him, and then be spurned for my ugliness.” She thought, most likely, that he would not reject her outright, for he was a kind and honourable man. But even less than that could she bear the thought of living her life seeing the pity and disgust in his eyes whenever he beheld her.

And also, her father's words resounded in her heart. For on the day when he had seen Sir Perditus leaving the garden, even though everyone had known (as he thought) that it was forbidden while the princess had her bath, he had warned Viola that an eye must be kept on the man, and that he, her father, suspected him of having designs on her, although he did not say why. And so, when the knight had revealed his feelings, it had seemed to prove the king right, and now Princess Viola was also troubled by doubts as to whether he had ever been as good and gentle as he had seemed to be, or had only been another clever deceiver.

And so the time passed until the hermit and the knight parted ways. The king and queen seemed to put the lost knight out of their minds, and Princess Viola pretended to as well. But she wondered often where he was, if he was well, and whether he had forgiven her.

It was these very things on which she reflected as she one day walked in her father’s garden, and found herself, quite by accident, at the site of the fatal rosebush. She stopped, her heart beating madly, for she had not returned to this spot since that day so long ago. And as she gazed upon the blackened ground in horror and fascination, a voice spoke to her.

“Princess,” it said; “I have something for you. A message.”

She started so that she thought her heart would leap out from her throat, and spun to see who addressed her. But when she saw the old hermit’s eyes, she was comforted, for she, like Sir Perditus, could not help but trust him, even love him, at once.

“A message, Father? For me?”

“Yes, my dear.”

“From whom?”

“From one from whom, I think, you have been secretly wishing to hear.”

Viola blushed vividly, and dropped her eyes as he held out the bundle.

"I haven't any idea who you mean," she said. But she also took the mirror. And when she looked up to thank the messenger, he had gone.

(interlude: Waiting)

"God did not die for the good and beautiful: that is easy enough. The hard thing is to die for the miserable and corrupt."

-- from the movie Silence

Itinerary

I leave tomorrow night. Everything is prepared, just have to do a bit of housecleaning today, and then tomorrow put the final touches on. I was planning, when I was scheduled to leave on Friday, on taking the county transit to the Charlottesville train station. But as they don't run on Sunday, I'm going to have to get a cab. Thinking I'll try that uber thing--I guess I should contact them today.

Anyway, I'm posting my itinerary here, just in case anyone needs to find me or get in touch with me. I'll have my cell phone (434) 981-8303, and you can email (michaelsdupre@gmail.com), text, or call, although most likely I'll have to call you back, since it will be off most of the time to spare battery power, and I'll only be checking in a couple of times a day. But, you never know: I could lose it, or we could get hit by an EMP, or whatever. Also posting it here, so that if I lose my phone where the file is saved, or it dies, I can get on anybody's computer or phone and find out where I'm supposed to be and how to get in touch with them. So here's where and when I'll (tentatively) be.

1/29
Depart Amtrak Charlottesville 8:52 PM

1/30
Arrive Amtrak Gainesville 6:58 AM

1/30
Hiker Hostel 770-312-7342
7693 US Hwy 19, Dahlonega, Ga 30533

1/31
Amicalola Falls Trailhead, AT Approach Trail

2/7
Mountain Crossings Hostel 706-745-6095
12471 Gainesville Hwy, Blairsville, Ga 30512

2/14
Top of Georgia Hostel 706-982-3252
7675 US Hwy 76 E, Hiawassee, Ga 30546

2/21
Gooder Grove Hostel 828-332-0228
130 Hayes Cir, Franklin, NC 28734

2/28
Hike Inn 828-479-3677
3204 Fontana Rd, Fontana Dam, NC 28733

3/7
Grand Prix Motel 865-436-4561
235 Ski Mtn Rd, Gatlinburg, Tn 37738

3/14
Lauging Heart Lodge 828-622-0165
289 NW US Hwy 25/70, Hot Springs, NC 28743

3/21
Uncle Johnny’s Hostel 423-735-0548
151 River Rd, Erwin, Tn 37650

3/28
Mountain Harbour B&B 423-772-9494
9151 Hwy 19 E, Roan Mtn, Tn 37687

4/4
Hiker’s Inn 276-475-3788
216 E Laurel Ave, PO Box 396, Damascus, Va 24236
mail to:
Mt Rogers Outfitters 276-475-5416
110 W Laurel Ave, PO Box 546, Damascus, Va 24236

4/10
Relax Inn 276-783-5811
7253 Lee Hwy, Rural Retreat, Va 24368
mail to:
The Barn Restaurant 276-686-6222
7412 Lee Hwy, Rural Retreat, Va 24368

4/18
Woods Hole Hostel 540-921-3444
3696 Sugar Run Rd, Pearisburg, Va 24134

4/25
Four Pines Hostel 540-309-8615
6164 Newport Rd, Catawba, Va 24070

5/2
Staying with my daughter in Lynchburg

5/9
Stanimal’s Hostel 540-290-4002
328 Lee Dr, Waynesboro, Va 22980

5/16
Home

I'm setting myself a very moderate pace of six miles a day for the first couple of weeks, until I get to the Georgia border. Then I'll increase it to 8-10 through North Carolina and Tennessee, and then around 12 when I get to Virginia. I've given myself enough time to be able to maintain that all the way through, and still finish by October 15th, but I may increase it at some point, depending on how I feel. I'll make those decisions when I stop at home and plan the second "half" (actually, a bit more than half--from Amicalola Falls, Ga to Swift Run Gap, four miles from my house, is 916 miles, leaving 1282 to Mt. Katahdin).

Anyway, when I get home, I'll take a week or so to get a good rest, wash everything, repair and/or replace gear, plan all the stops for the second half, order supplies, pack resupply drops, and check on my house and garden. Then set out again around the last week in May, and that will give me 4½-5 months to walk that 1282 miles.

Can't wait to get on that train tomorrow. I've been going nuts here, confined in this house with nothing to do but plan and prepare.

The Scarred Princess (part 4)

(music to read by: Solitude)

Perditus dwelt long with the hermit. He poured out to him all his heart, his long loneliness, his griefs and regrets, and his exceeding love for Viola. He cast away his sword and armour, and forbade his companion from calling him “Sir” any longer, for he was a shamed and dishonored knight, and no longer worthy in his own eyes to be so addressed. Instead, he adopted the garb of a fellow anchorite, and shared in the prayers and in the common and menial work of his host, who called him simply “Brother,” and whom he called “Father”. And though there was no peace or joy to be found for him without his sweet Viola, he did find rest, in time, and relief from the intense agony of his wounded heart.

After many months had passed, Brother Perditus and the good Father stood together of a late winter evening, watching the stars come to life, and drinking in the cold cleanness of the air, with just the faintest hint of the promise of coming spring. And the hermit spoke to him thus: “Sir Knight,” and here Brother Perditus started, and gazed at his friend.

“I am no knight. I am fallen. Shamed by my weakness. Dishonoured by my cowardice.”

The hermit smiled at him, but his eyes were kind. “Better men than you have been overcome by such a foe. Guinevere conquered both Arthur and Lancelot, and Isolde, Tristan and King Mark. Cleopatra, Caesar and Antony; Helen, Menelaus and Paris. Samson was defeated by Delilah, David by Bathsheba, and Solomon by his Shulamite. ‘Who is she that looketh forth as the morning, fair as the moon, clear as the sun, and terrible as an army with banners?’ Our first father fell willingly into sin and darkness for the sake of our first mother. There is no shame in succumbing to the enemy that no strength can conquer. You are in the company of great men, for the greatest men have the greatest capacity to love.” Sir Perditus was silent.

“Sir Knight,” he said again, “It is time for you to resume your vocation, and fulfill the destiny that has been given you.”

“And what destiny is that?” asked Sir Perditus, for he had long since learned to trust the holy hermit’s wisdom.

“That you must discover. But it is not here, with me.” They fell silent for a while, and then he spoke again. “If you could have one wish granted for your beloved princess, what would it be? Would it be for her to be your wife?”

Sir Perditus thought for a while, and then answered: “I would wish that she might see herself as I see her. Whatever the cost to me, and whatever the consequence—whether it meant that she and I would be together or no—my wish is for her to know, and to believe, how lovely she is in my sight.”

The hermit made no answer and asked no further questions, but seemed to be satisfied with this reply.

The following day, he approached the knight again, and said, “I have gifts for you.” He laid down the large bundle which he carried, and unwrapped it.

“First,” he said, “Your sword, which you willingly cast away, and which you thought was lost. Take it again, Sir Knight, and use it in greater wisdom. And do not part with it again.” He held up the sword, and it had been cleaned and polished so that it glistened, and the blue gems set in its hilt flashed in the sunlight. Sir Perditus grasped it by its hilt, and it felt warm and familiar, but also new, as if it too had grown while they had been separated. “And with it,” the hermit continued, “your shield, helm, and hauberk.” The knight donned his armour, and he felt himself whole once more.

“And now,” said the old man, unwrapping a much smaller bundle and holding up a beautiful silver mirror, “this is in answer to your wish for your Sweet One. He handed it to him. “This mirror, when given as a free gift with no conditions, will show its owner, not simply his own reflection, but himself as he is seen by the giver. Now, for instance, if you were to look into it, you would see a virtuous, kind, courageous, and honorable knight, for that is what I think of you. But wait,” he held up his hand, for Sir Perditus had begun to raise the mirror to his face. “There is another aspect to this gift. For it also allows the one who received it to see where the one who gave it is, and what he is doing; and furthermore reveals him as he truly is, if the one who receives the gift looks into it thinking of that person. I ask you not to use it that way just now, for I would not have you see my true nature yet. You may keep this gift and use it yourself, but according to what you told me last night, I think there is someone to whom you would very much like to give it. Will you do so, knowing that she will see all that you are and all that you do, if she so chooses?”

Sir Perditus bowed his head. “All that I am, and all that I might be, is already hers. I have nothing that I would hide from her, and nothing that I would not give to her.”

“Then give me the mirror again, and I will be your courier. For your path lies away from her father’s kingdom now, and not toward it. I can tell you nothing further, except that if you travel to the east, you will come to a land desolate and lying in shadow, and there you will find adventure and, if your faith and courage hold, perhaps the thing for which you have been searching your life long.”

And with this, and a manly embrace, they parted, Sir Perditus walking eastward toward the Unknown, and the hermit walking westward toward Viola’s castle. It was not until they were so far apart that they were out of sight, that Sir Perditus realized he had never known the hermit’s name, although he thought he could guess.

The Scarred Princess (part 3)

As it had been before, the rose was surrounded by horrible thorns, and picking it was not easy. But a veteran knight’s hand is harder than a young princess’s breast, and Sir Perditus managed it with little trouble. Then he used his dagger, the same which he had used to despatch his enemies, to cut off the thorns, for he had only one thought: to present this wondrous and exquisite rose to Princess Viola, for only thus could he tell her of the quality of his love. Nevertheless, by the time he was finished, there was much of his own blood on the stem. But as he looked at it, he thought, “So much the better. For by this she shall know of the pains I took to give her this gift, and perhaps will understand how willing I am to suffer for her.”

Sir Perditus entered boldly into the castle brandishing the rose, for a worthy knight only hesitates when he is unsure of his course: once it has been decided or shown him, then he deems it cowardice to equivocate or falter. Past the astonished men-at-arms at the gate, past the dumbfounded servants, ignoring the shocked gasps of the ladies-in-waiting, he strode purposefully into the hall, where the royal household sat to supper. Straight to Princess Viola he walked, knelt silently beside her chair, bowed his head, and presented to her the rose, which glowed now with unearthly beauty, as if it borrowed Sir Perditus’s love and courage and reflected them back for all to see. The king and queen were speechless, as were all the courtiers, ministers, advisers, and officials who dined with the family, and a breathless expectation hung over the hall, palpable, thick and smothering as a blanket of fog in the moors, fragile and deadly as a cornice of snow in the mountains. The knight knew nothing of the prohibition of roses in the kingdom, but he felt the silence, and looked up into Viola’s eyes: clearly, she had understood everything from the gift that Sir Perditus intended that she should, for her lips were parted, her visage was flushed, and tears stood in her sweet eyes and on her soft cheeks. Her hand was frozen, inches from the rose, as if she had reached out for it, but then stopped. Her breath was bated, and her eyes darted between the rose, the knight, her mother, and her father. An eternity of moments passed, while Sir Perditus held out the rose with trembling hand, and Princess Viola hesitated. Then, suddenly as if she had been slapped, her hand jerked away, her back stiffened, and she averted her eyes from the kneeling knight and turned her shoulder to him. Once again, he bowed his head, but not in supplication and humility this time: in defeat and despair. He stood, laid the rose on the table beside her, turned on his heel, and left the hall as purposefully as he had entered it, albeit with stooped shoulders and a grim countenance. And still, no one had spoken a word.

And now Sir Perditus performed the first act of cowardice of his entire life. He had faced giants without fleeing and dragons without trembling. But Princess Viola had vanquished him, and he feared now ever seeing her face again as he had feared nothing before. He delayed only as long as it took to collect his sword, his armor, and the meager belongings with which he had entered the castle, and was gone before the king had collected his wits, or the household begun to stir with the excitement and outrage of what he had just done. He fled, not because he was aware that he had committed a mortal offense in the realm, but because he could not face the shame and horror of the expression he had seen on the princess’s beautiful face when she turned away, nor the fear he had seen in her lovely eyes. He vanished into the dark forest from whence he had come, and was gone.

(music to read by: Lost)

How long he wandered, blindly, aimlessly, I do not know. He did not eat, nor drink, nor sleep, but walked and walked. He walked until he was exhausted; he walked until he was delirious; and at last he stumbled, collapsed, and fell. And there he lay, facedown in the dirt of the forest floor, and there he waited to die. Many days it seemed to him he lay thus, although it might also have been but a few hours. But death did not come. Instead, he heard footsteps, and saw from where he lay a pair of feet wrapped in rags bound with string, and the end of a wooden staff. He looked up, and saw the face of the man who had pointed him to the star. And seeing him now, with his waking eyes, he thought him to be a hermit; old and weathered, and wondered at his memory of him as comely, powerful, and wise. But the kindness was still in the old man’s eyes.

“Come,” he said. “Arise, Sir Knight, and follow me to my cell, and I will refresh you.”

Sir Perditus obeyed, for he lacked the will to resist.

The Scarred Princess (part 2)

Now the king had long since returned from his travels, and had been gracious and cordial enough to Sir Perditus, honoring his wife’s and daughter's affection for him. But Sir Perditus had never felt the warmth from him that he felt from the queen and the princess, and often suspected that the king did not really like him at all, but was only treating him courteously for the sake of the ladies’ feelings. And he was quite right in thinking so, for when the king had returned and found the knight settled in his court, he had been jealous. And he had thought to himself, “Hmph. So this vagrant knight has insinuated himself into my household, and has taken advantage of the tender heart of my queen. I know his kind—penniless vagabonds who fight for hire and stick at nothing; freeloaders who leech the hard-earned sustenance of others through boast and bravado. No doubt he intends to beguile my daughter with his doubtful tales of valour and chivalry, and thinks that he shall one day be king after me!” This impression was only reinforced by Sir Perditus's eagerness to do nice things for his new friends, for he was a genuinely kind-hearted man, despite his fierceness in battle. But the king thought that anyone so willing to please must have hidden motives. And he cannot really be blamed, for kings will be surrounded by flatterers and ambitious deceivers, and the father of a beautiful and charming princess even more so.

The king did not approve of questing or crusading or errantry, and this was why no one had ever heard from the prince since he had left. They had argued sharply, for the father wished his son to stay home and inherit his kingdom in a sensible, respectible manner, and rule it in peace after him. In the end he had threatened to disinherit him if he did not obey, though he had not really meant to. But the prince had accepted him at his word, and left in high pique, all the more determined to follow his principles and prove himself a true and valourous knight.

So the king had been biding his time and watching Sir Perditus. He never spoke openly against him, but carefully and cleverly undermined him in the hearts of Viola and her mother. He would listen, for instance, seemingly interested in one of his stories, then later when they were alone say something like, “Well, that was an interesting story, wasn’t it? Sir Perditus is certainly very brave and noble. Almost too chivalrous and honorable to be real, is he not?” Or he would say, “There was something familiar in that tale. Almost as if I had heard it before somewhere.” In this way, he hoped to cast doubt in their minds without letting them see that it was he himself who had created it, but to make them think that it was their own. The king was not a wicked man, but he was long practiced in diplomacy, and was very fixed in his own thoughts and ways. He believed himself to be acting in their best interest, as he had believed he had been acting in his son’s.

(music to read by: Uncertainty)

On the day when Sir Perditus fell in love with Princess Viola, after he had seen her scar, he wandered for some time in the gardens, troubled in his thoughts. His mind was divided from his heart: his heart told him as clearly as it had ever told him anything in his life, that this was why he had been sent to this place, to love this princess who thought that she could not be loved. For he had understood instantly, when he had seen, why she had rejected every suitor who had ever come to call, and showed no sign of intending to marry even though she was well past the age at which most princesses have already done so. He understood, because he himself felt exactly the same way, and this is why it was her scar, and not her beauty, that had melted and won his heart. He had long since given up any hope of winning the heart of a lady to be his wife, because he thought himself unworthy—a rough, wild, wandering warrior, ungentle and unpracticed in the ways of courtliness. And worst of all, one with no fief, no land, no money—not even a plain, common house with a garden such as peasants owned. And while his heart told him with all its fervency that he must love and marry Viola, his mind told him with equal vigour that he could not, must not, and would not. That to even hint at it would be to dishonor her and to taint the pure love that he had hitherto borne her.

And also, he was troubled because he did not know, even if he had chosen to tell her of his love, how or what he would say. What he longed to tell her was that he Saw her. He Saw her, and he loved every thing about her: every single thing. And that the thing which made her believe that she was ugly and unloveable was the very thing he loved most; the thing which made her most lovely and beautiful in his eyes. But he could not reveal that he had seen her, or that he knew her secret, for that would shame and embarrass her, and to cause her distress or pain was as to stab himself in the heart. And he also was shamed and embarrassed, for though it had come about through accident in innocence, he knew that his protests that he had not meant to see what he had seen must sound hollow.

After he had walked and reflected some time, he returned to the castle. And at the entrance to the courtyard from the gardens, whom should he meet but the king, who looked at him most knowingly, as if he knew or guessed exactly where Sir Perditus had been and what he had seen—or perhaps it was only his guilt and shame which caused him to imagine so? However it was, the king said nothing, but greeted him as he passed.

The following days were days of torment and uncertainty. He slept ill, he spent hours alone at vigil in the chapel, and felt, or imagined he felt, a new distance between the princess and himself that had never been there before. He returned again and again to the garden, as if to the scene of an indecent crime, straying further and deeper into it each time (for it was a very large and extensive royal garden, with groves, fountains, hedges, canals, and grottoes of every description). Until, one day, he happened upon the site of the long-destroyed and forbidden rosebush at its very center, where no one had ever ventured for many years. It was wild and overgrown, but it drew him more than any of the other, better-tended and manicured places had done. And in its midst, growing from the bare, blackened, and mournful ground, was a single, perfect, and magical rose.

(music for contemplation: The Mystery) 

to be continued

Just got back from dropping my cat off at my brother's. My heart aches.

My four year old niece gave me this bandaid to take with me in case I get hurt on the trail.

"Millions of spiritual creatures walk the earth unseen, both when we sleep and when we awake." -- John Milton

"There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy." -- William Shakespeare

The Scarred Princess (part 1)

(music to read by: Viola's Theme)

Once there was a princess, who was just as beautiful, and lovely, and sweet, and innocent, and kind as you can possibly imagine. Everything she did, she did with grace, beauty, and charm. When she spoke, she enchanted her hearers so that everyone wished to do exactly as she asked. When she danced, she danced with such lightness and prettiness that other dancers would stop dancing just to watch her. And when she played the harp and sang, those who listened were left breathless and misty-eyed, and many said that she must have a faerie ancestress, for as they listened they felt as if they were transported to another world; a world of beauty, mystery, and light.

But this princess had a secret, and it tormented her day and night. For she believed that if anyone ever disovered her secret, that all would be lost, and no one would ever love her again. For you see, she had been loved so dearly, and admired so thoroughly, and told so often that she was perfect, ever since she had been a tiny, exquisite princess of a little girl, that she could not help but know in her heart that it was only because of her perfection that everyone loved her so. And she did so love being loved, and could not bear the thought of being judged and shunned, and thought ugly, and of losing all the joy of being everyone’s favorite princess.

And her secret was that she was not perfect, after all. For in her father’s garden was a huge and very ancient rose bush, which bore the most enchantingly beautiful and fragrant roses that anyone had ever seen. And when little Princess Viola (for that was her name) had been left alone for the first time in the garden, she had been unable to resist trying to pick the most magical and tempting rose, right at the top of the bush, even though she had been warned by her mother that she musn’t. For this rosebush also bore the longest, and sharpest, and cruelest thorns: thorns that could pierce the delicate heart of a little princess with ease. The king had ordered that the thorns be cut off, and the gardener tried to obey, but he had much work to do, and the deadly thorns would grow so quickly and so secretly that it was impossible to keep the bush completely free of them.

But sweet Princess Viola was still a very little girl, and we mustn’t judge her if she forgot her mother’s caution. She climbed right up to the top of the bush, and had just reached out and closed her little hand around the pretty flower, when she slipped and fell, right onto one of the enormous, hooked thorns. It went right through her little breast, and wounded her sweet little heart, and she collapsed with a cry that pierced the hearts of everyone in the castle as if they had been stabbed by the thorn too.

The princess’s life was saved, and she recovered, except for a large scar on her left breast; for the thorn, being hooked, would not come out except with much tearing and wounding, and the little princess cried so pitifully as the king’s old physician labored to remove it that he died shortly thereafter for grief at having caused her such pain. And it was this that she could not bear for anyone to see or know about. No one in the castle or kingdom knew except for her parents, for her brother, the prince, had gone away questing some years before and had never been heard from since, and her father had dismissed both the nurse who was supposed to be watching her that day and the gardener whose task it was to cut the thorns. He had sentenced them to death, but commuted the sentence to perpetual banishment on condition that they never told their secret to anyone. He also cut down the rosebush, dug up its roots, and sowed salt into the spot where it had grown so that nothing could ever grow there again; he did these things with his own hands, not trusting any of his servants with what he thought such an important task. And he ordered that every rosebush in his kingdom be likewise destroyed, and that no rose ever be seen in his realm again.

And thus Princess Viola grew to maidenhood with a scar on her heart, in a land without roses. So frightened was she of anyone finding out her secret, that she even bathed and dressed alone, which was most unusual for a princess, most of whom have attendants and ladies-in-waiting to help them with everything they do. It was not only that she believed that people would find her ugly if they saw it, but she feared even more that everyone would know that she had been naughty, for though you and I can see plainly enough that it was not really her fault, the poor princess could not. And most of all, she was afraid that, once they knew, that they would hate her for having pretended to be a perfect princess for so long, when really she was flawed just as they were. And I am sorry to say that, on that score at least, she was probably right.

(music to read by: The Lonely Knight)

There came one day to the castle a landless knight. A landless knight is one who wanders, usually the younger son of a knight or lord, who has nothing to inherit due to his father’s property being the birthright of his older brother. Most of them turn to errantry, and try to win for themselves a place in the world by their sword-arm and their courage, either by serving another lord, or going on crusades, or by joining an order of chivalry. Some become mercenaries who fight other men’s wars for pay, and a few turn to lawlessness and banditry, and become recreant knights and blackguards. But this knight, whose name was Sir Perditus, was an honest knight, although he had walked in many dark places, fought many battles, seen many evils, and been often obliged to do things which he now remembered with remorse and repentance.

Sir Perditus was not a young knight, but neither was he yet very old. He was, though, weary in his heart, of wandering and of being alone, and had begun to despair of ever finding a place where he could be at home, or of having the love of family and the loyalty of friends. One night, as he lay sleeping uneasily, alone in the woods (for he had long since ceased to have an esquire to accompany him on his travels, and even his horse had been lost not long before), cold, hungry, and utterly exhausted, a man appeared to him and pointed to a star, which glowed more brightly in the sky than any other, then disappeared without a word. Sir Perditus followed the star, although he half-believed that it had been only a dream. But the man’s face had been so kindly, and his eyes so wise, that he couldn’t help but trust him, whether he had been a dream or no. So he followed the star for several nights, and at last it led him to the castle where Princess Viola lived, where he was welcomed with such warmth, kindness, and respect by the noble and gracious queen (the king was away on royal business in another part of his kingdom), that he began to believe that it must have been Providence which had sent him there.

Sir Perditus soon grew happy, full, and content on the good food and better company he found in the castle. Princess Viola loved to sit and hear Sir Perditus’s stories of battle, and quests, and the rescue of maidens. And she was fascinated by his many scars, for he had been wounded many times. And Sir Perditus, in turn, became very fond of the Princess; not just because he, like everyone else, admired her many perfections, accomplishments, and virtues, as well as her beauty, but because she was so very kind to him, after his life had been full of loneliness and hardship for so long. And he began to hope, deep in his heart, though he dared not voice it yet or even believe it, that perhaps he had at last found the home he had longed for.

And he began to love Princess Viola. Not as a man loves a woman, but as a knight loves a lady. For it is in the knight’s code that he must choose a noble and virtuous lady whom he can love and serve, without ever asking her anything in return, and must lay his life down for her without question or hesitation. For that is the kind of love which is most like the love of the Lord of the Grail, whom all true knights must serve and imitate. And when he began to think of dying, or suffering, or fighting for the Princess, or of doing for her some other act of service and sacrifice, it filled him with more joy than he had ever known.

One day, as he was strolling in the garden, he heard his favorite sound: the sound of Princess Viola’s voice, singing. He stopped to listen, then drew closer, the better to hear her beautiful song, but quietly, so he did not interrupt her. She was not accompanied by her harp, but by the bright and tinkling music of falling water, and he thought that it suited her so well that it would break his heart. But when he had stolen quietly across the lawn and through the trees, he suddenly saw the Princess, and she was singing as she bathed. His heart stopped and his breath escaped him, both at the beauty which he beheld and for shame of having seen it. But most of all, it stopped because he saw her scar. And in that moment, he fell truly and completely in love with her.

(music to read by: The Pierced Heart)

to be continued

Final Preparations

Packing resupply mail drops.

The current state of my kitchen:

In case you ever wondered what 12 pounds of beef jerky looks like.

A Beautiful Thing

I have made a new friend in India: brother Ravi. One of his ministries, and the one that caught my attention, is providing poor women with saris and dowries so that they can get married. In India, many women are mistreated, abused, and even killed over dowries (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dowry_system_in_India), and many more simply cannot marry, and thus often end up in the worst place a woman can end up--I don't even like to say the name, but you know what I mean.

This ministry reminds me of what the real St. Nicholas did, which seems to us comfortable Westerners like a tale out of the bad old days, so remote that it's nothing but an allegorical moral lesson. But much of the world is still in the darkness of paganism--modern India is in many ways very much like ancient Rome. (And the rest of the world, which once had the light of the Gospel, is moving with great determination and rapidity back toward that darkness.)

It only costs $4 to provide this beautiful gift to these lovely and vulnerable women. If you want to help, contact Bill Bray at Overseas Students Mission, who processes the funds for Ravi.

Compliments

I was talking the other day with someone about how uncomfortable I am with compliments and "attention" (things which I have to deal much more with these days). But then, I was watching Mary Poppins last night, and I realized that there is one type of compliment which is very meaningful and welcome to me. Listen to Mary's words to Burt in this song.



"A laidey needn't feah, when you ah neah, your sweet gentility is crystal cleah". Ah, there's nothing anyone could say to me which would touch me like those words from a lady. "I feel completely safe with you. I trust you absolutely." Maybe this is why, since Her mother put her arms around me and told me "It's an honor to know you," I haven't been able to help loving her so, even after everything else that's happened.

Hm...the more I think about it, the clearer it becomes. These two ladies were the first ones in my entire life who really saw me for what I truly am, after a lifetime of being misjudged and misunderstood. Even I had come to doubt myself, after all the rejection and judgement, and it was they, and their faith in me, who re-awoke me to my true self. Granted, they later changed their minds because they believed lies. Whether lies born of their own fears, or spawned by the devil, or told by other people who acted in their own self-interest, I don't know. But it doesn't matter now. The better man they awoke in me has continued to grow, and is now self-sustaining.

Isn't it amazing how art can help one better understand one's self? Even something relatively silly, like Mary Poppins. Art is like a shaman's fetish. No, not that kind of fetish. A fetish in this sense is an external object which is, or contains, the shaman's soul. A common feature in animistic religions (and, I'm sure, where J.K Rowling got the idea of horcruxes). Anyway, what I mean is that art allows you to see yourself as if you could take out your own soul and examine it objectively: the detachment and perspective provided by seeing your own feelings and struggles in a third party allows you to realize things about yourself that you never would otherwise.

Can you believe I didn't find Julie Andrews beautiful when I was younger? Now she charms me to speechlessness. I told you you'd totally changed my taste.

You know, a long time ago now, the first time I met those friends of your family's from Richmond, before I'd even realized I was in love with you, I was sitting next to them, and she saw me watching you and she smiled knowingly, and said, "She's quite something, isn't she?" And I replied, "Yes, she is. She's Practically Perfect in Every Way." Ironic.

Date Set!

I found a hostel in North Georgia that specializes in AT hikers. They're going to pick me up from the train station in Gainesville, put me up for the night, and then drop me off at the trailhead next morning.

I'm leaving here on Amtrak January 27th, and will hit the trail the 29th, Lord willing and barring unforeseen circumstances such as severe weather, in which case I'll be at the hostel additional days. Three weeks!

More Smartphone Therapy

I was just typing an email to a friend, and wanted to write "I wish I was leaving tonight." But when I got to 'was'  the keyboard app suggested "dead". LOL! This thing is hilarious. Making fun of myself is my favorite kind of humor, although I rarely get to indulge in it anymore because nobody gets it: people always think I'm either seeking attention or fishing for compliments. But in truth, I just find myself very ridiculous much of the time.

Why Georgia?

The question inevitably arises, if my goal is to avoid the crowds of the northbound "bubble" on the trail, why not hike some other way in better weather? I could go north to south, flip-flop, etc., still avoid the pack, and not be hiking in the dark of winter.

The thing is, you see, I'm from Georgia. Born in Atlanta. And the AT has called to me since I was a boy. North Georgia was where we spent as much of our time off as possible; it's where my family is from, and it's the place from which I've always imagined starting the trail. It's familiar, and the North is the unknown, which I'll be walking off to explore. My father, my grandfather, my great grandfather, and my great-great grandfather are all buried 18 miles northwest of the trailhead, in Blue Ridge.

And I'll be starting at Amicalola Falls, on the "approach trail" rather than the official start of the AT at Springer Mountain, because that's where I've looked at this sign

all my life, and wished. I'll start at the top of the falls, though, rather than walking up from the bottom: I've done that hike plenty of times, including way back before they built the fancy wooden stairs. In fact, here are some photos I took of the falls, and from the top, when I was 8 or 9. 

The approach trail isn't officially part of the AT, so I'm not cheating or avoiding anything by not repeating the falls climb, except a lot of exertion and exhaustion on my first day out.

There are other reasons, as well: more practical ones. For starters, I'm anxious and don't want to wait that long. I'm already antsy, sitting here waiting to begin, and sitting out the rest of the winter while waiting for the earliest I could start from Maine would be intolerable. Also, it's commonly reported that if you start from Mt. Katahdin as soon as it opens, you'll be passing through the north country at the height of the infamous and abominable blackfly season, and I hate bugs. Frankly, I'd rather deal with bitter cold any day than incessant swarms of tiny biting flies. There's still the "flip-flop" option, but that doesn't really feel like a through-hike to me, although I know the ATC recognizes it as such.

So, it's Winter in the southern Appalachians for me. I should be back through here sometime in the Spring, if anyone cares to have a visit.

Sleepyfaces

Adjustments

After going over the shortcomings of my sleep system, I've decided to go with an option that corrects both the hammock and sleeping bag issues at once, and get this. It's specifically designed to fit my hammock, and this company is a small business owned and run by two retired Army vets here in Virginia.

As an added bonus, it covers another dilemma; that of whether or not to take a seriously warm, big down parka "just in case" (specifically, the one I'm wearing in the photo at right). But with this system, the top quilt can double as a down boreal jacket in an emergency (as in, temperatures dropping way below zero on a windy mountaintop miles from anywhere suitable for camp). Also, I didn't mention this in detail before, but the combination of sleeping bag and insulation system I have made it a very complicated and slow process to get out of the hammock, and I hate the feeling of being trapped in there and not being able to get out quickly if I need to. Old habits, I guess. Military sleeping bag zippers, for instance, have a quick-open feature which allows you to just yank the two sides of the bag apart and it comes right open.

Unfortunately, the best option is also the most expensive option, and I've more or less wasted the money I spent on my sleeping bag and wool liner. But, they might still be useful someday in some other situation, so it's not that bad. I think I will, however, return the insulating underlayer portion of my hammock system, as I'm within their ten-day return window. But I'll keep the over-cover, as it's extremely light and small when packed, and will still be useful for extreme cold.

I've also ordered a better set of lighter-weight, more flexible and packable gore-tex top and bottoms to replace my military-style ECWCS ones. The ones I've got are just too heavy and bulky to pack efficiently when they're not being worn, and too loud and stiff when they are. Also, the hood is designed to be worn over a helmet and is annoyingly in the way without one, always falling in my eyes and blocking peripheral vision.

It seems (and feels) like a lot of money to get ready for this trip. But I'll be using this stuff for years to come, only tweaking or replacing a piece here or there for other trips and activities, so it'll pay off in the end.

After Action Report

Warmth test successfully passed. I have, however, identified some deficiencies to be corrected before initiation of combat operations:

Deficiency #1: The interior of the hammock gets claustrophobic after I've been in there a while. I think this is because of the cold-weather "overcover" which covers the mesh top part of the hammock to keep in warmth. There's a ventilation hole near my face on one side, but it doesn't seem to be enough, and I'm not getting enough fresh oxygen.

Proposed Solution: Only use it in extreme cold and, when in use, arrange it so that there is some gap left at the top near my head. Adjust amount and location of gap as needed.

Deficiency #2: Back side begins to feel the cold through the hammock bottom as the night progresses and ambient and body temperatures drop.

Proposed Solution: Increase/change bottom insulation.

Deficiency #3: Sleeping bag awkward and difficult to get into and out of inside hammock. Zipper finicky and difficult to operate, especially while wearing gloves.

Possible Solutions: a) Replace sleeping bag. b) Replace sleeping bag with lightweight quilts designed for hammock camping. c) Adapt to sleeping bag through practice and patience.

Deficiency #4: Angle of hammock hang at foot end causes reverse pressure on knees (hyperextension). This has been noted by other hammock users, but it especially problematic for me because of my injuries.

Implemented Solution: Stuff empty sleeping bag stuff-sack with unworn outer layer (gore-tex shell) to create an under-knee pillow and relieve pressure.

Deficiency #5: Hammock pitch imperfect due to inexperience.

Proposed Solution: Get better.

Also, this can't be identified as a deficiency of the hammock, but I had trouble sleeping because of my sleep apnea and the absence of a CPAP. I'm looking into homeopathic ways of improving the disorder (one of which, fascinatingly, is magnesium, about which I have an entire other post to make). Also, once on the trail, fatigue will be my friend in this respect, as will continued weight loss. I may just have to deal with being less than perfectly well-rested during the early part.

Overall, I am quite pleased, and feeling very confident in my equipment. I've finally made up my mind and ordered a pair of insulated boots for winter hiking. My feet may end up getting overheated a bit during warm spells, but the consequences of hot feet are discomfort and blisters, whereas the consequences of cold feet are frostbite and loss of toes. I ordered them in a wider width than my others, so I can wear two pair of wool socks. Also, although having bought actual boots in very high quality, I'm not concerned that I'll go through 3-5 pairs of shoes during the course of the trail like people who wear the modern sneaker-type hiking shoes, there is a possibility that I'll wear the soles down to a point that they will need to be re-soled, or else will cause problems with my feet and ankles due to uneven wear. But with one pair for winter and one for summer, I should prevent this issue. (I'm not carrying both pairs with me: I'm preparing a box of summer clothes for my brother to mail to me when the weather warms up, at which point I'll mail back my winter gear.) I've also ordered an additional set of merino wool underwear: my camp clothes weren't quite warm enough without that layer, but the ones I've been wearing all day hiking will be damp from sweat when I stop. So this way, I'll have a dry pair to change into.

Speaking of my brother, another example of God's provision is that he and his family just moved back to their house in the NoVa area after his having retired from the Army, and they eagerly volunteered to keep my cat, watch my house (which I also offered them as a weekend getaway whenever they want), and act as my logistics base, mailing me resupply packages and such as I go along. Solved all my biggest worries about the trip in one fell swoop. I love living in His kingdom.

Winterization Training

My old commander made up that term--it means "sitting outside in the cold freezing your @$$ off on purpose".

I've been waiting for it to get really cold so I can test out my gear. Sat outside last night and this morning to see if my clothes are warm enough. (They are--except that my mittens haven't arrived yet, so my hands were a bit cold in just the liner gloves.) My hammock finally arrived this week, just in time, and I set it up yesterday to learn how it works. Tonight, I'm sleeping in it; it's supposed to get down to around 15 degrees.

I'm thinking that Sunday I'll go for a hike, and see how my "walking outfit" does in real cold.

I'd like to see some single-digit or even negative temps before I leave, to test out the outer limits of my stuff before I'm stuck out there with it. Of course, if it comes down to a matter of survival, I'll build fires and even windbreaks and shelters--I know how to do all that. There are sections of the AT where you aren't supposed to, and it's discouraged along the whole length, because of the heavy use it gets. But you're also not supposed to die out there.

Fiona Apple - I Know