Snowy Ending to Our Journey.

I hope you are not getting tired of this Bull Run trip.  As I write, I get to revisit the trip and remember how I felt at the time. Like when I see the photo below my memory is of  how cold that water looked, its essence suspended between ice and thaw.  Water flowed beneath a thin veneer of ice only to resurface as liquid a few feet downstream.

Bull Run meandered through the woods and field, sculpted by the landscape through which it cut. a crooked swath.  The stream morphed from a small split which I could almost jump over . . .

. . . to a wider stream large enough to host a swimming hole chest high.

Though I would not test the water today, I remember several hot summer afternoons spent wading in the creek with my children, Jesse and Mary, our back packs were settled on the bank while we teased each other to step deeper into the water. The nature of the stream meant that the depth continually changed so we never knew at what moment one of us would step into a hole to become the first one wet.

These times were followed by lunch, during which we partially dried, then a long walk home around the hill and up our road.

Today I had to work hard to remember such heat and sunshine.

As I walked, at times I could see little else but ice, white field and driving snow.

It was about 1:30 in the afternoon when I took the photo below.    

Blowing snow obliterated any thought of sun.

But before I cold even get into this field, there was barbed wire deal with.

Usually when I pass through this part of the fence there is someone around to help hold the wires off of me. It was almost impossible to cross this day, sending me into near panic as I was caught above and below with my glove pulled off into the snow. At that moment I pushed my naked hand into the ground in an effort to stay off the bottom wire. My hand promptly broke through a thin layer of ice into a mud filled cow hoof print. Yeuch!  and "Br-r-r-r!" I quickly put my glove over a muddy hand, tried to relax and finally pulled free of the fence but only after tearing my gator which was being held hostage by an evil barb. Yes! I was glad to be rid of that fence. 

The sun picked that time to momentarily appear through my snow-spotted camera lens . . .

Shadows stretched across the snow while flakes continued to fall. The lens would not open all the way after our tussle with the fence. I attacked the lens with a paper towel and intense blowing. The rest of the day it only opened manually. It is very hard to take pictures in a snow storm.

I turned and looked back on the hill from which I had come. 

My home lies over that hill, across a field, through the woods and across another field.

Let's turn to see what was left of our trip. . . I'm tired, are you?

Suddenly my pocket was ringing, the noise breaking into my snowy scarf-muffled world. I dove my hand deep in and retrieved the cell phone where Jeff was asking if I would like him to come pick me up. "Oh yes! I did." I let him know that it would take me another twenty minutes to get to the road then I hung up and started walking.

Near the evil fence I visited a few moments the local furry non-wildlife. . .

Soon after our visit I walk out of the snowy field onto a snowy Bull Run Road.

 . . . then looked to my left and, hooray! There was my ride!

Once I finished struggling to wrap the seat belt around my well-bundeled self, it was nice to be sitting down in the jeep where the wind did not blow and my feet did not slip.

Let's go home for some hot chocolate!

    

Over Bull Run

Slipping, tripping and sliding most of the way I reached Bull Run just as winds died down and the snow quit falling for a moment.

I wasn't the only one who had been there today.

There were dog-like tracks right down to the creek but the animal who had made those tracks was not merely after a drink. 

Those tracks resumed across the creek, indicating that the animal had crossed the creek  . . . 

. . . then turned toward a field on the other side.

I, too needed to turn - not across the creek, but in the other direction, back up the hill.

My plan had ben to follow the creek bottom, walking on the flat and studying the creek but that was not what the creek had planned for me.  Where it cut into the hillside, the bank was too steep for me to continue so back toward the hill I walked.

I walked through weeds and  briars that tried to hold me back, or at least claim a piece of my jeans for their own.

My climb continued until once again I was above the tiny stream.

Along my chosen path was this tree

Diseased and deformed, it could have been a museum piece, bumps and knobs exploding from within the heart of the tree. Grotesque or beautiful? Our subjective pronouncement will not change what is here before us but will only change the way we feel. This day, I chose beauty for that is the way it made me feel. I felt glad to have been there in front of the gnarled wood. . .

. . . shaped in a way that no earthly sculptor could match.

This was a memorable stop in my journey toward Bull Run Road.  Tomorrow I'll show you a view of how others made their own memories near this same spot.

     

Bull Run Trek

Jeff watched as I prepared for a trip into the woods during Saturday's snow storm.  Merino socks, a couple layers of clothing, gloves, hiking boots, wool "gators" over my boots and pants, two pair gloves, one that allows my fingers to be free to work camera buttons, fleece head band to cover my ears, reading glasses to see my camera screen, scarf, down coat, camera, granola bar, cell phone and at the last minute Jeff talked me into taking a new high-tech, spring-loaded walking pole, then, let's see . . . .no, nothing else.  Now dressed like the Michelin Man, and with plans for Jeff to pick me up when I called in a couple hours, I left before the warm house smothered me.

Dense gray clouds kept the day dark, seldom allowing the sun to squeeze into sight.  My goal for the day was Bull Run Road, which, by-the-way, would be a great name for a band.  It is one of the two band names I am saving for that day when the world is set right and my missing musical talent is finally found.

Until that fantasy day comes, I am content to travel Bull Run Road by car and walk over that part of the farm known as "over Bull Run".
With snow blowing in my face and at my back, I walk back to the quarry trail where I took you last week on a beautiful sunny day. Click on this link to read about it:  Break in the Weather. Today I had trouble even finding the trail as I headed into the woods and straight down toward Bull Run.
Now for those of you unfamiliar with Appalachian terminology, a "run" is a creek or small stream. "Runs" often flow or "run" into larger creeks.  Bull Run flows into Bull Creek which flows into the Ohio River. Our own gully (Views of the Gully) fills with water that falls downhill into Bull Run
I was thankful that I had decided to bring the walking pole. While I thought, at first, that the pole might be in my way, I soon realized that this trip could not have continued without it.

Snow covered fallen branches and filled in space around those branches, concealing holes and generally making my journey difficult.  The pole, attached to my right hand gave me balance and was a great tool to plunge into the path ahead as I searched for a way down the steep hill.

I retraced my way back up and down the hill trying to find a way to the creek below. The hill was generally laced with smaller ridges and dips where erosion was performing its natural task of slowly wearing away the hill top and carrying it, bit by bit into the bottom where the topsoil would build up into a nutrient rich dirt that, during times of high water, would be carried on to Bull Creek then into the Ohio River and on toward new Orleans. Many of these dips were  now filled with a mixture of snow and leaves that make my progression treacherous.

This morning the woods were very quiet.  The driving snow kept all smart animals sheltered. As my knees ached and my nose froze, I questioned my own degree of smarts but this was fun.  Being alone in the woods is never all bad and there was much to see. For instance, this tall shagbark hickory stood out against the snow.  

The large hickory is larger than any I have ever seen in our woods.  Somehow it missed being timbered several years ago and still stands, its long fingers of bark clinging to its trunk like a hula skirt. 

The rest of this week we will continue our journey to and along Bull Run. For now, though, I will leave you with a teaser as we look down the hill to the run below.

The partially frozen stream meanders through the bottom, barely visible through the snowy woods.