Graveyard Fields & Ridge

I have to apologize if you are tiring of these Asheville posts, but we just had so much fun and wanted to share all of the highlights of the trip. I will be posting the rest of our pictures and stories twice a day until I get through it all — a warning, it will take us through until Friday, but next week I’ll be back to regularly-scheduled posts I promise! 

As I write this, my heart just aches. I am looking at the pictures from this day, in my opinion the best day of the whole trip. There is so much good in Asheville. The people, with their kind eyes and artists hands, the amazing food, the care people take of their little city streets and shops, the obvious pride they have in their artists and musicians. But the mountains, oh the mountains! 

The mountains are everywhere in this place. The Smokies, the Blue Ridge, all of it seems to go on forever, and I forgot that these wild places still exist and are protected (thank goodness) and cared for by many. This place touched me in a way I can’t explain, only to say that somehow as a child I had this connection to a similar place and it has imprinted on my soul. Revisiting places like this — with mountains and nature and water flowing clean and clear — it makes me feel awake. 

In choosing hikes near Asheville, we were conscious of the fact that although our boys love nature and seem to thrive in it, they are not used to long hikes. I was nervous about Oliver in particular, who is sturdy in some ways, but has not proven to be the happiest long-distance walker. This time, he was happy as a clam to walk over 4 miles with just a short rest. No joke — there was not one complaint of tired legs or boredom. 

Find a good description of the hike and how to get there here. And please note that this time of year is a stunning time to visit, but if you choose to visit in May, you will be greeted by a thicket of rhododendron bushes so thick, the flowers will eventually carpet the main paved pathway down to the river in early June. Though the areas around the falls and river are paved and supplemented with board pathways and steps, if you choose to hike up higher on the ridge, it is all footpaths, which is real hiking, in my opinion!

Emil was impressive. At three years old, not only did he keep up, he kept pace, racing ahead and then stopping to wait for us. He asked to be carried once during the whole four mile hike, and after a short jaunt on Andrew’s shoulders, he wanted to go on his own again. We hiked uphill to the high ridge overlooking the other side of the fields and stopped for lunch smack on the trail between two streams. Four burly hikers passed us while we ate, carrying pots and pans, sleeping bags and extra shoes hanging off the back of their packs. They were headed on an adventure and our future flashed before my eyes — there we were, two adults with three strapping teenaged boys, rugged from years of hiking and camping and living close to the wild, on our way to camp where only the sturdiest could make it by foot, to a place no cars or campers could reach. Oh, the things my dreams are made of.  

Sometimes trips like these make my dreams run wild. I could, we could, live a life so happy near a place like this. Little man, maybe some day!