House of Light -- or Lighthouse

Pulitzer prize winning poet Mary Oliver was born and went to college in Ohio, but lived most of her life near the sea on Cape Cod and in Florida. I don’t know of any poems she wrote about lighthouses that can accompany the images I took of three iconic lighthouses in Maine. However, her book House of Light was written when she lived on the Cape, and as with all her poetry, is filled with images of nature.

“Make of yourself a light,”

said the Buddha,

before he died.

I think of this every morning

as the east begins

to tear off its many clouds

of darkness, to send up the first

signal—a white fan

. . . .

From The Buddha’s Last Instruction, Mary Oliver, The House of Light, 1990

Cape Elizabeth, Portland Head Light

During the early years of Independence, General Washington directed that a light be established at Cape Elizabeth just south of Portland. It was still being constructed as the country was formed under the Constitution and the new Congress passed an infrastructure bill which included up to $1,500 to finish the building of the Portland Head Light. The Light stands today as the oldest on the Maine coast.

Cape Neddick Light, York, Maine

Nearly a century later, after the country was recovering from the Civil War, Congress authorized $15,000 for a Light on the south Maine Coast at Cape Neddick in York County. A century and a half later, more warning lights shine, and the country lacks ability to authorize essential infrastructure spending.

. . . . What kind of nonsense is this?

Everybody needs a job.

Yes, a person wants to stand in a happy place, in a poem.

But first we must watch her as she stares down at her labor,

which is dull enough.

. . . .

If the world were only pain and logic, who would want it?

Of course, it isn’t.

Neither do I mean anything miraculous, but only

the light that can shine out of a life. . . .

From Singapore. Mary Oliver, The House of Light, 1990

The Nubble

The Cape Neddick Light sits on a small island just a 100 yards off the coast—called a nubble. The Lighthouse has taken this name, so it is often just called “The Nubble.” Having seen probably hundreds of images of this iconic Light house, I was still surprised how very close it is, yet inaccessible since it is on its own little island. The clouds opened for one brief shaft of light on the light when we visited.

Cape Cod National Seashore, Massachusetts

A brief interlude away from Maine, south a bit to Cape Cod near where Mary Oliver lived when she wrote The House of Light. In one poem, she finds a hermit crab on the beach. After looking into its shell, she puts it back on the tideline to hurry “. . . toward the future . . .

and what a rebellion

to leap into it

and hold on,

connecting everything,

the past to the future—

which is of course the miracle—

which is the only argument there is

against the sea.

From, The Hermit Crab, Mary Oliver, The House of Light, 1990

Bass Rock Head Light, Acadia National Park

Farther up the coast—down east—in Acadia National Park, is another iconic lighthouse. Bass Rock Head faces south along this coast that runs east-west here, and the autumn sun is moving south, so it lights the light even mid-day.

Former U.S. Poet Laurette Billy Collins established a project he called Poetry 180, selecting 180 poems so high school students could read or listen to one poem a day. He selected Mary Oliver’s The Summer Day from The House of Light for number 133. It’s probably her most quoted poem. You can read the entire poem here, but for now, an excerpt:

I don’t know exact what a prayer is.

I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down

into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,

how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,

which is what I have been doing all day.

Tell me, what else should I have done?

Doesn’t everything die at last, and too soon?

Tell me, what is it you plan to do

with your one wild and precious life?

From, The Summer Day, Mary Oliver, The House of Light, 1990

Ship Harbor, Acadia National Park

Just a bit east of Bass Rock Head is Ship Harbor. A trail leads to the rocky coast where we sat to watch the tide go out.

Her remarkable poem of a snowy owl as Death, ends:

and let ourselves be carried,

. . .

to the river

that is without the least dapple or shadow—

that is nothing but light—scalding aortal light—

in which we are washed and washed

out of our bones.

From, White Owl Flies Into and Out of the Field, Mary Oliver, The House of Light, 1990

Around Jordan Pond

Sorry for missing a couple weeks of posting while traveling, but here’s some images from one of the hikes at Acadia National Park in Maine. Jordan Pond is a glacially carved lake with a 3.5 mile loop trail around the shore. The trail starts at the south end, and we headed counter-clockwise as the sun was nearing the ridgeline on the west and spotlighting the changing colors on the eastern shore.

Jordan Pond color

Go this way

The trail on the east side of the lake is an easy, level crushed rock path. Lots of streamways are built on the path to allow water to run off the mountain side into the lake, but it had been dry enough that none of those streams were flowing.

Jordan Pond trail

As you approach the north end of the lake, a few spur trails head up to the Bubbles, a couple mountains overlooking that end of the lake, but it would be dark soon so we continued on around the lake. A couple larger streams enter the lake after flowing down the Bubbles, and idyllic bridges cross them. Can you spot one?

Jordan reflections

Here’s a closer view.

While a little early for peak autumn color, some intense patches made for beautiful views.

The return trail on the west side of the lake was quite different from the east side. First, you needed to scramble over some boulders.

scrambling

Then a very long boardwalk kept you off the forest floor. We were fortunate that our sunset hike had very few other hikers since it would have been challenging to cross paths with people going the other way, especially with a dog on the leash. The Acadia experience was challenging with great crowds even mid-week with parking lots filling up quickly.

Jordan Pond boardwalk

Acadia is a dog friendly park, and like a few other parks, offers a B.A.R.K. ranger program where your pet can earn a badge. The picture below is of the Acadia collar tag, and Chance getting a badge from a ranger at Saint Gaudens National Historic Site.

Many national park sites have understandable restrictions on dogs due to wildlife, safety or crowding, but many provide great opportunities. One of the best is nearby Indiana Dunes National Park that permits dogs on almost all trails, and has a B.A.R.K. ranger program. This weekend they are even offering a ranger led hike for dogs.

Rangers

As we approached the end of the hike, you could spot Jordan Pond House that overlooks the southern end of the lake. Lots of people were gathering near the shore to watch the sunset. We tried to go back to the House the next morning for their famous tea, but the parking lot was full well before the opening.

Jordan Pond House

We joined the folks lined up on the shore to view the fading dusk colors over the Bubbles rising above the north end of the Lake. A beautiful end to the hike.

Bubbles over Jordan Pond

The Waterfall -- Mary Oliver

I’ve shared some images from Obed Wild and Scenic River, a national park area in the Cumberland Plateau in Eastern Tennessee. With lots of opportunities for whitewater sports and rock climbing, the hiking trails are limited. A ranger suggested nearby Frozen Head State Park for hiking. We were off to find some waterfalls.

It was a warm, humid, sunny afternoon, and contrasty light is not favorable for photographing waterfalls. However, the forecast called for some storms and rain, so we headed out hopeful that conditions would change. We past a couple small falls on the way, but the light was too bright, so perhaps a visit on the way back.

We got to a nice twin fall with a big pool as clouds were moving in. About ten young kids were playing around the fall as parents watched nearby. Chance and I took a seat to watch when thunder echoed between the mountains. And — no kids and nice light.

Debord Falls

Few poets can imbue a poem with nature imagery as Mary Oliver. In 1991, Poetry published Oliver’s The Waterfall — For May Swenson. When Poetry received a massive endowment many years ago, all it’s prior publications went online so we can mine this treasure.

For all they said

I could not see the waterfall

until I came and saw the water falling,

its lace legs and its womanly arms sheeting down,

while something howled like thunder,

over the rocks,

all day and night—

unspooling

like ribbons made of snow,

or god’s white hair.

At any distance

it fell without a break or seam, and slowly, a simple

preponderance—

a fall of flowers—and truly it seemed

surprised by the unexpected kindness of the air and

light-hearted to be

flying at last.

Gravity is a fact everybody

knows about.

It is always underfoot,

like a summons,

gravel-backed and mossy,

in every beetled basin—

and imagination—

that striver,

that third eye—

can do a lot but

hardly everything. The white, scrolled

wings of the tumbling water

I never could have

imagined. And maybe there will be,

after all,

some slack and perfectly balanced

blind and rough peace, finally,

in the deep and green and utterly motionless pools after all that

falling?

Mary Oliver, The Waterfall, Poetry, January 1991

Cultural Landscape - Blevins Farmstead

In May, I posted some images from the Big South Fork National River and Recreation Area which sits in the Cumberland Plateau in Eastern Tennessee and Kentucky. When visiting the area again last month, I stopped at the Bandy Creek Ranger Station for some ideas on where to visit. I asked about the Oscar Blevins Historic Farmstead that I saw on the map. The ranger told me about it and gave driving directions, but then added there was a loop trail from the other side of the ranger station parking lot that went through the woods to the farmstead. He gave me a brochure about the route, and off we went.

“And dark, dim in the blue haze”

The trail starts along Bandy Creek. The trail brochure speculated as the origin on the name. Apparently, an early 18th century family started a farm nearby, but soon abandoned it—or in the local dialect — “bandoned” it. The bandoned area eventually was called Bandy.

“There, in blotched and cobwebbed light”

Some sandstone cliffs rise a bit above the creek. Archeologists determined that over many centuries natives took temporary shelter under some of the overhangs, but no tribes ever established long-term residence in the area. The land was not too fertile or hospitable for permanent settlement.

“where the Indian village was once”

After winding through the woods for a couple miles, the trail comes to a “bandoned” road where if you search carefully there is evidence of a family cemetery and later Blevins farmhouses, but eventually, the woods give way to the 24 acre main Blevins farmstead.

“The meadow is bright as snow”

Perhaps you’ve noticed the titles to the images. They come from some lines of The Signature of All Things, a 1949 poem by Kenneth Rexroth. He was a conscientious objector during WWII, and was called “the Daddy of the Beat Generation.” He was charged by an academic critic as belonging to the “bear-shit-on-the-trail school of poetry,” which Rexroth took as a compliment. So, a bit from the poem:

. . . .

The meadow is bright as snow.

My dog prowls the grass, a dark

Blur in the blur of brightness.

I walk to the oak grove where

The Indian village was once.

There, in blotched and cobwebbed light

And dark, dim in the blue haze,

Are twenty Holstein heifers,

Black and white, all lying down,

Quietly together, under

The huge tree rooted in the graves.

. . . .

Kenneth Rexroth, from The Signature of All Things, 1949

“I walk to the oak grove”

The image above is from where the trail first opens to the farmstead. The old fence line leads to the “new” farmhouse that was built in the 1950s. The Big South Fork NRRA was authorized in 1974, and began acquiring some of the land in the area. The Blevins began this subsistence farm in the 1870s. As with most of the farms in the rugged Upper Cumberland, farming was never much more than subsistence. The family sold the farm to the government in 1980, and the century’s worth of structures built on the land now tell some of the story of this cultural landscape. The National Park Service has an informative summary of the history of the farm and a long, detailed Cultural Landscapes Inventory it created of this farmstead in 1998. The NPS has many missions to preserve and protect wild lands for public enjoyment, but also is a repository for our national memory and heritage, and the cultural landscape heritage is a part of that mission.

“a dark blur in the blur of brightness”

The image above is of the 1879 farmhouse, which in many ways is in better shape than the 1950s home. Those aren’t dust spots on the picture, but some of the insects buzzing about. It was time to head back on the trail through the woods. Though it may have been more convenient to drive up to the farmstead, the walk through the woods provided a better context for the isolated, challenging life the farmers had in the rugged landscape.

“quietly together, under the huge trees rooted in the graves”

National Rivers and Trails -- Cumberland & Obed

A few weeks ago, I wrote about the fire on the Cuyahoga River in 1969 leading soon thereafter to the creation of the EPA and the Clean Water Act. A year earlier, Congress had passed the National Trails Act, and established two national trails—the nearly 2,200 mile Appalachian Trail and the over 2,600 mile Pacific Crest Trail. There are now eleven national scenic trails and nineteen national historic trails such as the Oregon Trail, Trail of Tears, and Selma to Montgomery Trail commemorating important events in the nation’s history. The National Park Service oversees these 30 trails, and you can look at them at this map.

Sunrise on the Cumberland Trail

The NPS also recognizes over 1,300 national recreational trails. While currently only two-thirds completed, the Cumberland Trail will extend 330 miles from the Cumberland Gap where Kentucky, Virginia and Tennessee come together and will end at Chickamauga National Battlefield near Chattanooga. A stretch runs though the Obed Wild and Scenic River Park in Tennessee, and I got a campsite right next to the trail. You can see the trail blaze on the spur trail next to my car, so we could get an easy start hiking in the morning.

Rock Creek campground, Obed National Wild and Scenic River

Also in 1968, the National Wild and Scenic River Act was passed to designate and protect free-flowing (non-dammed) rivers of natural, historic or cultural importance. Eight years later, Congress established the Obed Wild and Scenic River in eastern Tennessee as an NPS site. In addition to the trails, the park attracts white water running as well as rock-climbing in the 500 foot gorge walls. This campsite is on the Emory River, and the picture below is taken on the other side of the Emory and looking downstream to where the Obed River joins it and then continues running off to the right.

Confluence of the Emory and Obed Rivers

A bonus of camping next to a river is falling asleep to the sound of the whitewater. However, when waking near midnight, it took effort to hear the sounds of the river over the loud chorus of frogs and insects. I didn’t want to go back to sleep, but instead just listen to the amazing music. When dawn did arrive, the valley was filled with mist.

Emory River misty sunrise

Emory River morning

The campsite is near a place called Nemo’s landing and one of the few places you can get next to the river if you’re not paddling through it. After dipping to the river at Nemo, the Cumberland trail climbs back up the gorge wall, but you can hear the sound of the river below even as you climb higher on the gorge. When you get to some sandstone cliffs, and the whitewater is crashing over rock below, you hear the sound of the river echoing off the walls above as well as from the river below.

By daylight, the frog chorus has been replaced by bird song and different insects continued to play their tunes. And though it’s hundreds of yards away and on the other side of the gorge, when a train roars by, it actually hurts your ears that have become accustom to the quiet of the woods.

Old hornet nests

Some of the mist and fog collects on the leaves and drops in loud splashes. Although larger, more popular National Park sites are experiencing record crowds hiking here was a solitary experience. Lat week in hiking nearly 25 miles on five different trails here and at neighboring Big South Fork National River and Recreation Area, we didn’t meet a single other hiker.

Misty woods

colorful floor

The trail followed the ridgeline along the Emory River and then turned to follow the Obed valley. While the Cumberland trail continued on its route north to Virginia, a spur trail led down to Alley Ford. This spur is wide and rocky and is the old wagon road bed leading up from the ford where the river could be crossed and a small community once lived. Periodic floods wiped out the tiny communities of Nemo and Alley’s Ford. When we also camped at Nemo last spring, a ranger said that two weeks earlier the campsite had been under six feet of water!

Approaching Alley Ford

Swamp Milkweed along the Obed

As the sun started to rise over the other side of the gorge, the mist began to burn off.

Sunrise on the Obed Wild and Scenic River

Time to rest and enjoy the view before climbing back up to the ridge.

Obed reflections

Eventually, the Cumberland trail will run its full length across Tennessee, but for now segments come to an end. Thanks for coming along on a hike.