Old Fort Greenway Trail, November ‘23
The Boyfriend and I returned to the scene of our second date last weekend: The Old Fort Greenway, a 3.6-mile trail in the Pisgah National Forest. Once part of Old US Highway 70, the trail meanders through woods, past railroad tracks, mountain vistas, and tunnels.
A very green Old Fort Greenway, May ‘23
Back in the spring, when we walked it the first time, I had been contentedly single and off dating apps for over a year. As the then Future Boyfriend chatted away to me about his years of adventure racing, I nodded politely and tried not to appear intermittently gripped by panic: after two ex-husbands and a Grifter, what was I thinking? What other debacle in the form of a human male might befall me? I yelped when a yellow jacket stung my calf. Was this an omen, warning me to end things before they started?
Surprisingly, he overlooked my less than come-hither demeanor that day —
— and asked me to lunch after the hike. I remember thinking, over my iced tea and ceviche, that I didn’t know how to maneuver our style of conversing. Most men I’d been with talked a lot about themselves, and even when they did ask me a question, things got directed back to them. But not only did The Future Boyfriend ask me what I thought about a lot of things, he also seemed genuinely interested in my answers, and even remembered what I’d said. He seemed like he actually wanted to get to know me.
I was flummoxed.
He texted me almost every day just to check in, but was never pushy or flirty. He continued to spend time with me even when I told him, after we hiked Lookout Trail on our fourth date, that I couldn’t see us being more than friends.
“Oh,” he said. Then, he took a beat. “Well, my offer to help you move into your condo still stands.”
I blinked, like The Grinch trying to figure out why the Whos in Whoville kept singing even after Christmas arrived with no presents.
I was staying with my cousins in Montreat during my escrow period, so I walked back into their house, my puzzler still sore.
“I ended things with him,” I told Mary Jo definitively, as I passed her in the kitchen. “Too athletic.”
I walked downstairs to my bedroom, immediately picked up the phone and called my friend Susan.
“Susan,” I said, “I think I should give this guy another chance.”
Gradually, it dawned on me that the fact that he wasn’t like anyone else I’d ever dated — meaning he wasn’t superficially charming, enigmatic, and didn’t need to be right about everything — was exactly the reason why I should date him.
So I did. Now, six months later, my icy demeanor has thawed.
But back to last weekend. En route to The Greenway, we stopped in the town of Old Fort, NC, looking for a grocery store. I had a hankering for a Kind Bar, but found only a vast array of Little Debbie confections at the local Piggly Wiggly.
I scoured the aisles for something vaguely healthy, and managed to find some almonds that hadn’t been too doctored up with preservatives. We parked at the Old Fort trailhead and began the 900-foot climb.
I feel like I write this in almost every post, but it was buoyantly gorgeous that afternoon, the Carolina blue sky popping against burnished leaves.
We arrived at the trail’s crest, and it struck me that the view I saw in May…
…looked so different in November, the former’s blanket of lush green leaves now replaced by fall’s patchwork quilt of red, orange, and gold. As someone whose favorite season used to be spring, I surprised myself by relishing the autumn color. But I’m not sure I actually like one season more than the other. I’ve just learned not to squander time wishing things were different than they are.
We were planning to stop at the geyser near The Greenway, but by that point I desperately needed to visit the loo, so we pivoted to Hillman’s Brewery in Old Fort. I relieved myself, and got a chuckle while I was at it.
We ordered beer and food — get down, Old Fort, with your bougie kale and falafel salad! — and plunked ourselves at a table overlooking Mill Creek. You can’t tell from the photo below, but there was a lot of activity on the water that afternoon. A fisherman appeared and cast his line for trout, but didn’t catch any.
Meanwhile, a great blue heron did a stealth walk on its spindly legs through the stream, nabbed a large trout, and devoured it whole — to the applause of the Hillman’s patrons, whose gaze had been diverted from the televised football game to the real action on the water.
The next day, as we were driving to The Boyfriend’s house, we passed this Mama Bear hanging out on a lawn with her three cubs cavorting nearby. A dog barked and they all took off running — the cubs up a tree, and Mama into the street, forcing an Amazon delivery van driver to stop while she walked to and fro.
Back in the spring, I crossed paths with so many bears that my friend Gina decided they were my spirit animal, a creature that helps guide or protect a person on a particular journey. After our chance meeting with Mama, I went back and read the post I’d written about bear spirit animals and reflected on this quote I’d attributed to California Psychics:
“If the bear is your spirit animal, you identify with the cycles of nature. You are a healing and grounding force for yourself and for others. You understand the importance of taking time to regenerate, heal, and rest, and you are likely very comfortable in your own company and in moments of solitude.”
Considering that I’m a therapist who loves documenting my time outdoors, I’d say the quote fits. And while it’s also true that I’m comfortable in my own company, more and more, I’m grateful for the company I keep.
I am always comfortable in your company..and look forward to more of it!!
Little Debbie at the Piggly Wiggly. New Skin for the Old Ceremony. And No Bears (or Goldfish) harmed.
All in a Days Hike.