The Hike to Nowhere

Dear Husband and I wanted to get out of town for a weekend hike to catch the changing foliage. A friend from church recommended the Roaring Run Natural Area, an easy hour's drive east in the Laurel Highlands. We invited one of my colleagues, her spouse, and their dog, for an afternoon in the woods. I plotted a ~6-mile route that would take us across and up the gorge--from which we were promised spectacular views--then along the top and gently down to the streambed for a level walk back to our cars. While the weather could not have been nicer (60 degrees and sunny), the scramble up the slope on leaf-covered tippy rocks in face masks was a little more than we had bargained for. And the "vistas" never materialized--perhaps because the leaves were still on the trees? But we had come for the foliage anyway. (I used a filter on this image, but there really were "Starburst" colors on the trees.) 

DH: How far is it?

Me: We're almost to the top.

DH: Why, can you see snow?

On our first snack break, DH asked me whether I had brought the folding spade with which to bury his body, after he expired from exhaustion. No, I said, I was planning on a natural burial under a layer of loam, leaves, and twigs. In which case, he reminded me to remove his sweater, as the polyester fibers would never break down.

Unfortunately, the train really went off the rails as we tried to change from one trail to the other. Neither the map nor the signs/blazes were particularly clear, and the people we asked for directions were either lost themselves or thought they knew but weren't sure whether the connector we wanted was still being maintained. We finally gave up after walking resolutely east and farther from our cars. At the time we should have been arriving back at the parking lot, tired but happy, we turned around and retraced our steps, including scrambling down the steep slope again. Thankfully, we had all brought snacks and water, worn our hiking shoes, and had good attitudes. The light held out, and everybody got home safely. (Including the 4 ticks we found among us!)

Heard on the trail: a woodpecker and something that snuffles (a Heffalump, maybe?)

Seen on the trail: a chipmunk, a cardinal, a deer, a pair of satin undies, and an Ebenezer

On our way into the woods, we had passed a pile of flat stones that someone, probably a child, had made into a house. "Oh dear, I thought. What if that family drove all the way out here, and then the kid had a melt down and wouldn't walk any farther and was placated by stopping and being allowed to build this before they left?" (We hid a baggie of dog poop near it, so it was an important landmark.) I planned to take a photo of it on the second leg of our journey, but it was gone--or rather, had collapsed or been knocked over. While the dog poop was retrieved, I rebuilt it, our Ebenezer, a sign that we had gone out and come back. It reminded us of the hymn that Baptist minister Robert Robinson (1735–1790) had composed at the tender age of 22.

Come, Thou Fount of every blessing,
Tune my heart to sing Thy grace;
Streams of mercy, never ceasing,
Call for songs of loudest praise.
Teach me some melodious sonnet,
Sung by flaming tongues above.
Praise the mount, I’m fixed upon it,
Mount of Thy redeeming love.

Sorrowing I shall be in spirit,
Till released from flesh and sin,
Yet from what I do inherit,
Here Thy praises I'll begin;
Here I raise my Ebenezer;
Here by Thy great help I’ve come;
And I hope, by Thy good pleasure,
Safely to arrive at home.

Jesus sought me when a stranger,
Wandering from the fold of God;
He, to rescue me from danger,
Interposed His precious blood;
How His kindness yet pursues me
Mortal tongue can never tell,
Clothed in flesh, till death shall loose me
I cannot proclaim it well.

"Ebenezer" comes from the Hebrew ebhen hā-ʽezer, or "stone of help." Robinson used this verse about the Israelites fighting the Philistines:

Samuel took a stone and set it up between Mizpah and Shen and called its name Ebenezer; for he said, “Till now the Lord has helped us.” So the Philistines were subdued and did not again enter the territory of Israel. And the hand of the Lord was against the Philistines all the days of Samuel. ~1 Samuel 7:12–13

While we wandered, no blood sacrifice was necessary to bring us back to the fold. The ticks, too, were vanquished, and the blister I was sure had developed on my right insole never materialized. We are all at least a little sore today, but our spirits remain unconquered. I sent an email to the Park Service asking them to improve their signage, and next time we'll try a less ambitious hike, maybe just going out and back along the creek, which should be roaring in the spring, after the snow melts.