I never realize how anxiety riddled I actually am until I’m in a place where I’m on my own and time falls away. This week, with chipmunks and squirrels scampering about outside of my windows and sweet, fresh forest air to be inhaled simply by opening my bedroom balcony door, I quickly realized how ridiculous it was that my shoulder bones were up to my earlobes and my mandible hinged like a mouse trap waiting to spring. So, I reminded myself that I have three whole weeks to create and made a conscious effort to split week one between wellness and writing.
Wellness-wise, I’ve meditated for seven straight days, and outside of two Girl Scout Thin Mints per day, eaten healthy: Plums, salads, salmon, and chicken. My yoga effort went awry eight minutes into day one, but I’m going to try to regroup during week two.
Although it rained often, I managed two hikes. The first one, on the property trail, was relaxing and pretty. I remembered a time when I could easily identify types of trees and made a mental note to relearn what I’ve forgotten. Also, having to climb uphill at the end of the loop reminded me that I’m definitely not in Kansas anymore. (Or Highland, Indiana. Whatever.) And that I have calves.
The second trek was to Old Man’s Cave.
While Hocking Hills State Park is a bit “touristy,” and I can see why the guidebook suggested going there on a weekday morning, I still had enough elbow room to keep most hikers out of my photos, and not only the sights but the sounds of nature, such as rushing water, proved a salve to my stress. I love lore, too, and legend has it that if you jump into the above Bathtub, it’ll lead you all the way down to Hades. So, BEWARE!
“Caves” in this area aren’t really caves. Technically, caves are below ground, whereas Old Man’s Cave, Ash Cave, and the like, are shelves produced by a combination of plate techtonics uplifting the ground and water eroding away the soft middles, comprised of Black Hand sandstone, rock, and gravel. Old Man’s Cave, originally “Dead Man’s Cave,” was so-named due to an ol’ trapper, Retzler, and his dog, Harper, having lived in its alcove during the mid-to-late 1700’s. (Their remains and a gun were found the following century.)
In driving around and getting to know the lay of the land, my ears pop driving uphill once and I saw everything from mansions to trailers and met friendly people.
On Friday night, when I checked for the Aurora Borealis (no luck!), I appreciated hearing a real whippoorwill tweet for the first time. My dad taught me the sound of its whistle when I was a kiddo, so I got to check hearing the genuine sound off of my list.
Work-wise, I read one poetry collection, one non-fiction book, one picture book for adults, and one writer’s magazine, watched a documentary, started writing down random images, began a list of poem ideas, made a mind map for the new book’s skeleton, and wrote 50 journal pages for another project. After that progress, I thought I deserved to play, so I went to Nelsonville, Ohio, about 50 minutes away, on Saturday afternoon.
As luck would have it, everything was closed. On a Saturday afternoon, you question? For goodness sake, WHY?!?
There was a storm, and it knocked out all of the power on their main street. So, I went back and sat in my car, thunder and lightning to the left of me and clear blue skies with white puffy clouds to the right. What to do, what to do… Just as I was getting ready to head back toward the cabin, perhaps checking out the town, Logan, on the way, I a chandelier turned on in the gift shop in front of my parking space. YAY!
Not everything re-opened, but I walked around the uptown area, went inside of a boot shop for the first time ever (they were serious, no-nonsense boots, I soon learned, no fashion boots), learned that Nelsonville was founded in 1810, took a picture of its original school bell – now located in the town square, and landed at the place that I had intended to land for lunch: The Mine tavern.
The Mine is Ohio’s second oldest tavern, having opened in 1842. (The oldest tavern is Ye Olde Trail, 1830, Yellow Springs — which has great appetizers!)
Three presidents have stayed in the upstairs living quarters of The Mine, and Ronald Reagan Jr. drank two shots of tequila from a stool just to the right of those in the above image before going to sing opera nextdoor, secret service in tow. In addition, the pool room used to be a barber’s shop; the barber’s sign from the 1970’s is still there!
I ordered and enjoyed my first-ever fried bologna sandwich, with fries. (I thought that it would be a couple of slices of Oscar Mayer, but no, it was a half-inch thick chunk of bologna!) And, I asked for a local brew and was able to try Jackie O’s, made in Athens, which had been recommended to me by the Trader Joe’s cashier in Kettering, Ohio.
Not only did I enjoy it, but I felt good drinking it, since the beer is locally sourced, with no ingredient coming from farther away than 60 miles.
I’ve slept the sleep of the dead for the past two nights, and my inner-flutteriness is abating. I wonder what week two will hold in store?
I’ll keep you posted.
JANINE HARRISON 