Chemicals, chemicals,

we need chemicals. Like Hayduke says.

Late dusk, Padgett pine beetle fire, Cumberland Plateau, north Savage Gulf, Tennessee. March is tricky, say they, and if its lies are to be trusted, we must be in for one mother of a last winter freeze before sun promised now goes on (remember 1993?). I'm saving green sprouting glow-bug floating chirping golden hour images for the same reason they try not to let the groundhog see his shadow. Maybe March is telling the truth after all. Come equinox, Frühlingzeit should get its due. That was March 20 already. This is not a time for caution. But.

This Actually Happened.

Here we see a plate recently recovered from the archives.
Cheston cabin. Autumn, Tennessee, around the turn of the century.
Photo par : Elspeth Iralu.

Mount LeConte

There we were on the Great Smoky Mountain Thrust Sheet in March, and it was raining. Today at about 11:52, Rocky said "let's go up mt Leconte." We said ok.

We got wet. It was cold. 13 miles, and fantastic. Smoky mtns Smoking. Fueled by avocados, at the top Dad says "I know where there's a hot tub."

We traded in.


View Larger Map
we win.

Scale

Forest : Trees for scale.



Plateau : Plateau for scale.

Savage Gulf, three days by leaf and rock, taller talls and sunk sinks. Underground rivers.

Seasonal positions, now open.

It's snowed in Sewanee. Reflective glowing bits of the cloud that enveloped the mountain last night are everywhere, some is aeolian fluff, some is hard glissade-triggering sidewalk enamel. A few days ago in the valley though, you could hear it: the ratcheting metamorphic chorus, the audio brand of springish Tennessee coves in the homing advertisements of native memory.



I wonder where they go when this happens. How can a frosty chorus frog hide? And the early flowers?
"Those poor daffodils," says Elspeth.
"It's their own fault," I say, "jumping the gun like that."