**Facebook Post 091417 at 8:58AM**
Currently I’m in North Woodstock, NH, at a hostel called The Notch. It’s really nice and the woman who runs the place is a total sweetheart. It was a recommended stop by the people at White Mountain Hostel in Gorham, NH. Not a bad one, but it was a bit off the beaten path. Once I got to the trail head, I had to walk another 5-7 miles to get to the hostel. Which means today I will be walking back to that same trail head before ever even stepping foot on trail. All good though, I had no choice anyway. I’m out of food and had to resupply. For my next resupply, I mailed a box up to Glenncliff, NH. Supposedly it will be hard for me to find an actual resupply location there, so I mailed my groceries ahead. Since it was basically maybe a two day supply at best, I will need to find more food quickly after. It amazes me as the days roll by how much food I actually need to sustain myself. Not that this is something new, but the Whites are pretty brutal and require a lot of energy to finish, therefore as much food as I can fit into my mouth. In fact, I literally could stop every hour and eat.
Aside from all the food talk, the trail in The Whites has been up and down, literally. The climbs can be insane, and the the descents just as bad, if not worse. The fact that I have not broken my neck or slipped off a cliff amazes me. There’s still time though. (LOL) If I had known there would be so much scrambling and rock climbing, I may have passed on the whole endeavor. Dude, its downright dangerous in some places, and if you are not the athletic type, I would say stay out of the woods. Although I have made it to North Woodstock, the other hikers say there are still plenty of The Whites left to climb. I had made the assumption, by looking at the map, I may be through the worst of it, but apparently there is at least one more mountain region I need to go through, Mt. Moosilauke. From what I can tell from the few pages I have in front of me out of the AT Guide, it looks like The Whites may end somewhere in the low 400 miles of my trip. I’m at around 375 now. Looking good. They tell me you know you’ve finished The Whites when you come across trail magic from The Omlette Man. He sits about 2 miles north of route 25 and serves omlettes to all the hikers. Only catch, I have to get there before 5pm, when he starts packing it up. Will do.
Other than that, I have met a couple idiots out here. One worked for Pinkham Notch. I asked where the trail head was once I was passing through their lodge area, and he basically misinformed me on purpose that camping was forbidden anywhere between their location and the next designated camping spot, which was 4 miles away. It was 9pm, when I went through there. I was obviously alone and it was dark, and obviously had been hiking already the majority of the day. As far as I’m concerned, his intention was to harm me. He was a total dick. He made sure to bring me to a location where not only could I see the trail head, but so that there was a large audience. Then he started talking about how people like me shouldn’t be allowed to hike because we poop all over the trails, etc., etc., etc.. It was so offensive, one of the women standing nearby started speaking up, but he kept going on and on. Creeper!!!!! Yes, he is a Pinkham Notch employee. Lovely. And I assume its not the first time he has given that speech. BTW, he can go fuck himself, I stealth camped anyway. AND it’s not illegal, you just can’t do it within a certain distance of the lodge, not 4 miles. Dick. the other asshole was just some guy on the trail, who looked like a day hiker. When I didn’t feel like turning on my phone, because it was low on juice, I simply asked him the direction I should be heading. He told me, but I made a comment that I had just come from that direction and he started going off on me about how he has no reason to lie to me, and how he hopes I have better direction on the rest of the trail or I might find myself hopelessly lost, etc., etc.. Why people want to be dicks in such pristine of environments I have zero understanding. Boggles the mind. Luckily I just nod my head, and go about my business. No need to correct the idiots of the world. No time.
So, I’m still trucking along. Other than that, people in general have been great. I’m loving putting in the hard miles, except when its too hot, or too cold, but I’m guessing that’s part of the game. Left my shorts at White Mountain Hostel; Notch gave me new ones. Got my period early. Wasn’t supposed to get it at all. Have a huge bruise on my right thigh. Tangled with a tree limb coming down a mountain. AND my camera on my phone seems to be working again, although with a few glitches, but that’s pretty amazing. Thank you two weeks in a bag of rice. I constantly don’t have enough food, but I don’t want to carry 30 pounds of food with me everywhere. I still haven’t gotten in a car, but that will change once it’s time to get off trail for my grandma’s funeral. And yeah… That’s it.
**Facebook Post 091417 at 9:31PM**
Today I finally got the chance to speak with my Aunt Jamie who is basically my liaison in regards to my grandmother’s services which are scheduled for around the 30th. Today she let me know that my three uncles and my father each received a portion of my grandmother’s ashes and at least my father and my Uncle Brian have intentions on spreading their portions on the property here in NH where my grandparents had owned a cabin back in the day. I guess my father’s family spent a lot of time there when they were kids, and apparently my grandmother really loved the area. I can see why. NH is pretty unbelievably beautiful from what I’m seeing, and I hope someday again I’ll be lucky enough to spend more time here.
Anyway, I guess prior to my grandmother’s celebration of life, my uncle and father will be driving past me on the Appalachian Trail. I spoke to my father about picking me up at one of the trail heads and bringing me to Kingston, NY, so I can spend time with everybody and see off my grandmother properly.
I may have to buy something to wear to that. All I have are hiking clothes and pretty much everything contains the dull odor of BO no matter how many times they are washed. Besides, dressing appropriately is just a given. I’ll figure it out.
The background story:
I’m adopted, and unlike most adoptions, mine was hardly clean cut. In fact, I like to tell people I was infamous before I could walk. Unlike most adoptions, mine made The NY Times, and many other highly read publications of the day.
You see, my biological parents, Blayde and Linda, were married when I was conceived, but they were barely old enough to be called adults. They quickly separated before I was born and subsequently custody became an issue between them. For whatever reason, my father was not granted parental rights to me (it was the 70s) and my mother somehow, unbeknownst to her, signed adoption papers instead of the foster care paperwork which she was under the impression was what she was signing. In the meantime, my parents who raised me, Jerrold and Linda, legally adopted me.
At some point, my biological mother realized the mistake she made and contested the adoption. It went all the way to the NY supreme appellate court and my biological mother actually won her case. My adoptive parents were ordered to hand me over in a matter of days, but by this point they had had custody of me for some time, and resisted the idea of giving their daughter back. Instead of handing me over, case closed, my parents fled the state of NY in the middle of the night (2 duffle bags and a baby) and flew to Florida, where they remained in hiding (in a Hollywood Beach hotel room thanks to their attorney) until their case was heard in a Florida courtroom, where they eventually won.
While all this was going on, my grandmother, my biological father’s mother, the person I’m going to celebrate the life of in NY in a couple weeks, kept a journal of events and of her experience throughout the ordeal. I was the first grandchild she had had. So, I’m guessing this was a pretty big deal for my father’s entire family, especially my grandmother. Clearly.
I assume as an actual adult at the time, this would have been a life altering experience emotionally, intellectually, and spiritually. You don’t fight for justice and remain the person you once were. And I’m sure, although I wasn’t there in a way, my grandmother spent an enormous amount of time focused on the events that took place.
Blayde, my father is a free spirit, and although I’m sure his heart was in the right place, he was still very much a young adult, an easy target for railroading. As was my mother, Linda. I feel like, even though I don’t exactly know what happened, my biological grandparents, probably had a lot to do with the fight for my custody. It’s what parents do when they see their kids getting into shit. They fight.
Being that said, to this day, there are members on all sides pissed off about the matter of my custody as a baby. I think my biological father’s family was not happy I ever even ended up in the situation, because they felt if my mother wasn’t going to raise me, they should have had the opportunity. My biological mother’s family felt like everything was a mistake and I should have been raised with them. And my adoptive parents are still pissed because they were established for generations in Long Island, NY, and had to leave their home, belongings, friends, family and everything behind and sneak out of town and hide in order to keep their new family intact. (i.e…. me)
Fast forward…
I’m 27 and I get a large package that had been sent to my PO box. (My band’s address.) Thanks to this new invention called the Internet, my Aunt Karen, my biological mother’s younger sister, who btw had already been searching for five years, got a lead, an address. She took it upon herself to write down her thoughts, and put together a “this is what happened according to our side” package. In the package was the invitation to create contact. Of course I did.
I won’t get into how it all happened right here, right now, but it snowballed into me meeting all of my family on both my biological mother and father’s side and also resulting in me eventually obtaining my grandmother’s journal from during the time of my adoption. She gave it to me when I first met her. I imagine she held onto it for almost 30 years, just hoping someday she would be able to pass on what that experience was like. What their side of the story was. What her side was.
Let’s just say, when you loose a family member in this way, meaning me being raised somewhere else by what my father’s family would more than likely refer to as strangers, in unknown conditions, in an unknown location, you probably spend those 30 some years wondering what happened to this person. Are they alive? Did they become successful? Are they a drug addict? Did they end up in jail? Do they have children now? Do they know their own story? And so on and so on.
Once I regained contact, I always felt like my grandmother at family events would watch me closely, yet from afar. Analyzing the person I am in a weird kind of way, but quietly, always seeming to be really happy I was around, finally. It’s sad, I didn’t get to be much a part of her life even after reestablishing contact with my family, so many years had gone by, and I live very far away, but at least there were those few events, and at least it happened while she was still alive. The wondering over.
So yeah… Kind of a big deal I attend my grandmother’s services. It’s what she would have wanted. And it’s what I want. Plus, I always relish getting to hang out with my father’s family. There is always a lot to learn about where I come from, why I am the way I am, and the unbelievable truth that you can’t fight genetics. Besides, my family is huge and their are a ton of dynamics at play. It’s all very entertaining. I love it!
In truth, I had an excellent upbringing which included private schools, Polo clubs, trips to Disney World, and my little brother, who I love dearly. Things probably couldn’t have been better for me, but you do always wonder who you would have been given fate taking a twist. I wouldn’t change a thing. BUT I do feel for all my family members who suffered on my behalf.
To see me today, these days where I walk hundreds of miles, where I continually have some sort of art project going (My Aunt Jamie said today my grandmother always had a Bible in one hand and a paint brush in the other. LOL. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. I’m a Buddhist though. Sorry Grandma.) where my goals in life consist of a constant need for over achieving, working harder, living larger. Would I be who I am otherwise? Who knows? BUT I am blessed. And even though my biological family didn’t come into my life until later, at least I have them around. Better late than never.
It’s weird. Even though I didn’t meet my little sister until I was almost 30, it sort of seems like we have always known each other. We are the same in many unspeakable ways. Even though my adoptive parents were not very artistic, I inherited my Grandmother and my Aunt Judy’s (my mom’s older sister) talent and love of art. I’m outdoorsy and love my firearms like my Uncle Jimmy. My humor is identical to my little brother’s and we could go on for hours making up words and generally being goofy. My adoptive parents gave me a work ethic that won’t quit. My biological mother gave me my entrepreneurial spirit. I could go on, but I’ll spare you… LOL
I constantly can’t help but think as I walk through these mountains and see the wonders of our country in person, how blessed I truly am. You know, many people in this life won’t ever see what I have. Most people won’t ever have the opportunities I have had. Most people won’t get the amazing experiences I have gotten to live and learn from. And most definitely, most people don’t get such a massive family system to draw from. Charmed is an understatement. I truly have it all.
Biological, adoptive, what’s the difference? I don’t know. My family includes so many characters, some blood, some not, some others would just call friends, but I still feel like friends can be family. I have so much, so many options to draw from, so many people I could go to. Life is sort of amazing. Isn’t it? The people in my life have helped shape who I am. How could they not have?
It’s a shame that it’s when people die, like my grandmother, that that’s what it takes to get you to really sit up and pay attention to what you have and have lost. Another link to history gone. A link to my past gone.
Well, here is to looking at life much closer, and truly appreciating what we have. Much love guys!
https://news.google.com/newspapers?nid=1873&dat=19730827&id=YG8eAAAAIBAJ&sjid=cskEAAAAIBAJ&pg=648,4132123
https://mobile.nytimes.com/1973/07/17/archives/return-of-adopted-child-is-ordered-withdrawal-request-denied.html
https://www.newspapers.com/newspage/133721586/
11:25AM Start Day 29 (091417)
•11:25AM bike back to Notch Hostel (2 miles from Lincoln, resupply) organize bag at hostel
•4:30PM start walk back to Franconia Notch trail head (5.7 miles)
•7:00PM at Franconia Notch trail head, sleep (Mile 373.1)
•9:15AM Lonesome Lake Hut (Mile 376.1)
•11:25AM North Kinsman Mountain
(Mile 378.5)
11:25AM End Of Day 29
APPROX 5.4 Miles
(Add 5.7 miles walking to trail head from Notch Hostel)
(Add 2 miles, bicycle resupply Lincoln, NH, and back to Notch Hostel)
