Why the Title, Katherine?

I launched this blog May 31, 2007 as a way to separate my "fun" writing from my more serious pieces on Tenacious Poodle (originally entitled "Luxurious Choices" to match my old website's name).  While I like the title "Bull Run Writings," mostly for the alliteration and memories garnered at Bull Run Regional Park, I find there is not much writing going on here and that it's certainly not all about Bull Run, perhaps because initially, I was merely attempting to escape my obsession with Manassas Battlefield and redirect my attention.  I soon discovered, however, that the historic and hiking experiences I had in Manassas were not those I found at Bull Run.

Bull Run Regional has a history of its own, and it's left in me indelible memories of digging in the sand playground with its unique concrete tubes, swimming and splashing in the water park and toasting marshmallows at night next to our camping cabin.  The trails, alive especially during Bluebell season, provided Shiba and I hours of easy strolling.  (In fact, someone even wrote an article about the park and interviewed me, asking questions about why Shiba and I walked there.)  Wading up to our knees in the cool creek, seeking salamanders, spotting minnows and other small fish and collecting fresh water shells have been part of our Bull Run experience.  And yet, I've not written about these adventures for a long time.

I have taken plenty of photos, however.  In fact, you will discover at least half of this blog is devoted to photos of family, friends and nature, as well as short vacations.  But again, not much writing has been posted, and for that, I feel a bit guilty about abandoning the original purpose of this blog.  I feel bad for it, like it's lonely or something.  Ridiculous, right?  However, writing is a living thing, a fluid thing, similar to things in Bull Run Regional Park.  Photos, kids' quotes and art are also alive in their own way, but the name of this blog is misleading, and I don't like to mislead people. 

I could change the name name, maybe to something like "Inspired by Bull Run Regional."  That would have the alliteration I like, as well as the accuracy I'm seeking. I'll think about it, brainstorm, as writers are wont to do.  Then I'll decide.

In fact, I think I just did.

More Fun Photos

In order:

Smithsonian
Bull Run Regional Park
Bull Run Regional Park
Cosmo and Sallie: Buds

October Camping at Bull Run

There is absolutely nothing more invigorating than camping and hiking in the fall. It's cool and crisp, especially in the bath house.

I highly recommend cabin camping for the spoiled rotten--which we are. Heating and air conditioning make us wimps, but that doesn't detract from the splendor of autumn and the joy of family.

Ironically, the first thing the girls did was their homework! I guess the cabin bedroom somehow motivated them. Maybe we should go there more often, eh?

Check out the old man tree and the caterpillar!

Not all the members of our party appreciated have pictures taken. The exception was my cute nephew. He loves the camera, and it loves him. I might suggest to his mom that she put him in modeling.

Guess who read the blogs?

Wow. I have neglected this blog. I suddenly remembered it because lo and behold, I found Erika reading my blogs. She was laughing at the "quotes from the kids" section and said she wanted to add some quotes to it.

When I asked her how she found my blog, she said she went there from my website home page which happens to be the home page on her computer. I am going to have to tell her which parts are appropriate to read.

Initially, I told her not to read anything else besides the kids quotes because other parts of the blog have adult content. For sure, now, she will read it more. I know I would if my mother told me something like that. In fact, I would be looking for every bad word on that blog. But I never would have had the opportunity. My mother didn't have the Internet and never used bad language.

I'm not too bad, in general, and I hardly ever cuss in front of the kids. When I do, the most they hear from me is "crap" or very rarely, "shit." I've learned to edit myself. I want the kids to grow up with a better vocabulary than that. And I certainly don't want them blurting stuff like that out any old place!

It's hard to explain to kids that putting nasty things into fiction, poetry and even some blog postings isn't the same as saying nasty things or writing nasty things to people. There's a fine line that even adults trip over a lot. I am sure as the kids get older and study literature, they will understand this concept more, however. They already understand that when they hear bad language in movies, they shouldn't emulate it, and they don't. But it would be different reading something that Ma wrote, something that has bad language. At least, I guess it would be different. Like I said, my mother never would have given me the opportunity to read such things, even if she HAD the Internet.

So, I added a couple of things to the "quotes" section and will add more later. The quotes are a safe bet. And in general, this blog is appropriate for the kids. I would rate this blog "G." The other one? I don't know. Probably PG16. But maybe I'm a prude.

Anyway, above is a lovely pic of the new splash park, Atlantis, at Bull Run Regional. We went there a few times this summer. We also camped in a cabin for Alexandra's birthday. We'll be going back to a cabin with my sis-in-law and her son in a few weeks. Bull Run is a great park!

The Case for Camping

Stirring up the mud from the creek, we waded through cool water, scanning the edges of underwater terrain for shadows of fish, polliwogs, or snakes. Rambunctious minnows dodged our feet which were still clad in sandals, leather moccasins, and one pair only in socks that will never again be white. After all, we wanted the experience, but we didn't want to risk intimacy with a stray broken bottle or orphaned fish hook. The socks didn't provide much protection, true, but they gave my younger daughter some relief from the "ick" of the most squishy mud.

But before all that, we had loaded the bikes into the van, three piled one on top another, a confusing pyramid in the limited space of the van's body, trying to keep pedals from locking into spokes and tires from scraping the children's knees. Though squished, the girls insisted that they could ride like this for hours, and I thanked fate the park is less than thirty minutes away. I didn't worry when taking right hand turns because the bikes and children were packed so tightly, there was no room for avalanche or injury, so the ride went rather well.

The road in Bull Run Regional Park is lovingly flat for those of us who are not often or avid riders, and even the youngest could keep up with her shiftless bicycle. Now and then rain sprinkled through an odd summer sun that was neither too warm nor too evasive, and the breeze, a gift for bike riders, added to our enjoyment. I will not pretend there was not a certain amount of whining ("My legs feel like jelly!" and "Mom...can I be second?" "MOM! I don't WANT to be last!") and I can't say some of the whining didn't come from me, but mine at least came much later when in the evening I was reminded once again that my behind does not fit the shape of a bike seat, even with a gel pad.

Still, we rode from the entrance up to the camp store where I had a sudden attack of, "I don't want to leave here!" and ran in to see if they had cabins available for this coming weekend. And miracle of miracles, or fate of fate, which ever you prefer, there were, even though the 4th of July is almost upon us. I made the reservation (grinning so much I am sure the young man behind the wooden counter was getting nervous), made sure we could get a rain check if for some reason it didn't work out, and then pondered how I was going to sell this wonderful idea to my husband AFTER I had already drooled on the camp map and paid for two nights for which I was charged under $150.00.

A bottle of water later, we took the bikes over to the playground where the girls slithered happily through huge, cement tubes surrounded by enough sand to host a beach. I lay on one of the benches under the shade, sucking in the sounds of playing children and the imagined sighs of my husband whom I pictured not wanting to go "away" this weekend. I played over and over again in my mind how I would present my case, recalling that he had promised we would do this SOME time over the summer....we just hadn't discussed doing it quite so soon. Besides, there were so many things we could do in the park: hike, play mini-golf, build camp fires, swim in the huge pool with slides and fountains, fish, even an air conditioned cabin.... And all so close by. What was not to love? And if really was too soon, well, we could always take the rain check and use the reservation another time.

Ruminations on hold, I walked over to see my daughters engaged and covered in sand, crouching in the cement tube in some childhood realm that we as adults no longer have access to. I asked them if they were ready to leave. They were, and being hot (since there are no trees covering the playground and sand), asked to wade in the creek. They were excited when I said yes and discovered we could ride the bikes there as well. So we parked the bikes near a steep, inclined access to the creek, and slipping somewhat on packed clay all the way to the base, had the water take away our sweat from the days' exertions. And now, my cell phone, still in the van, was only a hundred or so yards away.....

The bikes back in the van, the girls buckled in, I made the call. I made the case.

And he said...

"Yes."

YIPPEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!

Now is the Winter of Our Discontent

Well, as always happens after I visit someone whose backyard is filled with space and trees, I have become seriously jealous of those who are not crammed into expensive subdivisions made more for profit than for human living. Now I really hate to be jealous. It's not an emotion or a quality I aspire to, yet I find myself feeling it all the time because as I noted before to Lilith, it's hard not to compare yourself to your own idea of perfection. This is true in writing, in the arts, and in life.

Still, I got up this morning and looked out my back porch at the little "woods" we DO have, and I was truly thankful for the summer birds and squirrels. The squirrels have learned to raid our porch supply of seed, climbing into the plastic bin by first nibbling a hole in the cover, removing the cover, and diving right in. We have had to relocate the bins back into the kitchen, but that has not stopped the squirrels from foraging through the pots of "plants" on our deck. What smart little creatures they are, and so full of mischief! I do wish, however, they would clean up after themselves, especially after they dump potting soil all over the deck.

But even while I am extremely grateful for everything we have including our squirrels, what makes me most jealous is beauty--beauty in the natural world, and to a point (only to a point) physical, bodily beauty. I go back and forth on envying bodily beauty because my concept of what is beautiful changes so often, and I do not wish at all to be beautiful in the commercial sense. I do wish I were healthier and thinner and that all the imperfections of things like my thighs and stretch marks would disappear. But all of this is purely secondary to my love of beautiful surroundings, namely, those decorated by the natural world.

I lust for trees. Yes, I want a yard, but more than anything, I want trees, big trees, the kind the kids can climb. When the children were small, I lived in a townhouse preempted by a huge tree right in the small front yard. It was lovely. I could see it from every front window, and it reached the third level. It turned colors with the seasons and it shed it ample leaves, enough to make scarecrows from. But the best part of this place, even though it was smaller and far less assuming than this place, was that there is a trail running in back of the development. The trail rambles first behind the other town homes, and eventually, behind the tennis courts, and then into the woods alongside a stream. Across the stream parallels Bull Run Regional Park. We could engage in a forested walk whenever we wanted, and the trail went on for miles. If we walked far enough, we would end up at Splash Down, a water park on the other side of town and practically in another county.

I first discovered this trail accidentally when my brother was living with me, prior to my re-marriage. My children were away visiting my ex-husband, and I convinced my brother to walk with me and my Shiba Inu. It was rather a warm day, but it was the first time I able to venture so far without my toddler and pre-schooler, and so we walked and walked, noting the ebbs and flow of the stream, the flowers, the huge trees, him sweating and complaining, the dog stopping to sniff anything remotely interesting to her.

At one point we came upon a miniature bamboo forest. Only having lived in this area for about a year, I was surprised that bamboo could grow here. My husband and I have walked back here a few times since then, and the bamboo forest has spread. He thinks probably someone planted one or two sprouts, and the stuff has spread with the moistness of that trail.

I remember one of the first times I walked there alone while the spring flowers were blooming. I don't know what these flowers were, but they were bright yellow, and a veritable field of them. I came to them from around a corner, and the shock of seeing them all.....and it amazed me to be so amazed by sudden yellow flowers.

That is when I decided the best place to live would be in a home with trees, but a home that backed up to a park that would never be developed. I would not have to maintain the trails (not really in the scope of my talents or budget) but I could traipse through the woods regularly and bathe in all that nature has to offer those of us who require beauty. In the meantime, I am sure I will have to be jealous.

Some summer or winter, I will be able to drop my jealousy and it will all seem like a stupid period of time in my life, one wasted with thoughts of "never." Until then, I do love my squirrels, and I remember a time when the woods were so at my fingertips, I felt like I could breathe.

Going to the Woods to Live Deliberately

There are few things that give me so much pleasure as being in the woods.

Of course, there are bugs and pollen and sneezes, but these natural annoyances are parts and parcels of the forest and of me. I learned to live with these and love the woods at an early age, and some parts of the personality, thank goodness, never change.

I took a side trail in the park this morning, and decided to sit on a small mound of grass by the stream, one of my children's already used notebooks on my lap, sunglasses and fanny pack tossed aside for the moment. A thick limb overhung the stream, ric-rac reflections from the water casting images on bark, bright light on coarse brown, nothing but the banter of the birds and this light soothing my senses. I wonder if birds can see reflections.

A tiny fish surprised me, jumping out of the shallow water, the splash emanating ripples and quiet watery sounds, audio-visual treats from someone like me who is often overwhelmed in a busy audio-visual world. You see, I have ADD, and I often feel like a sensory sponge. But a sponge can hold only so much liquid. I tend to absorb most of what is around me, distracted by the external, and all at the same time. I come to the woods for a bit of a break. And in the woods, I get to think and write in ways I cannot at home.

I was soon distracted not by one but by three families of Canadian Geese gliding over the thin water, behind each adult, at least four goslings. They stopped at the base of a narrow, damp ribbon of a trail, one adult taking the lead climbing what must have been a steep challenge for the waddling goslings that followed. That was the pattern: adult, goslings, adult goslings, adult, goslings, a combined group of close to twenty.

Having made it to the top, they began to feed, and I thought about joining their family. This is a park, and they live in peace. The worms are plentiful and the people on this remote trail, sparse. I was the only one there, and I wondered who else had used the trail. It was a bit overrun and off the beaten path, just like I love a trail to be.

It is cool in the woods when the air is warm, and it is alive when our society feels dead. How I would love to be camping right now, more hours in the woods, living alongside birds.

Soon, I promise myself. We will take a camping trip soon.