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I inched my blanket back a foot to capture more shade from the single tree on the steep hill.  Below me, tie-dye-shirted people flowed up the hill carrying bags, baskets, and blankets.  Children rolled down the middle of the hill and dogs chased butterflies along the edge of the crowd.  The sky was a brilliant lack of pollution blue and the forest colored a dark evergreen. My companions laid back lazily chatting in the way of new friends sharing previous memories of their time on the hill. Suddenly, trumpets sounded and all of the 1,000-plus crowd came to attention focusing on the circus below.

I shouldered my day pack and considered my route.  A simple mile. Right through town. My hiking shoes were tied and I elected to use both canes instead of hiking poles. The day had dawned with pain and while the trail was mostly through the town, there was unfamiliar terrain leading up to the town. I was going to hike the middle mile of the Appalachian Trail in Duncannon, Pennsylvania.

I zipped my heavy fleece and tugged on my winter gloves. The wind was brisk and blew through my layers stinging my eyes and cheeks. I stood on the overlook looking over the edge and marveling at the difference in the weather. At the base of the mountain, the temperature was a lovely 72 degrees; at the top, it was 34 degrees. I made my way back inside the building and held the door for a long line of Appalachian Trail thru-hikers who all gave me a weary smile and thanks. It was mid-August.

The mist rolled below me as the sun rose slowly from the Atlantic Ocean. I was perched on the farthest eastern part of the US coast watching the sunrise from Cadillac Mountain in Acadia National Park, Maine. Far below me the midst and fog swirled in and around the surrounding islands playing peek-a-boo with the colorful sailboats bobbing in the bay. Far below nestled in the early 5 am dawn lay Bar Harbor tucked into a corner of Mt. Desert Island. I was fortunate to score a ticket to drive up the mountain as I watched dedicated and tired hikers emerge from the only trail to the summit. Quietly, people gathered in small groups to watch the sunrise. Whispers were carried on the wind as we all sat on the large granite mountaintop in awe of the scene before us.

As I approached the silky, colorful flags waving in the breeze, I could see each flag was printed with Japanese script in beautiful, flowing letters.  Each flag was a little ragged as the wind tossed them against the dark pines of the Massachusettes forest.  I paused to admire the life-size zen garden of white rocks with the familiar swirl of lines raked into sweeping lines.  The posted sign explained that each flag was a prayer for peace to be placed outside allowing for the wind to carry the prayer to the heavens.

Gobble gobble.  I stopped on the bottom step of the water house and eyed the flamboyant turkey.  He stood audaciously in my path quivering and bristling with full plumage.  Sighing, I edged around him and made my way to the brethren’s bath house.  He kindly escorted me to the next building and the next and so on.  Well, you get the picture. Orville Redenbacher the turkey was obviously infatuated despite his girlfriend living across town in the barn.  I had a full day touring the Shaker Village of Pleasant Hill Kentucky with Orville.  I would like to think that I let him down easily and we parted friends.

11 pm. Only a half hour ago the sky suddenly clearly against all weather reports. The moon was entering the first day of the full moon phase. I pulled into the parking lot amazed at the crowds. They carried chairs and warm blankets. Little children were bundled in winter coats with thermoses. I found a spot in the overflow lot and parked quickly on the grass. I had no idea how long the sky would remain clear. This was my only chance.

The cave soared above me with a grand cathedral ceiling. I stood at the entrance in awe of the massive space hidden hundreds of feet below the surface.  The lights were low and glowing.  I had stepped into another world.