The Clumsy Interloper

May 10^th, 2026 (Mother’s Day) 9:45am: The girls and I descended upon my parents’ house to confer hugs, crafts and MarieBette bakery goods. Eva and Sybbie, despite their father’s edict to “eat normal” devoured their pain au chocolats, shall we say, “chocolat d’abord” which rendered their drawn smiles into brown, sticky crescent moons. A golf cart led birdwatching excursion and round of hide-and-seek followed in rapid succession. We fled the scene late-morning returning Memere and Grandad’s chambers to peace and quiet.

2:00pm: The girls giddily totted two armfuls of painted ceramic, glass mosaics and rainbow egg crate flowers (that never die!) across the threshold of their Mom’s house. She gratefully accepted her bounty and multiple bear hugs before whisking them away to go strawberry picking and attend to Nelson County dinner plans. A Dad with a free afternoon on Mother’s Day, naturally.

2:30pm: The 81-degree Virginia day demanded exploration and, opting for familiar ground, I fixed myself a few miles west of Charlottesville toward the Ragged Mountain Nature Area. This 7-mile trail loop has been a personal totem over the past two years. I took weekly hikes here during the summer of 2024, post-separation, when I didn’t have the girls to quiet the loneliness.

I would regularly perch under a tree on the Owl Peninsula, off a trail spur that met the water’s edge on the far side of the reservoir, and gaze upon the dancing limbs above while replaying the moments that led to this crossroad in my life. My aim was to return to this spot, almost two years on, for a more leisurely repose.

3pm: Loud, flashing signage greeted me. It announced the upper parking lot was closed and trail access partially restricted due to a 14-month dam raising project scheduled to complete in early 2027. I parked in the lower lot and frantically pulled up the news, which had eluded my non-social media diet. The website entailed the goal, “to raise the water level by 12 feet and add 700 gallons of capacity to support local water needs”. It then dawned that my favorite spot, my demarcation of deep introspection, would soon be underwater.  

3:30pm: Some of the trails remained open, but the floating bridge was removed so the loop could not be made. I decided to endeavor to Owl’s Peninsula anyway, with the knowledge that I would have to retrace my steps upon completion of my quest.

Dusty vehicles dotted the lower lot, a sparse smattering of Subarus, Jeeps and 4Runners. The few hikers I encountered within the first mile were disappointed that only the outer loop trails were in service – clear cutting near the shoreline had rendered the inner loop impassable.  I tacitly accepted this challenge.

4pm: Somewhere after the Bear Statue I found Where the Sidewalk Ends, to borrow a poem. I found husks of trees, stacked ten deep, zig zagging in the shadow of a once worn trail. A distant excavator sat gleaming in the sunlight with an arm drooping, weary from the week’s work. Waving the AllTrails App like a divining rod, I circumvented over logs and through thicket back to a resumption of the inner trail 50 yards ahead. I scaled and guessed and trailblazed my way up until the trail finally ended for good at the Eagle statue. The footbridge was out. The thought tracking back to pick up the outer loop made my heart heavy so I yielded.

4:30pm: I unfurled my blanket at the base of the missing footbridge and removed my shoes and socks. The gentle breeze danced through the trees above and any disappointment about not reaching the Owl’s Peninsula quickly subsided. I switched my Merlin App to receive, crossed my legs and closed my eyes. I did box breathing, followed by meditation and gratitudes. I was just a few miles from town but also profoundly alone, well past where any reasonable hiker would deign to traverse.

In the presence Nature I felt grounded. The calm water lapping against the freshly downed tulip poplars. The birds echoing a steady score through the voids of a thinned-out forest. My eyes began to water, blushed cheeks rosy with sun and wind in equal measure. I floated in a patient pocket, one that afforded me the solitude to wordlessly drift away. I was tethered to nothing. Feet dangling. Imperceptible smile on the edge of my lips. Complete.

After several minutes, I looked down at my phone to see the Swainson’s Thrush was nearby and he was “unlikely in Charlottesville today”. I thought to myself, “Me too”