By: Stephanie Reynolds
In a generous parking lot off Piney Chapel, TWS (also known as my husband, “The Wonder Sweetie”) and I watched every car that passes. We got to the trailhead a little early and took a few moments to rest as we waited for the rest of our group.
We had already rucked 1.5 miles down from the ingress closest to our home to the southmost entrance of the Richard Martin Trail, and I needed a sock adjustment. The picnic tables at the pavilion gave me plenty of room to offload my ruck (after I had very carefully paused my Garmin as to not get extra credit for time-under-weight; I am laughably precise about such things).
Soon a grey car arrived, and a white one, delivering two of our most steadfast and reliable trail buddies: a lovely, grace-filled, genteel lady who wears her heart on her sleeve and brings me flowers and a quick-minded, affable but wincingly outrageous young blond man with a love of coffee and questionable philosophy.
This is most of our core group. We’d pick up another one on our way down the trail—a brilliant wordsmith and artist, weary but with a boundless reservoir of gumption. Our resident baker—an unpretentious, nurturing young lady who ensures we refuel properly after our walks with delights such as apple pie with shortbread crust and salted caramel drizzle–regrettably couldn’t make it. Both my heart and my tummy were bummed by her absence.
I don’t even know how long we have been going down the trail—the months and years blur. I like that. I like that the rhythm of my life is a blur of people, nature, and fellowship that seems to stretch endlessly in both directions. Not actually eternal, that is reserved for the Lord Himself, but momentarily eternal. Eternal within my brief time.
Anyway, the day couldn’t have been better. The bright air in the sunlit spots was warm, but the darker air under the canopy of trees was cool. There were showers of gold leaves from the trees just up the trail that drew us in and carpeted our path, but plenty of still-green leaves in the trees to look vibrantly alive. I love autumn in North Alabama—it just goes on month after month after month.
This was our first “cool weather ruck” since the fabulous sauna-hikes of summer. It made us bold, vigorous, undaunted. At our “this is the first spot we check to see if anyone needs to turn back”, no one even thought about heading home.
We passed Leatherneck Swamp.
We hit our second “Everyone still good?” spot where the decision becomes a little more difficult. This is where the temptation of bacon and coffee joins forces with slightly aching legs to challenge our resolve. About half of the time our tummies, quads, and calves override our ambition and we decide breakfast is the better part of valor. No shame in that, of course. We aren’t training to be Green Berets, we’re a group of friends enjoying nature, discussion, and company. The exercise is merely a side benefit.
But that day, like bold, half-grown pups in the woods, we decided to went a little farther, then farther. Our graceful friend peered down the path, “Is that patch of light Elkmont?” My much weaker eye
squinted as I tried to remember that part of the path. “I don’t know if THAT is Elkmont, but it’s pretty
close.” I said, hoping I was right. I would hate to be off by a mile or two; we had already gone farther than our norm.
“Do you want to try?” she asked eagerly. Why yes, yes I do. I love going further. “Let’s just go to that tree…that patch of light…just beyond that bend…” is my trail motto. There is always one more “just…” to explore.
The rest of the group agreed. Elkmont was tantalizingly close. (Plus, one of us needed coffee and more than one of us needed a restroom.)
I was almost right, Elkmont was just past that brightened trail stretch, and was delightful as always. I love how the trail goes from deep tunnel in marsh and woods to open widely upon Elkmont, beautiful and friendly and fabulous! One of these days I’m going to do a deeper piece on Elkmont, but suffice it to say that if you haven’t explored that lovely place, you are missing a brilliant gem in Limestone’s crown.
After a brief rest, we headed back to our end of the trail but with plans to start at Elkmont next time and
walk to the state line. That end is slightly more technical and equally beautiful, and I can’t wait to go on it again.
Every time I see Richard Martin, I am thankful for his vision and drive to make Limestone County amazing. And every time I see him, there is a new project, a new event, a new concept he is working on. I am glad to know him and glad to be reminded that just one person—Mr. Martin, you, even someone like me—can make a huge and lasting positive impact on the people and environment of our community. Because of his vision years ago, a relative newcomer to the area now is healthier, happier, and more joined to the community.
We can all make a difference. We just need to start down the trail.
By: Stephanie Reynolds, Athens-Limestone Tourism Association
November 14, 2024
