It is impossible to explore King's Mountain in one trip. Our first hike at King's Mountain was a test of our children- of our family- of our ability to conquer larger trails. Though early in the spring, it was chilly when we started the trail that connects three parks: Kings Mountain State Park leads to Kings Mountain National Memorial and then to Crowder State Park in North Carolina. Our plan was to journey from Kings Mountain State Park to her sister National Memorial. Our little ones would not be able to do the 14 mile circle between all three. The chill was only slight and brought just the right mood for the day's hike- equal parts silly and serene.
It was here on this hike that our trail vocabulary was born. We taught the children to help identify encumbrances for each other. We taught them that hiking and exploring was about more than just the individual. The objective was for us all to get back- no kid left behind. Still, this was a long hike and rocky and rooty. The tediousness of calling "rock," "rock," "root" wore thin. There was a moment, and I cannot remember exactly which moment it was, but there was a moment when "rock" gave way to "Steve" thus the advent of our trail lingo.
"Steve" was now code for all rocks of note, both those large grave masses of granite jutting out of the mountain whose presence demanded our view and perhaps more importantly the myriad of small stones and the menagerie of pebbles that littered the trail waiting to roll under our feet and bring us into an intimate moment with the forest floor.
Soon after rocks were anointed, "Bobby" and "Billy" were christened. These were the trees. You never quite know which tree is Bobby or which is Billy. Then came "Salley" the creek. Mud became "Murkwood" which must be pronounced in a low, ominous, gravelly voice that had been invented by Little Legs.
That hike gave us a plethora of trail lingo, our own secret code, shared only here and to you. In fact, I give you permission to add these colorful tidbits to your own trail repertoire. "Gilbert" is the word for trail marks. Ben loves to touch each one as he passes by. Moss became "Linda" or L`inda" to differentiate Spanish moss. A "Garfunkle" is a wooden bridge usually ensuring safe passage over creeks (Salley). "Simon" is a rock crossing over the same type of troubled water. "Jenny",as in Wailin', was the name we chose for the wind. Beautiful things like butterflies ("Angelicas") an birds ("Whitney") were named. Unpleasant features like poo left by critters were also baptized, "Dudley".
The trail lingo grew over our state park travels. It grows still. A new language. A new intimacy. A new secret. A new bond. A bridge...Garfunkle....that we cross together.
Another trip to Kings Mountain led us to their historic farm. A collection of historic buildings carefully deconstructed at locations throughout South Carolina and reconstructed to form this rendering of a frontier farm welcomes visitors at Kings Mountain State Park.
We got to visit on Children's Day. Volunteers manned the various buildings ready to interpret their significance for young visitors. Little Legs squealed as she saw the games being played in front of the two story wooden house, "Look Mom, its the Game of Graces!" She had gotten the game at Rose Hill Plantation and while she had designed her own rules, she was ecstatic to see it being played for real and to learn its nuances. The children also played with stilts, the cup and ball toy, and burlap sacks. They raced, caught and climbed. They laughed and had a great time...all without electronics!
We went into the small house and the volunteers told the children about what it would have been like for the children who lived there. Little Legs lit up with she saw the rope bed, "That's just like the one we saw at Andrew Jackson State Park!" The interpreter shot an inquisitive look and together Little Legs and I told her about the Ultimate Outsider and our journey thus far.
One of my biggest joys was watching my children connect the pieces of the story of the state and of the parks. Amazing! This knowledge we were giving then was becoming real and usable and interesting to them! The facts were entering my children's ears, adhering to their souls and becoming a part of the personhoods of my little ones. This journey was weaving itself into my sons and daughters. It was transforming them and making them conscious and conscientious.
We explored a bit more. The children of course especially enjoyed the animals kept at the farm. Ben stared at the chickens trying to make sense of their stiff and jerky movements. We wandered past the sorghum pot, the tool shed, the blacksmith's anvil and the cotton gin. We saw the historic garden full of young plants that would have been tended and harvested by children of another time. We watched the cows, donkey and horse grazing in the distance. The animals had no real desire to join with the activity of the day.
So much, yet not nearly all.
We went on and explored the National Historic Site peopled that day with reenactors. We read the signage and learned about the great battle fought here by our own ancestors from Tennessee and memorialized by President Hoover much later in a speech he delivered here. The museum at the National Park was exceptional and certainly on caliber with the lovely exhibits we had seen throughout our journey thus far.
Kings Mountain teems with journeys yet to be explored. It begs its visitors to join in the camping, biking, geocaching and learning. Kings Mountain changes. It grows. It evolves and yet it reflects on who we were when we began our journey.
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