Fragments From Floyd

And so I did, and while he was helping me load it, my benefactor mentioned that the old road there goes back up the valley to the waterfall.

"Oh, a waterfall?" I said as if I were surprised. But actually, I'd both seen it on the topo maps and been told by someone--probably our reclusive, eccentric, foot-traveling neighbor-lady--that they'd seen it once. Though I'd figure not many have.

I made no secret that I wanted to see it for myself. So when the fire wood was heaped up high in the back of the truck, he offered to walk with me up the old road to the falls. 'course, I could have found them by myself. But I think he was sort of proud for the company that day. He is a man of few words and I was pleased he wanted the companionship.

And so we set off up a good grade on what he said used to be a state road--with a route number and everything. We shuffled up the slope through a pavement of oak and maple leaves.

To tell you the truth, I was prepared to be unimpressed. Our valley becomes a ravine with its own stair-step waterfalls. Nameless Creek drops three or four feet suddenly about every hundred yards as the clear water tumbles down toward the edge of our pasture and the confluence with Goose Creek. I expected this valley and its little waterfalls would be pretty much the same. "This all looks mighty familiar" I said to my companion, but then the creek began to fall further below the trail.

Soon we left the old roadway to follow what appeared to be the remnants of a rock wall marking a side-spur. A faint path disappeared in a thick carpet of moss and fallen leaves, leading us down toward something that must have been worthy of its own trail long ago. We clung to saplings as the pitch increased until at last, we stood on a level stretch of creek between two sets of cascades. I was speechless.

I have walked several miles through the woods of the Blue Ridge to waterscapes no less spectacular than this. Those named falls had their own markers on the busy roads, their own packed parking lots; they were loved by crowds of visitors, they were adorned with litter and signage, peopled with irreverent voices and dogs on leashes. This remote and unearthly quiet place above and below me was a hidden shrine, the rose that blooms unseen--a neighborhood secret. And I felt blessed.