Women's March in Asheville

           “Yes we can!”  “Yes, we can!”  “Yes, we can!” I chanted as I stood in Pack Square in Asheville for the Women’s March held in solidarity with the March in Washington D C.  For a small city of 87,000, some said the crowd might have reached 10,000. (The news media reported it as anywhere between 7,000 and 10,000.) A Biltmore Lake neighbor standing with us said he had lived in Asheville since 1972 and had never seen a gathering as big in downtown Asheville. The March organizers reported that 2,500 had signed up on Facebook and more than three times that number came.

               It was a cloudy morning with a forecast of rain as we waited for the speakers to begin at 11 a.m. Suddenly my phone buzzed with a text and there were Hayden, Jessica, and Austin holding their signs doing the same thing on the Mall in Washington as we were in Asheville. Amazing! I can still be surprised and excited by instant messaging connecting me to my family and friends “in the moment”.

Austin marching in Washington D.C.

   I looked around me in every direction to see babies in strollers and backpack carriers, children, teenagers, young parents, middle aged, and elderly people. Even dogs on leashes stood quietly next to their owners as if sensing the solemnity of the occasion.  Men and women stood together – tall, short, big, small. Most carried homemade signs with slogans – “First for Equality Every Day”, “Equality for All”, Hear Us Roar”, “Women’s Rights Are Human Rights”, “Love Not Hate Makes America Great” and many more. The sea of pink across the crowds, were women wearing pussy knit hats.  Many wore specially made T-shirts supporting Planned Parenthood.  Art and I held up our “We Shall Overcome” and “Not My President” posters we had made the night before. Lots of our fellow Unitarians wore their “Standing on the Side of Love” bright yellow T-shirts.

               There was an air of civility in this huge crowd.  No one was jostling to get ahead of anyone else.  No pushing, or shoving, loud, or rude talking.  No hateful rhetoric. A hushed reverence for the speaker and a respect for one another pervaded in a way I had not ever experienced in a large crowd.  It seemed as if none of us were strangers to one another as we stood together with the same fears and concerns.  I noticed no visible police presence or extra security other than police cars with flashing lights blocking off certain streets. The Asheville police were focusing on managing downtown traffic in the middle of the crowds and the marching route. 

               The speeches lasted an hour.  We heard from our female Mayor, our female Democratic state senator, along with the Director of Planned Parenthood for Western North Carolina, the first African American women Episcopal priest in Asheville, and various others representing social services for women, as well as the LGBT community.  All speeches were rousing cries to “get involved”, “keep up the fight”, and “never give up”. The crowd responding enthusiastically, "we can do it!"

               At noon the march began towards the courthouse and because of the numbers it was slow going.  We did a loop around downtown side by side with others who were orderly, calm, and respectful. Rounding one corner I did see a few Pro Life and anti Planned Parenthood demonstrators.  The crowd of marchers was so large that their presence was barely noticed.

               Then I felt a raindrop as we approached the finish.   By the time we were in the car headed home it began to rain hard.  Was it providential circumstances that kept the rain off until the event was over?  I’d like to think of it as a positive sign from Mother Nature as if she supported what had just taken place in Asheville.

               It was an emotional day, and one of the few times I have ever felt part of a great historic moment.  The Asheville march was one among many which made up a greater worldwide movement. There were marches in 670 US cities and 70 cities abroad in Antarctica, Asia, Africa, and Europe.  Being part of it brought me a sense of relief I had not felt in months.  The fight for equal rights has only begun and yet the Women’s March gatherings showed me that I am not alone in wanting to get back our morality where truth triumphs over lies and where basic humanitarian rights are respected.  Through Facebook I saw that millions of people marching everywhere felt the same. That is comforting.  Now I have to find my own way to move forward and help.

The next generation....

Dusting Off the Snowshoes

          “They’re predicting 4 to 7 inches of snow tonight in Asheville,” I said to Art before we went to bed last night. 

          “Well, you know that probably won’t happen,” he replied skeptically.  And most of the time it doesn’t.  After all, we live in the South where we don’t often get snowstorms that no one is prepared for anyway.

          When I looked out the front door this morning to the street covered in 5 or 6 inches of undisturbed snow, I announced, “This time they got it right.”

          “Beautiful…and so peaceful,” I thought,  “and so reminiscent of our Vermont winters.” 

          Snowy mornings call for a breakfast of pancakes and real maple syrup, which I quickly put together.  Years of living through Vermont winters got us outdoors first thing after breakfast to begin shoveling the 25 steps leading up to the front door our mountain house. That was only for starters.  The three large decks, the roof and the turn around by the cars would come next until the snow plow came up our steep driveway to finish off the rest. Sometimes this took a most of a day.  But in Biltmore Lake, where we live now, that’s all taken care of by a snow removal crew - right up to the two steps to our front door. ( We no longer live on a mountain.)  It was finished by 9:30 a.m. today. Still, the urge to be outdoors when the snow is untouched is instinctual as much as habit.   

We hunt for our snow gear – waterproof snow-pants. wind-breaker, fleece hats and mittens, and our L.L. Bean snow boots that have been stored in the garage. We have it all and yet it’s a scramble to find where it’s been all these many months since our last snowfall.  Art has already found the bags with our snowshoes that I hid under the guest room beds (no basement in this house for that kind of storage).  Today I’m happy Art insisted we keep the snowshoes when we made the decision to move North Carolina.  The truth is we’ve probably used them only 3 or 4 times in five years but each time, snowshoeing has been a connection to our past and a real joy.   

We bundle up and head out the door, but first have to jog our memories as to how to get the snowshoes on.  “Do you remember how these go?”  “Is there a left and a right?”  Art wants to know.  We struggle a bit but then it comes back.  We are ready as we set off, poles in hand, across our front lawn down to the path that runs alongside our townhouse to the lake.  The snow is deep enough and light.  Perfect for snow walking.  Once we cross Lake Drive we are on our way on 2.2 mile trail around the perimeter of Biltmore Lake.

There is not a soul out although there are footprints most likely from neighbors out walking dogs earlier.  Only an occasional truck goes along Lake Drive.  It is quiet, pristine, and we have it all to ourselves.  The surprise is that we can still snowshoe easily.

 “Isn’t this great?  I feel so strong and physically fit.”  Art sounds surprised and definitely pleased.

“Must be all those trips to the gym, “I reply. I notice how energized I feel.

We can still do this, I think to myself with relief.

The snow is heavy on the trees and the lake is rippling in the gentle wind.  Then we see patches of blue sky as the clouds disappear.  It’s as if Mother Nature just finished the last brush stroke of a newly painted picture before us – the lake, the trees, and Mt. Pisgah and the Pisgah National Forest in the distance.  Spectacular.

“It’s clearing up!” I exclaim.  The snow showers have stopped and the snow sparkles in the sunshine.  We are part of the picture and no one else out to interrupt the scene before us.

“Remember the time you were cross country skiing with your, Dad, in Goshen and you got lost?”  Art says to me.

“Were you there? “ I ask.  “That was years and years ago.”

“Sure, I was there with your Mother waiting for you to come back to the lodge.”  Art is warming up to reminiscing…

“I haven’t thought about that for years,” I say.  “That was a real adventure,” I say as I try and remember my parents when they were young enough to cross country ski with us.

“Remember snowshoeing up at Gt. Hawk around the pond?” continues Art.

“Yeah, but it was so much deeper than this and hard work!”  I reply.

By the time we get back to our house the skies are brilliant blue in what we used to call the perfect Vermont ski day.  Only we are in North Carolina now, another world.  But for a few hours we can remember, enjoy the beauty around us, and be grateful we can still embrace the adventure of a good snow walk when the opportunity comes along.