Backpacking with Jesus: "Its not Always about the Hike, But more about the Journey" The Journey Continues

By Stephen D. Dean

Backpacking with Jesus is the real-life story of one man's thru-hike on the over 2,000 miles Appalachian Trail. Beginning at Springer Mountain in Georgia, the pathway weaves and winds through 14 states to the majestic top of Mount Katahdin in Maine. The author provides a vivid account of the daily challenges faced in living outdoors for nearly f

• Language: English
• Publisher: Book Vine Press
• Release date: Oct 5, 2020
• ISBN: 9781953699091

Stephen D. Dean

Stephen and Glenna Dean live in an old boarding house next to the railroad tracks in the small town of Brownville Junction, Maine. They reside within what is known as the Maine Highlands and within an hour's driving distance from the legendary 100-Mile Wilderness of the Appalachian Trail. Glenna and Stephen are in a shared pastoral ministry of the Brownville Junction and Park Street United Methodist Churches. Stephen graduated from Wesley Theological Seminary Course of Study in Washington, D.C. in 2012. The call to pastoral ministry came later in life and ten years after the 1996 Appalachian Trail thru-hike. From childhood, Stephen has loved the outdoors and nature. He finds great joy in watching wildlife and spending time in Maine's famed North Woods.

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Contents

Acknowledgments

Introduction

The Journey Begins: The Early Years

Springer Mountain to Fontana Dam

Fontana Dam, North Carolina to Damascus, Virginia

Southwest Virginia: Damascus to Pearisburg

Central Virginia: Pearisburg to Rockfish Gap

Northern Virginia, West Virginia, Maryland

Pennsylvania

New York and New Jersey

Massachusetts-Connecticut

New Hampshire -Vermont

Maine

Life after My Thru-Hike

The Journey Continues

Appalachian Trail Clubs

Acknowledgments

Where do I begin to thank all those who have had a role in making this book possible? Writing this is my absolute fear when it comes to naming names and unintentionally leaving someone out.

God, the Creator of all things

As with all things this too I will give to God and trust it will be as he has intended. Thus, as we are called to give our first fruits to God the first words of thanks belong to God. Without God none of this would have happened.

Family

I thank Glenna first and foremost, for all that she has sacrificed in supporting me not only through my Appalachian Trail thru-hike but in the writing of this book and in sharing our life in ministry together. I thank my children who in the beginning did not understand what this journey was about but pray that they do now. I recognize my brothers and sister in roles of support they played. Special mention belongs to my brother George and his son Justin in creating a newsletter to help keep folks informed as to the progress of my hike. My deep appreciation to my nephew Greg who dreamed the dream and has a special place in my heart in understanding the spiritually of climbing mountains. To my mother who never once questioned why or how nor doubted my ability to complete what I started.

The Faith Community

A word of thanks to the congregations of Brownville Junction, Park Street of Milo, and Dover-Foxcroft United Methodist Churches. (Maine churches) To all my brothers and sisters in Christ who supported the hike through gifts of money, food, time, and prayers. Special mention belongs to Judy Eichel who went above and beyond in believing what the Appalachian Trail ministry was all about and for being there from the very beginning. To the late Warena Farnam, for all she taught me through life and in giving me the courage to believe in myself. To the late Rev. Yoo Cha Yi in her unwavering trust in my call to hike the AT. and for her honesty in telling the truth of how some supported me not because they believed but because they loved me.

To Ripley, Guilford, Park Street and Brownville Junction United Methodist Churches, the congregations that I have been so very blessed to pastor. I thank them in allowing me to be me and sharing this journey of writing this book. To Pastors Harold (Bloop) and Cheryl George of West Virginia for their love and encouragement.

The Appalachian Trail Community

A thru-hike would not be possible without the AT community which is a dedicated and working group of individuals connected by their love of the outdoors and hiking. The Appalachian Trail or any other hiking trail did not just happen but people with vision and a dream to make it happen. Keeping a trail open and accessible to the public at large takes a major commitment of time and money and much of this is through volunteer-based hiking clubs whose members lovingly maintain the Trail. These AT maintaining clubs (now a total of 31 and listed in the back of the book) are the heart and soul of what the Appalachian Trail is all about. These clubs are all part of the parent organization under the umbrella of the Appalachian Trail Conservancy based in Harpers Ferry, West Virginia.

My thanks to all those who offered advice and encouragement in the preparation, planning, and during my thru-hike. Special thanks to Trail legend Bill Irwin who sent a letter of encouragement before my hike and him and Debra (Bill’s wife) have become dear friends of Glenna and me. ( Bill Died in 2014) My thanks and appreciation to my fellow thru-hikers from 1996 who lifted my spirits and shared in the experience of a lifetime. Special thanks to the trail angels all up and down the AT who truly know and practice hospitality. Also, to the Zion Church of Millersville, Pennsylvania who welcomed a stranger to your prayer circle on the AT. My heartfelt thanks to the Church of the Mountain, Delaware Water Gap, Pennsylvania, Damascus United Methodist Church, Damascus, Virginia, the Erwin UMC, Erwin, Tennessee, and the Dalton UMC, Dalton, Massachusetts. Holy Family Church Hostel, Pearisburg, Virginia, Jesuit Hostel, Hot Springs, North Carolina, and Woods Hole Hostel, Virginia.

Introduction

"In the beginnings when God created the heavens

and the earth." (Genesis 1:1 NRSV)

September 14, 2010 In the Beginning

This reflection begins 14 years after completing my 1996 through-hike of the Appalachian Trail. The actual finish date was August 17 and Glenna can tell you even after all this time that it was indeed a day to remember, that last day of the hike with wind and rain on Mount Katahdin. But of course, I am already getting ahead of myself. How can this be the beginning when the hike took place all those years ago? The title of this story might very well help answer this query. It is not Always about the Hike but More about the Journey. The hike is a part of the journey but in reality; it is only a small part. My hope in writing this story is for you to not only join me on this hike but to also gain a deeper and more meaningful understanding of your own journey.

"For everything, there is a season and a time for every matter under heaven." (Ecclesiastes 3:1 NRSV)

Why Wait?

Why wait 14 years after the hike to start this book? The reading from Ecclesiastes says it all: For everything, there is a season and to be quite honest it just wasn’t time. In many ways, it is the same type of situation of the timing when I decided it was time to act upon God’s call to go into pastoral ministry. For many years those who are close to me kept asking when I was going to go into the ministry. It seemed it would never happen and for a very long time, it was more of a feeling of not being worthy. Why would God call me! A dear pastor friend answered this question when once again he asked when I was going to stop dragging my feet and answer the Call. Falling back to the usual answer of, I’m not worthy.. My friend responded, No you’re not worthy, none of us are but that is the beauty of grace. I did drag my feet and resist for years, but God had others plans. In October of 2005, the dam of resistance broke and in May of 2006 I was certified as a local pastor in the United Methodist Church and in July was appointed to my first church. Looking back upon those years of waiting and uncertainty of entering ministry I realized that it was not time. I believe that things happen for a reason and in this situation, God knew it was not time. Not discounting free choice or free will I believe that God will give us opportunities and it is up to us to follow through and to act upon those opportunities. God presents us with choices and in lots of ways, the result of these choices, prepare us for the journey ahead. Sometimes in a funny kind of way, even though God gives us choices or free will, it seems at certain times God turns up the volume to get our attention. Never in my wildest dreams would I have ever thought that I would be in pastoral ministry with two churches, but God knew. God also knew that I needed a lot of work and he would give me all kinds of opportunities to clean up my act. It reminds me of how my wife Glenna has this very real love affair with rocks. She absolutely loves rocks; all shapes, sizes, and colors; but she especially loves white quartz rocks. Often, we would go to the woods and hunt rocks and Glenna would dig these rocks right out of the ground. At first glance, they would hardly look worth the effort of digging them up but after she took the time to clean them up, those white quartz rocks were absolutely beautiful. God has a way of doing exactly that with us; through the grace of Jesus Christ, God helps us to clean up our act and prepares us for whatever the journey of life takes us on. Part of that cleansing and preparation God had in mind for me was a little walk from Georgia to Maine.

The Birth

Venture forth out of the gloom

Into the light of an August moon,

In search of only God knows what

Be it a castle or a hut.

Will he be a rich man or poor?

Will he know peace or war?

Is he destined to be ordinary or great?

Will he die young or late?

Will his children be many or none?

Will his skies be overcast or sun?

From the birth what will the future grow?

Answers only time will know. (S.D.D.)

Chapter One

The Journey Begins: The Early Years

"I am the Alpha and the Omega, the first and the last, the beginning and the end." (Revelation 22:13 NRSV)

Everything has a beginning and an ending; at least in this life and the beginning of my journey started in June of 1952 at the old Milo hospital. I was born into a family of five children with me bringing up the rear in being the youngest. My mother was a stay at home mom, not unusual for the times. My father worked part of the year in the woods back when horses were used to yard (haul) the logs. The rest of year he worked on the Canadian Pacific Railroad which was the major employer of my hometown of Brownville Junction, Maine. My father was a hard worker, but he had a fondness for alcohol which often got him into trouble and caused major problems in the family. I guess we could be called a dysfunctional family but if the truth be known there were a lot of dysfunctional families for one reason or another. I think a lot of what happens to people as children have a large impact on who they become as adults. For a long time, it seemed I could never do enough to please my father or to live up to his expectations. It was a feeling of always trying to prove that I was worthy of his approval. For many years I lived with a fear of failure and insecurity. Most of all I just wanted to be loved. It was not all bad; there are memories of people in my life who taught me the importance of kindness and respect. I do remember going to Sunday school on occasion at the Brownville Junction United Methodist Church and having public school teachers who taught us much more than how to read and do the math. In many ways, these were the people who saved me when I had to dig deep within myself to get through some difficult years. God also blessed me with an imagination and curiosity of wanting to know what was beyond the next bend or over the next hill. One special gift God gave me was a love of nature and feeling of being at home in the outdoors. These things would all come into play down the road, this toolbox of life experiences and God-given gifts.

Feelings

Feelings from within that come go again

as waves upon the ocean they crash the shore

and return to the see once more. (S. D. D.)

The hand of the Lord came upon me, and he brought me out by the spirit of the Lord and set me down in the middle of a valley; it was full of bones. He led me all around them; there were many lying in the valley, and they were very dry. He said to me, Mortal, can these bones live? I answered, O Lord God, you know." (Ezekiel 37: 1-3 NRSV)

Life Begins at 40

How we measure time can be different for different people. It is very much the same in estimating distance. Never ask someone how far a certain landmark might be, especially if you have a fifty-pound pack on your back. Almost always it seemed the optimistic estimate of distance from point A to point B given by the good Samaritan was always farther. The point being that some readers of this book might question my method of measuring or dividing time. I like to think of the time from when I graduated high school in 1971 until 1992 as the middle years, and in many ways the dark time. In 1971 the Vietnam War was still a reality and it was the time of the draft lottery. The draft lottery was set up in such a way that the lower number drawn which matched your birth date increased the chances of being drafted. My number was 52 which translated into a good possibility of being drafted. It was ironic as my father was drafted during World War II and he always felt that some people were drafted, and others were not because of family privilege and it was unfair. He did not want his children serving in the military. The ironic part being that all four of his sons enlisted and his daughter married a lifer in the Air Force. In October of 1971 I enlisted in the Air Force; not because of my low draft number but because I had a friend in high school who talked me into it. The day we went to Bangor to be sworn in my friend decided he wanted to chicken out. I in no uncertain terms, convinced him it would be in his best interests to enlist since he was the ringleader. As it turned out enlisting in the Air Force was a great and rewarding experience. I worked in supply and just about everyone loved supply personal. In the nearly five years of serving I was blessed to have been stationed in Texas, Colorado, Hawaii, and Wyoming; not forgetting a month on Wake Island at the end of the Vietnam War. It was while in the service that I followed in my father’s footsteps of developing an addiction to alcohol and smoking cigarettes. After serving out my enlistment I was discharged in 1976 and returned home to Brownville Junction. In 1979 I moved to California for four years and returned home to Maine in 1984. In this time, I managed go from one failed relationship to another. Always looking for that story book romance with the happiness ever after part. Instead I went deeper into discouragement and depression. During this time, I fathered a son, Stephen Jr. and for the first two years of his life (which he does not remember) was a joy in my life. His mother and I parted company and she gained custody. In my pain and anger I didn’t know how to love, and my son suffered for it. Over the years it was an estranged relationship between my son and me but by the grace of God he has grown to be a successful man. It is difficult to make up for lost time and mistakes made but this too is something which I have worked on giving to God and pray for forgiveness. Over time it has gotten better and pray this for both my son and me. Once again, I am getting ahead of myself; this is a necessary part of the journey, both the good and the bad. Next, comes the Dexter Shoe years; it was one of those places where in high school you say, I’ll never work there. Well, never say never; in 1989 I went to work at Dexter Shoe in Milo, Maine. It turned out to be a life-changing experience but of course, I needed to begin by falling into another failed relationship. It was during this time that the light bulbs finally came on and I begin to realize that my lifestyle was not healthy; neither mentally, or physically. In the meantime, I had moved back to Brownville Junction and out of the blue just started going to church. A few months before I had stopped drinking and I knew that something was afoot. I became active in the life of the Brownville Junction United Methodist Church, joining the choir and serving in other areas. In 1991 after attending my twentieth high school class reunion, I kicked my two pack a day smoking habit. I quit cold turkey one Sunday morning in July. The following year I started climbing mountains. The last time I had climbed Katahdin I was a teenager. Now at 40 years old I found myself climbing Maine’s highest mountain once again. I will not forget the rude awaking on that day. Upon reaching the top I was exhausted and coming down it was even worse, my legs felt like they were made from rubber. I vowed I would never climb Katahdin again, but like a man possessed I climbed the mountain seven times that summer and fall. It wasn’t just Katahdin, I climbed White Cap, Chairback, and Borestone Mountains, too. Little did I suspect that I was being prepared for something more challenging than all those mountains combined.

The Rusty Bumper

On one of my trips of climbing Mount Katahdin, my nephew Greg came along. He shared my love of the outdoors and it meant a great deal to him to come along on this trip to Baxter State Park. At the time I think Greg was around 17 years old. I happened to be driving an old rusted out Dotson hatchback. The road in Baxter State Park was rough and covered with pot holes and we were nearly to Roaring Brook campground and the place we would start our hike up Katahdin when all of a sudden there was a loud bang followed by a dragging sound coming from the rear of the Dotson. Upon stopping we discovered that one side of the rear bumper had broken and was dragging on the road. I could see the look of disappointment on Greg’s face. I could just imagine him thinking this little calamity would end any thought of climbing the mountain. I calmly reached down and grabbed the bumper and gave it yank until the other side broke loose from the back of the car and opened the hatchback and threw the bumper inside. I noticed the wide-eyed look of astonishment on my nephew’s face and said, "We’ll worry about that later, we are here to climb a mountain. It was a lesson well learned to make do with what you have and not be sidetracked by a little malfunction to stop you from making your intended destination.

If I speak in tongues of mortals and of angels, but do not have love, I am a noisy gong or a clanging cymbal. And if I have prophetic powers, and understand all mysteries and all knowledge, and I have all faith, so as to remove mountains, but do not have love, I am nothing. If I give away all my possessions, and if I hand over my body so I may boast, but do not have love, I gain nothing. (1 Corinthians 13:1-3 NRSV)

1993: The Year Life Started Over

1992 was a year of change; a change in me physically due to my quitting smoking and my sudden interest in mountain climbing. Not only was it a time of change, maybe transition would be a better word to describe what was happening to me, to the outer physical self but also to the inner spiritual core living deep inside. Hindsight is always great as over time it became quite apparent, As, for the changes, I was totally unaware that it was also a time of preparation. When telling the story of this part of the journey the listener automatically assumes it was connected to the future hike of the Appalachian Trail and many ways it was but my description of the monumental changes were due in major part of God helping me to clean up my act in preparation to meet an angel.

Give Me a Mountain

Give me a mountain, a mountain so high,

I’ll stand on the peak and touch the sky.

Give me a river, a river so long,

I’ll drift upon it forever and listen to its song.

Give me a forest, a forest so deep,

I’ll lay in its shade and sleep.

Give me a rainbow with colors all true,

Give me all these things and I’ll share them with you.

(Written for Glenna and printed on our wedding bulletin)

During much of the same time frame which I call the middle years, or the dark times, Glenna was going through her own trials and tribulations in Florida. Of course, we did not know each other, but we were both faced with our own demons and challenges. Glenna was in a 28-year marriage with an abuser, both physically and mentally. She lived in fear for not only her life but also for her children. After months of careful planning and gaining the courage to escape her abuser she packed what she could into her small car and went into hiding with the two remaining children that were still living at home. Glenna worked her way up to a high paying position as a deli manager in a supermarket chain in Florida and was always looking over her shoulder in fear her former husband would find her. At this time Glenna had a feeling that a change was coming but had no idea what that change would be. In the meantime, one of Glenna’s daughters had met and married a young man with ties to Maine. The couple wanted to move to Maine and asked Glenna if she wanted to go. The amazing part of how this all happened was in the timing. In a short two-week span Glenna decided to give up her job and move to Maine where she didn’t know anyone. To make it more surprising was the time of year; on the last day of February in 1993. Imagine leaving Florida for Maine in February without knowing where you would live or where you would work but Glenna knew in her heart that this was something she needed to do. To make long story short Glenna found her way to Ornville, just outside of Milo, Maine. Maine welcomed the newcomers as only Maine can do, with a major snowstorm. (Dubbed the Storm of the Century) Not having any snow shovels they resorted to using cookie sheets to dig out from the snowstorm. It is interesting to note that Glenna’s daughter and husband that had wanted to come to Maine ended up heading south while Glenna stayed