by Vern Hyndman
“The opinions expressed by the Tabor College EML student bloggers and those providing comments are theirs alone, and do not reflect the opinions of Tabor College. Tabor College is also not responsible for the accuracy of any of the information in the post.”
I live in a tiny town in Central Pennsylvania called Boiling Springs; Central PA is affectionately referred to as “Penciltucky” because of the rural, somewhat redneck aura to the place. We’re a couple of hours from Baltimore, Washington and Philadelphia, and across the shallow Susquehanna River from Harrisburg, the state capitol. Boiling Springs has no stop lights. The center of town is spring-fed Children’s Lake. “The Bubble” is the massive spring feeding the lake large enough that local 
scuba divers enter the spring and travel underground through huge underwater, underground caverns.
In the center of town, across from the lake, is Caffe 101, which forms the cultural center of town. I’m not saying I’m the mayor or anything, but Caffe 101 does have a sandwich named after me, The Vern, with enough meat and cheese to feed a village for a day. I use the Caffe as an office, and can be found here writing often. The Caffe has a wall mural of itself, in it’s previous life as a residence, in 1910 or so.
The Lake empties into the Yellow Breeches, a small river probably 100 feet across, providing some of the best fly fishing in the north east. A fly fishing pro shop is the main business outside the Caffe and the Tavern. The town has a Civil War era smelter, and some of the houses were stops on the Underground Railroad. An ancient stone camel-backed bridge crosses the river at the south of town.
Right through this bucolic setting, the Appalachian Trail runs through the center of town. The Appalachian Trail runs from Georgia to Maine, 2200 miles of walking opportunity. Recent movies have revealed the romance of trail walking, all of which I recommend and own. The Way, Wild, and A Walk In The Woods and Elizabeth Gilbert’s novel “The Last American Man” have inspired and informed a whole new crop of potential trail 
walkers. To finish the trail, you have to walk through Boiling Springs, and if you want a coffee and food, you’ll pretty much have to come to the Caffe. I see a lot of hikers in the season.
Everyone on the trail is either running from something, or running to something. It’s a rare hiker who is just out on a lark, wandering north or south 2200 miles. Almost everyone has a burning question, and many folks are dealing with a major change in their lives.
Today, I sat in the Caffe wondering what to
write about. I was distracted in my pondering by someone across the Caffe singling absentmindedly; she and her friend were GAME, or north bound Georgia to Maine thru-hikers on the trail. As so often happens, looking around for something to write, I realize it’s right in front of me.
Hikers cycle in and out of the Caffe like the Canadian Geese in Children’s Lake, and before long I met Flash. Flash and I talked about the changes that transitioning into retirement bring. He retired from the real estate business a couple years ago, and I’m trying to crawl out of a pseudo-retirement hole that is slipperier than I though. Fifteen years since I had any kind of rhythm, Mr. Mom for most of those, and I just can’t get my legs under me. I told Flash the Caffe has a sandwich named after me, which it does, but somehow, it’s not a trail name.
Flash agreed that maybe I should walk it off, and he suggested that I simply write five hundred words a day “stream of consciousness”. I think Flash is onto something.
I’m going to walk the trail, when I get done the busy work of keeping myself busy. I’d have to leave my seat in the Caffe, and I’ll have to finish the masters I’m doing this year, but Lord willing and the creek don’t rise, I might get to it next year. I’m not running from anything, or to anything, I’ve been running to stand still. Maybe I’ll take a walk.