September 3rd, 2026

The 5:30 a.m. wake up call was not routine for me. I am not a morning person. But standing in the parking lot alone with the first glimpses of soft morning light, I can see why others pursue waking at such an extreme hour, particularly if you were heading somewhere other than to work. The preserve this early is still silent as the Dawn Chorus of birds hasn’t erupted. Looks like I am quite literally up before the birds.

The soft mist that rises from the prairie fields will be long gone and burned off by the time I return to the parking lot. I take a photo to remember the mist which likely happens daily, but for me this is a new experience seeing its stillness and silence.

I am trying to beat the heat and the exposure to the Summer’s stranglehold on its fading time. It’s September, but that doesn’t carry much weight anymore. Definitely not much in North Carolina. This Summer’s devilish grasp will hold tight to the days long into the beginning of October.

I put my phone in the belly of my pack and begin to cross the meadow.

I am now officially on trail.

I have frequented this local preserve near my house often to hike, bird and wander alone, with friends and family. But this is the beginning of a love affair where I will soon know all of the Preserve’s secrets, beauties and every inch.

This is the second week of my Mammoth March training and at 8 miles, I will transverse the entirety of the trails but this time there is no mid-morning or afternoon sun.

The trail is quiet except for my breath and the pine needles and gravel, though mostly pine needles scrunching under my footsteps.

The first wildlife I see is an Eastern Cottontail as I move from the prairie meadows to the edge of the forest.

The sunrise is filtering this very beautiful light through the canopy and I ponder taking a photo or wishing I had had my big camera with me to capture it, but today that isn’t what it’s about.

It’s about the trail unveiling itself to me and my soul, not just my eyes, and taking it in.

I hear deer crackling in the brushes and I am startled thinking someone is at the preserve too. More than likely a mountain biker who we share the trails with, but I am surprised at how pleasantly surprised I am when I realize it’s just a couple of white-tailed deer.

It means selfishly the preserve is still mine or rather ours: the forest and mine for just a little while longer.

How long? I’m not sure. My pace quickens. I could have the entirety of the preserve to myself all morning I think.

Let’s try!