Thunder Ridge: Where I Find the Smallness of Things

Sometimes you just have to get away from things. Today was one of the days, I headed up to the Parkway and made my way to Thunder Ridge. One time I spent the whole night there just talking to a friend. Another, in the middle of winter I walk right up on four deer. They froze, I was less than ten feet away. They were fearful I was a predator.

Today I watched the mushrooms, finding life from the decay of downed trees. Its good to see life springing forward. Particularly when you have been immersed in the tragic death of Taylor Behl.

Some of you may wonder what compels me to write about such a terrible event. I think it is a search for understanding. And I would like to help others to understand, and see the red flags, of when things go wrong. To go into this world carefully, and to feel the wrong, before you are consumed, by the predators that lurk in the darkness.

Thunder Ridge is one of my favorite places, it is a rock that holds me together. It speaks of eternity of nature. It whispers quietly the life that grows continuously, and is ever present, even from death. It is my rock where I can grasp what is real, and what is true. It is my jarring stick that pulls me close to my soul. You can stand at the overlook, and the city looks so small. People are busy in those buildings you see. They are occupied by the things that seem so important to them.

But in the greater scheme, the smallness of all endeavors, loses importance when I am at my rock looking down. And I will soon be rejoining them, and the scope of what I am doing will also be almost trivial. Yet, how we perform on this bit of dust we occupy, requires responsibility. And what becomes important is how you live your life and how you treat others.



Thunder Ridge was almost ruined for me. There was a man who came here, and blew his brains out.

I knew him, but he was not a friend. He too was a predator, a predator of children. When he did talk to me it was always about how he was going to mend his ways. How he knew what he had done was wrong. But he continued, and when he blew his brains away, many thought that was a good thing. And perhaps it was, he could not change. His character was not strength, he wallowed in weakness. I can not exactly tell you how I felt about him, but I will tell you this, I did my best to stay away from him.

So when he got out of jail that last time, he did it again. The police were on to him. He took off and came to my rock, placed a 38 revolver to his head, and was found by someone who came here to enjoy the beauty as I do. How sad for that person.

Now, when I come to my rock, I know children are safer, and I know why I write about Fawley. And tomorrow, I will begin again. To tell you, to stay away from people that want to draw you into their world, and while you are consumed by curiosity, they are enticing you in a trap that you may not come out alive.

My thoughts are with Taylor Behl, and her family. And may something come to life from the decay of her tragic death, and may we all learn.