Hope Knocking
Nova Mann
Genre
Political
Publication Date
23/05/2022
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About the Book
Hope Knocking tells the story of 2020 from three different perspectives: Amantha, an opinionated retired educator who considers herself to be half hillbilly and half flatlander; Matthew, her soft-spoken mountain husband; and Nancy Mae, Amantha’s charismatic elderly mother who has returned to her East Tennessee roots after leaving nearly seventy years ago. The three live in Mavie, a mere speck on a USGS topographical map, on the banks of the Diamond River.
Book Excerpt
Amantha
December 21st
Isaiah 42:16: “And I will bring the blind by a way that they knew not; I will lead them in paths that they have not known: I will make darkness light before them, and crooked things straight. These things will I do unto them, and not forsake them.”
I see snow in the woods on the mountains ahead of us, just a glimpse every now and then as Caleb and I drive up the mountain road toward our destination: Beulah Bald. We have come to witness the Great Conjunction of 2020, or as others are calling it, the Christmas Star. Since I first heard about the two planets of Jupiter and Saturn coming together for the first time in nearly eight hundred years, I knew I had to experience it up on Beulah Bald, with its three-dimensional views and access road.
My hiking friends at first seemed interested, but then it was announced that the National Forest Service had already closed the road, which would mean we would have to hike up the Appalachian Trail to the top, then return in the darkness after sunset. This didn’t deter me since I have a headlamp, but none of the other women wanted to hike down the steep trail at night. I didn’t want to go alone, and Matthew wasn’t interested, either. Luckily, Sally’s nephew Caleb loves night hiking, so here we are, pulling into the parking lot at Gentle Girl Gap. There are several cars here, and one elderly man warns us about the threat of snow that is forecast to begin around 8:00 PM. This only adds to the adventure, but we promise him we’ll be back before the snow begins to fall, if it falls at all. Here in the mountains of Tennessee, the weather seems to have a mind of its own, much to the frustration of local meteorologists.
We begin our climb at 3:45 PM, hoping to time our summit with the sunset at 5:30 PM. As we hike, I begin to sweat and peel off one layer of clothing at a time. I feel my miniature gnome in one pocket and spot a perfect place for his new dwelling: the base of a moss-covered hemlock in-between a root and a quartz. I place him there and hurry to catch up with Caleb, noting that snow is now showing up in the woods beside the trail. He is waiting for me at the power line, looking westward toward the approaching sunset. He shows me an app on his phone that shows all the planets and constellations, and points out the exact location of the two planets.
“Right here, in-between the half moon and the sunset, is where they will come together. I read that it should be the most visible right after sunset, when it gets completely dark, and then will continue to move down the horizon and will be hard to see later on. I think we’re timing it just right. We only have another mile to go, right?”
I nod my head and tell him that the last mile will be the steepest, right after we pass the road. He pulls off another layer of fleece in preparation and hands me a piece of his homemade “sea glass” candy. We pause to drink water and enjoy the lime-flavored treat, along with the fiery colors beginning to spread across the clear western sky.
I share my thoughts about the Christmas Star. “You know, I feel like this star is a sign of hope for 2021, a sign of light amidst all the darkness and death of 2020. Thank you for coming with me. I just had to see it, and I would have been too afraid to go it alone.”
Caleb had night hiked often during the AT section he had completed three years ago, and he says he actually prefers it.
He questions me about my fears of the darkness, and I reply, “Well, it’s not the darkness I fear. I guess it’s other people, you know, being a woman and all. Fear is a terrible thing. I remember being a child and swimming way out in the Atlantic Ocean at Hilton Head Island, where my grandparents lived. We’d spend every summer there, and I was fearless in the water. I was a very strong swimmer. My parents would have to constantly remind me not to go so far out. Then came the movie Jaws when I was in high school, and I was never the same. I can’t relax in the ocean now and hardly ever go past the breakers for fear of sharks.”
He agrees with me and says he has the same phobias because of that film, but then he asks, “So I understand about fear of sharks, but why are you afraid of people? You shouldn’t let that deter you from hiking alone.”
“Well, you’re a guy, Caleb. Women learn to be afraid—especially of men—because life has taught us that’s how to survive.”
I don’t offer more explanation, and we continue up the trail, which is becoming more snow-covered. I take a few good photos of the snow blanketing moss, which gives me a chance to catch my breath. I think about my fears and ponder over how lucky men are that they don’t have to worry about the things women do. What a freedom! I think with envy. The many times I’ve traveled, both in and out of the US, I’ve constantly had to watch my back for male predators.
I begin to tell Caleb of one scary encounter as we continue our climb. “When I was just seventeen years old, I was an exchange student in Madrid, Spain, my senior year of high school, and one night my friend Tomás couldn’t take me home on his motor scooter because it broke down. I didn’t think twice about hailing a taxi. I gave the driver the address of my host family and didn’t say anything more to him. We arrived, and I paid him.” I struggle to catch my breath, stop, and take off my pack to retrieve my water bottle.
Caleb, who has also stopped, does the same, and we both drink deeply. He looks at me hesitantly and says, “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”
“I want you to tell you. I want you to understand. Are you okay with me continuing?” I search his eyes for the answer.
He nods his head affirmatively and says, “Yeah. I think I need to know what women go through. Let’s keep walking though. It’s getting colder.”
We carefully make our way up the slippery trail and I continue, “As I struggled with the lock on the outside gate, he suddenly appeared and opened it for me. As he handed me back the key, he lunged at me, tearing at my clothes and hitting me. I fought back, of course, and recalled the words of Momma’s friend Connie “Kick him where it hurt,s and make it good!” I followed her advice, and my actions stopped the assailant. He left, and I and went upstairs to the apartment I shared with my host family. Long story short, I told my host mother, Patricia, and she blamed me for the attack. I couldn’t believe a woman could do this to another! I was so hurt! Anyway, I just buried the whole incident deep inside. Ever since that happened, when I’ve had to hail a cab, the same fear surfaces, and I get PTSD. I’m sure this fear will be with me the rest of my life.”
I quit speaking, finally, and just hear our boots and breath. Caleb breaks the silence.
“Well, I completely get why you don’t hike alone now. Wow! I never even thought about it. That must be awful to go through life that way, always looking over your shoulder. I’m really sorry that happened, Amantha. It had to be hard telling me.”
“Thank you for letting me tell you, Caleb. I just wanted you to see that life is very different for woman.”
Sadly, I feel sure that this happens all too often to women all over the world. The #METOO movement that began this year in our country has given a courageous voice to all of us who have felt so unsafe and disempowered right here in the good ole USA, our own country. The movement began when the current POTUS nominated a man as a Supreme Court justice who had assaulted a woman when he was younger. Long story short, he was appointed in spite of her heartfelt, truthful account of the assault, giving rise to the movement as women all over the world poured out their support and outrage. At least women are now supporting instead of blaming one another when we are attacked. We are finally finding our voices and are uniting.
I recall a second time I was threatened. It happened during my yearlong stay in Chile when I was forty. This time, I was on a bus, coming back from a weekend on Chiloé Island. I noticed a man staring predatorily at me as I waited to board. He boarded when I did and kept turning around to look at me on the bus, and when I transferred busses, he did too. I was angry, so right before I got to my stop, I walked up to the driver and told him what was happening. He told me not to worry and to go ahead and get off. After I got off, that saintly driver stood up to prevent the man from following me, and the other passengers held him back, too. I was so thankful to that good man and those other strangers! Moreover, I was thankful to my older, wiser self for taking care of me.
Men really have no idea what women must endure in this world! I have not let these scary experiences keep me from traveling, as I love exploring our beautiful, fascinating world, but I don’t believe I’ll ever feel safe enough to do the things that Caleb does, like hike alone in the day or night.
The sound of my boots crunching snow brings me back to the present, and I feel grateful to be here, grateful to be alive. I breathe in the fresh air and feel sweat dampening my collar as we begin the last ascent up to the top of the mountain. There are clouds quickly moving in from the east, threatening our view of the historic planetary event, but in the western sky all is clear, and magnificent colors are lighting it up like a beacon of hope. I feel like all of humanity is desperately clinging to hope for 2021, and this star is its representation. I know that the pandemic will not magically disappear after the dropping of the ball in Times Square, and in reality the worst is yet to come.
Tennessee now has the worst infection rate in the world, and I know this is due to people’s obstinate denial of reality. It makes me so sad and anxious to see all the death hovering nearby. In the last month, four more cousins have contracted the deadly virus, leaving two of them dead and one with lingering breathing problems. None of their families wore masks or socially distanced. They thought that the Coronavirus was nothing to worry about. One-in-thirteen people in our area now has the virus.
The sound of a woodpecker brings me back to the present, and I see Caleb pausing near the summit, looking toward the sunset. “Look, a pileated woodpecker!” he exclaims, pointing to the large redhead pecking away at a dead Frazier fir.
I catch up with my friend quickly, eager to see the bird. It pauses its noisy message and seems to glance my way just as I spot it. It seems to be pecking at my heart, telling me to focus on hope, not despair. 2021, not 2020. One of my grandmother Pennie’s sayings comes to mind: “Make the most of all that comes and the least of all that goes.” I smile as I picture her grinning at me across the great divide, and I imagine that her spirit and the pileated woodpecker have become one in this magical moment. Hope Knocking. I breathe in gratitude for this timely message, and Caleb and I turn our attention once again to the trail.
We hoot and holler with joy as we make it up to the top, marveling at the beautiful light that is shining on the last of the trees and the swirling clouds overhead. It is cold now, and the wind is screaming, but our hearts are filled with a calm serenity. We look around for the perfect place to wait for the celestial event, and see a young couple with their dog approaching us. All the other people who were parked below were day hikers, apparently, and have already passed us on their way back down the trail. The shivering pair tells us they are going back down since the wind is so brutal, so it is just Caleb and I left on the mountain.
I unpack the hot herbal tea I made this morning, along with two huge slices of zucchini bread I made last summer.
I settle down onto my rain jacket, but Caleb remains standing, taking in the full force of the gale winds. I offer him the hot tea and bread, and he gratefully consumes them. I take videos of the outstanding sunset, and my gloves almost blow away into the approaching night, but I manage to capture them and put them back on my frozen fingers. I curl up in a fetal position to try to ward off the cold as we wait for the dark sky to reveal its secrets.
Finally, darkness is complete, and we see it! To the right of the moon, toward the sunset, are the two planets Jupiter and Saturn. They are so close together that you can barely distinguish them at first, but with the nighttime comes our improved vision. I take some pictures but know they’ll never be able to capture what I’m seeing, and especially what I’m feeling.
I think that perhaps humanity has had to go into the darkness of 2020 in order to find enlightenment in 2021. We have arrived, and it is now time to allow the light to guide us.
Thank you, Lord, for Your light.
Caleb and I agree that we have endured enough of the cold wind and decide to begin our descent. We have headlamps but think that the half moon, along with the bright Christmas Star, will provide enough light for us to see the trail, so we carefully make our way down. The star is directly in front of us, leading us to safety, while the moon shines brightly to our left. About halfway down, we hear a huge crash to our left and realize that a tree has come down nearby. This quickens our pace, and before we know it we are at the sharp curve just past the power line, right where I hid the gnome. I tell Caleb to try to spot it, and after the third big tree on the right, he shines his flashlight on the tiny, smiling man. This makes us both laugh uncontrollably for some reason, and I think to myself, My God, it has been so long since I’ve heard my own laughter!
I make an early New Year’s resolution right then and there, beneath that big poplar with the laughing gnome, that I will laugh more in 2021. I will find joy in the light. I choose happiness now, for God has not forsaken us. He is leading us home.
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About the Author
Nova Mann
This is Nova Mann’s first novel, but she is already working on a sequel to Hope Knocking, which will hopefully be released sometime in 2023. Ms. Mann is a former high school teacher who began her career in North Carolina and retired in Tennessee. She received her undergraduate degree from the University of Georgia and her graduate degree from Appalachian State University. As a lifelong learner, she continues to explore the world through hiking, sustainable gardening, writing, and playing old-time mountain music. One of her life’s biggest accomplishments was spent as a Fulbright scholar in South America, teaching English at a public high school. She later led many American students on trips throughout Latin America and Europe, believing that travel is the best way to uproot intolerance and replace it with respect for all cultures. She lives with her husband in the mountains of Tennessee, embraced by the Cherokee Forest.
