Tarheel Hash 688: Reminders of Perpetual Change - and what Remains Constant
Lickety
This hash took place a couple of months after Tropical Storm Chantal passed through central North Carolina, including Durham, but we were still aware of its impact, which influenced where to mark our trail.
Tarheel Hash 688: Reminders of Perpetual Change -and what Remains Constant
Who was there:
Hares: Mr. Cream Jeans, SpeakNoEno, Lickety Spit
Newbies, Guests, and Visitors: 1) Just Jared (accompanying his partner Just Margo); 2) Just Eric (accompanying Field and Stream); and, 3) Visiting SWH3/Larrikins members who moved to Asheville: Sesame Creep and his wife, You’ve Zen F*cked
Late-Cummers: Bukkake
The rest of the Pack: Gockel Stumper; Mutant Gene; SeeNoEno; HearNoEno; Slow Hole; Just Bart; Bullysticks; Just Guy; Rod n Staff; Endangered Feces; In my Otter Ear; Panties in the Hood; ButtParking Device; A$$ Clown; Comfort
Photo Album:
Below is Flickr.com’s photo album for the Tarheel Hash 688. The photos and captions complement the summary, taking us through neighborhood streets and shiggiful sections, summing up this month’s trail. Be sure to hover your mouse over the bottom of each photo to read the captions!
https://www.flickr.com/photos/147890119@N04/albums/72177720330224231/
Summary:
Circling Near the Big Oak
On our first hash of fall this year, the trees still clung to their leaves, and those gold-russet autumn colors had yet to appear. The hashers arrived, slowly at first, then more rapidly, in greater numbers. This street was riddled with “No Parking” signs because Eno River enthusiasts once crowded the neighborhood by parallel parking here, drawn by the swimming hole nearby. Fortunately, a parallel street allowed parking, and the hashers didn’t seem to mind the short walk. After the crowd seemed complete, we hares checked our watches and decided it was time to circle up. With the call to circle, our guests gathered near the large oak tree standing beside the neighbors’ stockade fence.
We had a couple of “Newbies”: Just Eric, Field and Stream’s partner, and Just Justin, with partner Just Margo, who began hashing last spring. We also had a visiting couple from Asheville—Sesame Creep and his wife, You’ve Zen F*cked. Mr. Cream Jeans and I first met Sesame Creep years ago at a Sir Walter’s hash when he showed up for the first time. He had just enrolled in a Parks and Recreation academic program, so we named him “Sesame Creep”—since recreation parks are naturally associated with children, and Sesame Street remains one of the world’s most influential children’s TV shows. A few years later, we saw him again—this time with his lady—at a Larrikins’ campout, where they stayed in a cleverly designed mobile home converted from an old school bus, an innovative choice that suited them perfectly. Eventually, they moved to Asheville, and when they appeared at our hash, it had been ages since we’d last seen them.
With some trepidation, I asked Zen if they were okay after Hurricane Helene ravaged their town a year ago. It was a relief to hear their hilltop home had been spared from flooding, unlike those on lower terrain. Now, with their three youngsters visiting the grandparents, they were taking time off for a hiking trip. Still devoted to hashing, they naturally joined our pack once they learned about our event. Fantastic!
As is routine before heading out, it was the hares’ cue to highlight trail features and give instructions. One of us asked the group if anyone had questions about the trail symbols, but aside from a few low mumbles, none were raised. Since both Sir Walter’s and Carolina Larrikins’ hashers were invited, and none voiced confusion, it seemed hashing had taken on a universal language—any unfamiliar mark could surely be interpreted by a nearby hasher.
Traces of History with Dubious Future Plans
Once the trail was previewed and the guidelines given, the hashers set off without delay. Their shoes crunched on the driveway gravel as they trundled uphill to the road, following dollops of flour toward the end of the street. A Check-Back turned them around, guiding them to a gap in the trees where a mark lured them into the woods. From there, they continued downhill toward the Eno River, then followed a path above those closest to the water.
Some trails along the Eno had remained closed for extended periods after Tropical Storm Chantal caused major flooding in Durham, with the river rising to record-breaking levels.
Trail continued onto a wider path skirting the “Amphitheater”—a gently sloped grassy bowl often used for volunteer parking during the annual July 4th festival. From there, marks redirected the hashers downhill along a gravel stretch, then onto a rocky road, across a small concrete bridge, and past a parking lot near a busy road.
Across the road lay a quaint neighborhood, charming in its resilience. Trail passed only through the portion spared from Chantal’s damage—the rest would have been too disheartening to see.
A narrow street exited the neighborhood, passing apartments before intersecting with a wider road. Across that road, dense growth opened to reveal a sewer line, with woods to the left and a creek running parallel. On the right side, however, stretched an 18-acre parcel of land slated for residential and commercial development. Though it’s been approved, the project remains in planning, with construction still months or years away. It’s easy to imagine how nearby residents feel about such looming change.
The uphill trek along the sewer line proved a pleasantly uneventful passageway, leading to an attractive community of split-level homes shaded by tall trees—a convenient thoroughfare to a busy road not far from the Beer Break.
As one of the hares, I stayed back to arrange crock pots, serving dishes, plates, cups, and flatware. Then I hurried to my desk at the other end of the house to finish preparing labels for the different dishes.
I had just reached a good stopping point when I heard someone calling through the back door: “Is anybody here?” I hurried to welcome the latecummer, Bukake, who had parked on a different street. I directed him to the one running parallel to ours, then gathered the labels and returned them to the kitchen before he came back.
Once he returned, we jumped into the car and drove to the Beer Break—a spot chosen spontaneously earlier that day while marking trail. It lay across the street from the originally designated location, but its easy access and plentiful foliage for privacy made it a no-brainer. Besides, we wouldn’t be disturbed, since it sat beside an empty athletic field once used by a relocated school.
Turning right onto a gravel entryway from the main road, I pulled into the space where we would wait. For discretion, I decided to back in—after all, the rear hatch was where the hashers would help themselves once they arrived. A quick three-point turn eased us into the cozy nook, conveniently surrounded by bushes and trees.
It would have been perfect—except for the old truck parked in front of the playing field, about 500 feet away. We waited, holding our breath, for the driver to appear, climb in, and drive off before the hashers arrived. A few minutes stretched into what felt like an eternity, but at last the driver returned, departed, and we could breathe again.
We opened the doors and stepped outside for some fresh air. I popped the hatch and invited Bukake to have a drink and some chips. Before long, the hashers found us and descended upon the open hatch, reaching into the cooler for refreshments, then easing into the comfortable hiatus before the trail’s next phase.
As cans popped from the cooler, Mr. Cream Jeans pointed out a couple of fallen tree trunks etched with serpentine marks. Intrigued, we examined them more closely. The cursive trails, as it turned out, were the handiwork of wood-boring insect larvae—most often from eggs laid in bark or outer wood by bark beetles or carpenter worms. We had never seen anything quite like it. The bark had chipped away to reveal these oddities, reminding me of North Carolina’s ash tree blight caused by the Emerald Ash Borer, another invasive beetle. An ash tree in our yard perished that way, forcing me to hire someone to cut it down and grind the stump. The only silver lining was this: Mr. Cream Jeans and I would have fewer leaves in front to rake since there are now four trees there instead of five.
It may have seemed too soon when Mr. Cream Jeans called out, “Drink up!” But, the sooner everyone resumed following the marks, the sooner they would reach trail’s end—and find pots of soup with an assortment of sides waiting in the kitchen.
So, with no further ado, the hounds crossed the street into a patch of woods where dollops on trees guided their way. Two of the hares swept behind to ensure nobody strayed. A clearing revealed a stub-out into a neighborhood of asphalt roads and homes, each one distinct from the next.
The final stretch of road ended at an intersection dominated by a large construction site. A temporary fence bordered the site, while the opposite side remained thick with trees. Marks led the hashers into the arboreal section, continuing until a wide path appeared. That path transitioned into the neighborhood where they would return to the starting point and enjoy the Après.
From Marks to Merriment - Where Trail Ends, the Spread Begins
After the hashers departed from the Beer Break, I drove back to the house to tweak the spread and place labels beside the corresponding dishes. Two crockpots, side by side, warmed soups from recipes both old and relatively new: a nondairy creamy carrot soup pureed with white rice and spiced with curry, ginger, and cumin. Beside it was duck soup: meat simmered in stock with onions, tomatoes, salt, and pepper, with barley for texture. The sandwiches were actually ‘roll‑ups’: flour tortillas filled with tuna and pimento cheese, Italian lunch meats, or sliced turkey with cream cheese, julienned carrots, and poultry seasoning. Other sides, like chips and salsa, rounded out the meal and Mr. Cream Jeans’ chocolate chip cookies were a sweet conclusion.
Cups and paper plates were arranged beside the napkins and flatware, and I watched the clock, knowing that the hashers would soon be back. One of the first to return was Endangered Feces, asking where the ‘On In’ was marked—or noting that it hadn’t been marked at all. How would the rest of the pack figure out where the trail had ended? Despite my oversight, the crowd gradually returned, and as they gathered—popping open cans and swapping stories—it was clear they had all found their way back with ease and were ready to relax with drinks on the deck.
After the chatter had continued for a while, Mr. Cream Jeans got everyone’s attention, encouraging them to come inside and help themselves to the food selections. Hashers were asked to remove their shoes first, and then they wandered in, slowly at first, but with the door opening more frequently, the combined aromas of warm soups and cool sandwich platters drew them in like a magnet.
Transitions between introductions, trail, and the Après were tied together by camaraderie as the constant. In a world where change is the only certainty, it is reassuring that hashing continues to thrive, even as traditions morph and grow. With Autumn’s arrival, hashing’s enduring spirit is certainly worth celebrating!
Acknowledgements:
Photographers
Gockel Stumper and Mr. Cream Jeans sent some incredible photos! Gockel Stumper captured some notable sections of trail to allow any viewer to experience it. Mr. Cream Jeans also helped a great deal, snapping photos of the hashers as we circled near the big Oak tree in our backyard. Thank you both for helping me complete the Flickr.com photo album for this event!
Hares:
As one of the hares, I want to express my appreciation to Mr. Cream Jeans and our friend SpeakNoEno for helping us on short notice. Mr. Cream Jeans was instrumental in crafting the trail and setting up the flour with chalk for the three of us to carry as we marked the trail. SpeakNoEno marked many of the checks that he and Mr. Cream Jeans decided on. Me? I was there too, smearing flour on the tree trunks and laying down a few check marks.
For the On-After, my partner Mr. Cream Jeans planned the menu and helped me prepare the refreshments, and I had fun setting up the spread while hashers were out seeking dollops. I’m so glad we invited hashers from Sir Walter’s and Carolina Larrikins to join us because including them made this event all the merrier! Thank you again, SpeakNoEno and Mr. Cream Jeans, for being such exceptional hares.