Saturday Morning | Hocking Hills, OH
I clocked out at 6 a.m. sharp. Another twelve-hour overnight at the nursing home. That kind of quiet that isn’t restful, just constant. Oxygen machines humming low, the soft shuffle of slippers down the hall, someone crying quietly two doors down. You carry it home in your bones.
But this morning was different.
I had Saturday night off. That’s rare for me but, I’d gotten my shift covered to go to the No Kings protest. Before that, though, I needed to move. Shake off the weight.
So I drove 35 minutes home, changed, got Luna ready, and hit the road again. For an hour and eleven minute drive to Hocking Hills. I played Stevie Nicks and music from that era the whole way. I tapped my fingers to the beat on the steering wheel. I left the windows down and let the wind and exhaustion fill the silence.
The Trail
We hit the Rock House Trail around 8 a.m. The trail is only 0.8 miles one way, but the drop is steep. Narrow paths. Stone stairs. Roots like ropes knotted across the dirt. Luna walked ahead, tail high, tuned in. I let her lead. I wasn’t in a hurry to return to anything.
Then the cave appeared.
Rock House.
A cavern carved into sandstone long, tall, ancient. 200 feet across, 25 feet high, with arched window-like openings that let light in sideways, soft and slow. Inside, everything goes still. You don’t just walk into the cave, you arrive. You become part of its silence.
PIGEONS!
Except for the pigeons.
A few families live there now. You can hear them cooing, echoing from inside the cave and outside the walls, like voices trapped in stone. It was surreal. Luna didn’t bark. She didn’t pull. She just stood and listened. So did I. You have to.
There are ovens carved into the walls, like something out of another life. Maybe people baked bread there. Maybe they hid. Maybe they prayed. This place has always belonged to those who needed it. For a few minutes, that included me.
We took the rim trail up and out. It was steeper, louder, full of light—but I welcomed it. Something in me was lighter too.
One last stop before home: donuts.
There’s a new place beside the Hocking Hills Diner everyone’s been hyping for their maple bacon donuts. Of course, they were already sold out.
The lady who owns the donut place told me to call ahead next time. She’d put some back just for me because I live an hour and eleven minutes away.
So I got a s’mores donut and a Buckeyes donut instead. I sat in the car with my boots still muddy. Luna curled beside me. I ate them like they were the thing I came for all along.
And maybe they were.
What actually happened next:
I missed the No Kings protest. My Lexapro and Wellbutrin look the same, and I ended up taking two Wellbutrin and no Lexapro by mistake. I stayed in bed all Saturday and Sunday. I called off work and slept until Monday. Then I went back to my shift.
Sometimes plans shift without warning. Sometimes the body demands its own kind of protest.
I hope you all are enjoying our many trips.
links Conkles Hollow Rim Permit only- Hocking Hills
Whisper to the void it might whisper back