Once home, I felt it a waste of a perfect day to return to the dark basement in which we live, so, I packed my bag with a journal and water, grabbed my camera and headed out to the woods: up the gravel road, quick left turn, down into the pasture lane, and the woodland edge. And paused. The small red squirrel, which I have named Charlie, crouched on a log, alert and distrustful of my presence. Charlie voraciously scolded me for my intrusion before scampering away, along the log, up a tree and out of sight. I revel in the few moments Charlie allows us to share. I wonder about Charlie’s personhood and life. Male or female? How does Charlie spend the days? Which of these trees are Charlie’s home? Does Charlie have a family?
Onward, stepping over logs, trying not to trip on branches, avoiding the clutches of brambles and gooseberry bushes, I pushed further into the greening woods. The white blossoms of wood anemone, Anemone quinquefolia, shimmered in shafts of sunlight. The name Anemone comes from the Greek word for “wind”, the thin stalk flutters in the wind. Purple violets dappled the forest floor. Tufts of bright green sedge or grass paint the ground of a small clearing. Last year’s leaves crunched underfoot. A bumble bee buzzed between blossoms. I followed the weaving deer trail along the valley floor, then crossed a shallow and narrow gully, and began to climb up the eastern hill. Ducking under low branches, threading through closely spaced trees. Gray squirrels chittered in the green speckled branches above. I paused to marvel at the peeling paper of a birch tree, the baby leaves on the trees and shrubs around me. Early May is a fabulous time to be in the woods; there’s so much to look at and so much wonder! My eyes shift between looking upward into the branches and back down to the ground — how can there be so many delightful shades of green? Hiking with Jesse had been amazing and restorative but I needed the further tonic of hiking alone. My soul soared upward. The cloud shifted further away; would its retreat last longer this time? It felt different than in years past. Like maybe it was finally losing its power over me.
I crossed over small ravines, using logs as bridges, scrambled up rocky ramparts, nodded a hello to the random metal folding chair, squeezed between tree trunks, and halted to greet a chipmunk. It was less than hospitable, throwing a string of invectives over its shoulder as it scurried across the limestone rock formation and disappeared. The woods positively glowed, viridescent in the late afternoon sun. Wild strawberry plants peeked out from among the crusty brown leaves carpeting the ground. I made one final climb before, plunging down the bluff, gaining speed, nearly tumbling down the steep slope to the dry, rock floored waterway. Although I missed the cascading water, ambling along the large, flat stones was still thrilling. A pool of water nestled between some rocks toward the bottom. How could I ever return to the daily routine of milking cows? How could I leave the sunlight, technicolored woods for the dimly light, dark basement? If only I could earn a steady income from being in the woods. If only Jesse and I could build our own house – I daydream often of the perfect abode. Every now and then, I stoop or squat down, snapping so many photos of so many intriguing things.
Departing the pretend stream, I climbed the bluff ahead, gasping for breath, my calves aching from the steep angle. For me, the route has to be a bit challenging to be enjoyable. (Although, I do wish I had better lung capacity.) Other than the proximity to the road below, I delight in this bluff side. The fragrant scent of eastern white pine trees soothes my soul. — Research has shown pine trees to have aerosols that increase our physical and mental health, which makes sense being how calming it is to be among these coniferous trees. Last year’s golden needles blanket the ground. I bent down to pick up a handful, brought it close to my nose and took a big, medicinal whiff. Wood anemone and hepatic seemed to enjoy the comfort of the pine needles too. A clump of moss was getting ready to release spores. Further along, a shooting star, Dodecatheon pulchellum, stops me in my tracks. I had never seen one of these funky upside down flowers before. One of the most enthralling things about roaming the woods is meeting new acquaintances and learning more. And Dutchman’s breeches too. Oh, what a delight! I bent down to examine wild ginger plants, but they weren’t flowering yet.
I shuffled down the ravine and scrambled up the other side. But rather than walking along the man-made trail, I stayed further down the slope, my feet slipping on the loose, steep ground. I paused between a couple of small logs to examine what at first I thought was animal scat but upon closer investigation, I realized it to be a fungus – Dead man’s fingers, Xylaria polymorpha. The black oblong fruiting bodies didn’t resemble fingers to me. But what an exciting find! I struggled to keep my feet from sliding long enough to take a good photo. I wonder what other treasures lay hidden on the vertiginous bluff, where I don’t dare tread? – Although, I have a strong desire to do so, perhaps by sitting and scouting down to minimize any injuries if I were to begin to slide. Sometimes, my thoughts wander toward the darkness in these moments when weighing the risk of some exploration or other. If I fell in the woods and got seriously injured or knocked unconscious, would only one notice I was missing? Would my married family even care beside me missing a milking. Then, the thoughts become even darker: perhaps it would be better for everyone if I fell, hit my head and died – at least Jesse would receive a life insurance payment. Thank God, literally for bursting through this smothering cloud of depression, reminding me of my worth and value. I am loved! Jesse would be so broken, though most days I don’t think his mom would care if I lived or died. My mom, siblings, niblings, uncles, aunts, cousins, and plenty of non-biological family, and friends would be deeply affected. Most people in fact adore me — sometimes I have no idea why — and those who don’t usually have a lot of their own undealt with issues, they tend to be prickly people. And perhaps my writing will find its way into someone’s hands, and mind, helping them through whatever they’re struggling with. Thankfully today, the cloud is no longer hovering so close and dark over me. There is the beginnings of a lightness in my step that hasn’t been there before.
Pondering my next move, I decided to keep picking my way westward across the steep slope rather than scrambling up the few feet to the trail. A fresh perspective can be a very good thing. Last year’s leaves crinkled underfoot, my feet slipping once in a while in the loose, rich humus. A smattering of anemones, whitish pink and cheerful lifted the corners of my mouth. Spring is such a gift. (Even if it leads to summer craziness.) I approached a rocky rampart, the pages of millions of years of history visible. Standing on the top, as close to the age as possible, I have often pondered going down alongside and around it — curiosity I suppose, and a desire to explore every inch of new territory I am able. And perhaps a bit of an urge for some gentle risk taking. Examining it closely, I discerned what may be a deer trail, and a spot that I could negotiate carefully and make it down. Today felt like a good day to be alive and adventures. Using my hands almost as much as my feet, crouching low, I picked my way down along the limestone outcropping. My heart speeded with exhilaration. Rounding the northwest corner, the bluff drops away more abruptly, the drop further down, I perched on a narrow strip. I inched along, going down a little further. I searched for a way down to the rocky scree at the bottom of the hill, thinking I could use a small tree as a handhold. Part way down, I realized the bluff was taller and steeper than I thought. If I managed to get to the tree, I would be stuck; it could be more than a ten foot drop from there. Slowly, I crawled back up the loose soil, mindful of every hand and foot placement. It may have been an unwise decision, but I tingled with the thrill of the challenge. I climbed up the other side of the rock outcropping. (It would have been easier if I hadn’t been trying to protect the camera around my neck.)
Anemone blossoms painted the hillside. My breath caught at the sight, and my heart lifted upon the heights. Photographing my way along the edge of the bluff, I gradually arrived by my dear white pine tree friend. I inhaled deeply the piney aerosols, which wrapped me in a comforting embrace. I unslung my backpack, and sat, leaning my back against this beautiful being. I pulled out my journal, and poured out some traumatic memories of sexual abuse. A slow sprinkle began, then torrents, enough water to flood the huge ravine below. Sometimes, even I am taken aback by how much pain I carry. I had long struggled about writing a book on the subject, but then I felt an urging from God, it was time and my story needed to be told. By revisiting those painful memories and recording the hurt, shame, and guilt, I could release it all over to God and maybe, just maybe I would be free from it. Who knows how many other people need to hear it to allow them to confront their own pain and heal. Despite the tears, it felt good to journal; and I couldn’t have picked a better location, the trees surrounded me with support and encouragement. Time slipped away. The sun sat a little lower above the opposite bluff. A coyote sang. Another answered. Curious, it seemed too early in the evening yet for them. I replaced the journal and pencil into my backpack and continued on my trek.
God and the woods continued to bless me with small delights. The maroon blossom of wild ginger, fascinatingly located low on the short plant. Orange ear mushroom, a paint splotch submerged in dirt. Vibrant green moss getting ready to reproduce. A mushroom sprouting from a tree, looking like deliciously browned rolls. Ostrich ferns glowing in shafts of sunlight, their fiddleheads still slightly curled. It felt like a gathering place for fairies. Tufts of sedge. Tucked between these green hummocks, a small antler. I used to never find these but always desired to, now I have found several. I picked it up to bring home, delighting in its smooth texture. A fresh dryad’s saddle mushroom also came home with me. My slow wandering back homeward brought me to the ruins. I caressed the stones that once housed someone, but didn’t linger like I sometimes do. I ambled down the slope toward my tree bridge. Without hesitation, I stepped onto it and walked across — part way, I realized I was doing it, I had never walked on it before only scooted across. What has changed? Perhaps years of daily yoga has improved my balance, although I have always had good balance being quite short. Perhaps my self- confidence has increased, my fear fading. Whatever the change, it felt electrifying! On the other side, a small skull nestled in the leaves, a raccoon or possum perhaps. Trudging up the bank, I paused to take in a jack-in-the-pulpit, they’re just so cool looking. My soul lingered in the clouds along the pasture and driveway, some unexplainable excitement began to rise inside — a happiness and longing to do more. Slowly, this idea of teaching has begun to grow inside me. Where’d it come from? Public speaking terrifies me, and yet… No teaching a traditional classroom setting, and without a set curriculum. About nature and perhaps literature. Reaching out to people, connecting them to nature. What am I supposed to do with this?
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