9/23/13 ~ Journal entry
Sitting at a picnic table
Alone in the woods
Rocky Knob
Blue Ridge Parkway, VA
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Why do I like to be alone in the woods?
There are no expectations.
I think it is impossible for me to carry this mindset into life in the city. Expectations scream everywhere my eye and ear turn.
Was it Thoreau or Emerson who went to the woods? I'm thinking it was Henry David. Knowing me, I'm probably wrong. Maybe it was Ralph Waldo. For now I can make it up and say it was "Ralph David" or "Henry Waldo."
I wonder how old he was when he went to the woods? If I search and find "Why I went to the woods" will I finish reading it? It seems there is also a chapter entitled something like, "Why I left the woods."
I've never read Walden.
Regardless, I know I love the woods.
Sometimes I think I should burn every book I've written. I've written at least 13 journals, or in other words, books. Other times I think that I should maybe read through my journals, polish the prose a bit, and see what comes out. I could call it "Condensation."
I wish I still had my journal writings from my late teens when I found The Way. But I discarded those writings some years after I joined The Way; those writings were devilish to my true believer heart. I was to forgot the past, declare it null and void.
The Way. The Way. The Way.
Such a simple name. Such a complex subject.
A few weeks ago I bought a new-used bicycle. I've been able to ride it a few times. I've ridden nine-ish to twenty-ish miles each time.
Last week I had a rough week emotionally and physically. But the one day I was able to ride my bike was a good day. As I rode along the paved greenway between two giant fields of yellow and white and purple wild flowers amidst green stems and leaves and foliage and amber grasses that were tall and feathery and swaying in the breeze, I smiled. My heart felt a ray of hope.
This is my element. Here, in the fields, in the woods - this is where I feel at home, where I feel I fit. It is where I am supposed to be. Surely, surely, surely, I will get well enough to be able to backpack again.
My heart swelled with that ray of hope. Maybe it is false hope, but at least I felt hope.
Some six-ish miles later, still riding my bike on the greenway, not smiling now because I was having to work a bit harder and I was more aware of the pain in my hands and wrists and arms and knees and feet, the cursed neuropathy pain, I was especially cognizant of the pain I felt where my covered steel braces on each hand make contact with the handlebars. The neuroapthy pain is seldom intense; it's most often low-level pain. Yet, it is a constant companion, along with the weakness.
Aware of the pain, I thought of backpacking, especially of thru-hiking the Appalachian Trail. For a moment I felt the trail...the long monotonous miles, the pain in my feet and legs from hiking, the hassling rain, the barren aloneness in the green tunnel, the harsh and unforgiving elements of nature, the satisfaction of a day well hiked, the company of trail companions - other hikers from all over the world with whom a camaraderie is known without ever having to speak a word, the stories shared, the authenticity of being in the unforgiving woods. The woods only care about the woods.
I know the harsh and barren reality of a thru-hike. Yet I still want it, all 2184 miles.
And then, I cried, knowing the reality that my dream may remain only a dream. Sometimes I think it doesn't matter anyway - it's just a dream.
6 comments:
You describe your pain intensely Carol...the reader feels you anguish but that's fine...if you can't make someone feel when you write you probably have no business doing it.
You have written a number of times about your longing to hike the entire length of the Appalachian Trail knowing full well how harsh that would be even if you were not in pain. I'm certainly no psychologist but I wonder if your deep desire to conquer that trail has anything to do with your intense efforts to find meaning to the agonizing path life has led you down. I think it is even more important to conquer the demons in your mind than physically prove you can conquer an unforgiving road filled with potholes.
I think both Emerson and Thoreau spent time in the woods. I was raised in the country and no where did I find peace any where else as well I did all alone with no signs of civilization to be seen or heard. I was usually on the back of my horse instead of a bike, and I did lead him into the woods around our town quite a few times. I suppose it is inherent in all of us to want to revisit the places that brought comfort and eliminate those that caused anguish. .
Hoping you will someday realize your dream come true, snap on a backpack...and hike every one of those 2184 miles feeling no pain.
Your comment makes me pause ... and chuckle ... and smile.
I sometimes think of you when I think of horses. I really do. I know mostly about that part of your life because I read your memoir. Horses were my love as a child. Most the entire landscape has changed where I used to ride. The fields and pastures now grow half-million dollar plus houses. I have wonderful childhood memories with the ponies and horses.
As far as wanting to conquer the trail in order to find meaning to an agonizing path...hmmm. I don't know it that's it or not. To thru-hike the AT is actually a high school dream. Myself and two other folks vowed in high school (I think it must have been in 11th grade) to one day thru-hike the Appalachian Trail. I'm sure then (as now) it had to do with finding meaning.
I think too, it has to do with simplicity (which is not synonymous with ease) and carrying all one needs on their back...and maybe to prove some semblance of self-reliance.
Thanks for continuing to hope with me! Maybe I'll still be blogging when I realize that dream. *thumbsup*
Carol...My grandson stepped foot in Iraq on his 19th birthday because he wanted to find out what the Army was like from the "ground" up before he decided to make it a career. He was awarded, for his "meritorious" service, with a plaque and the flag flown over his base in is honor in Kirkuk on July 4th that year. He, will graduate an officer and an engineer from Texas A&M next August and continue his chosen path in life. There is no one I am more proud of. He is also a tri-athlete and pushes himself to the limits in every endeavor. I fully expect he will be a five star General some day.
He never told us what happened over there but every break he gets, he heads somewhere to the mountains, either alone or with a couple Army buddies, to backpack and he hikes some of the most treacherous mountain trails in the country. The photos he takes are awesome. He knows they make me shiver and he laughs.
Perhaps what you wrote about it having to do with simplicity, not synonymous with ease, carrying all one needs on their back, certainly does prove a semblance of self reliance. Go for the dream! It is attainable!
Carol, This is beautiful. Even though I have lived in a major US city, for over a decade, I grew up close to the Mississippi River in a rural area. Then we moved to a little bigger town than the rural one, but still a small town! However I was born in chicago, that's where both sides of my family are from. Immigrants who settled in the city. I think in some ways the city runs through my blood. I moved there after graduating college and spent several years living in the city. All of my extended family were there.
That said however, when I go to where I spent most of my childhood by the Mississippi, I walk the dike on the rivers, I feel...peace, wonder. I see the wildlife the river feeds, turtles, eagles, herons, fish, beavers, ducks, birds of all sorts..makes me feel in awe.
OTOH, The city does energize me. so many different people! You always hear different languages being spoken because of tourists. I kinda like that. Makes the world a small world and I like to go out of my way to ask a tourist if they need me to take a picture of them, because they are snapping photos and sometimes it's couples and I'll offer to take a pic of them together, you know? I think it's the humanity of the city I like.
Yet it can also drain energy because day in and day out, on your toes, always aware of your surroundings, especially a female. The city can be a dangerous place. then again, the country can too. Growing up by the Mississippi River I remember a boy in my class who drowned in it. The river was just about their backyard. Very sad memory.
Anyhow, I LOVE your writings. They make me think, feel (as Anna Maria mentioned) I am so glad that you felt HOPE! that is so so crucial to life I think. (I told you I'm reading A People's History of the United States by Howard Zinn, and it's like reading a holy book.) the slaves had no hope. The natives whose lands were taken had no hope..I thought of having no hope, what a devastating condition to be in. It made me so sad to think of those people, anyone who has no hope left. ((hug))
Keep hanging in there my friend. I'm so glad you have had some better days. I know your days are never pain free, but at least you are having improvement. I love you!
Thanks Anna. :-)
Wow about you grandson. He will have a lots of stories to share...and I'm sure already has. Did he inherit his Grandma's love of writing? :-)
I know those shivers. My son goes out on his fair share of dangerous terrain. But nothing could compare to Iraq on the ground. That really gives me shivers.
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Thank you April!
What a wonderful comment filled with painted pictures. You catch well the essence of the city and of nature. What a time we live in with the world so small and the ability to travel so quickly. Within a day, we can be on the other side of the world...if we have the cash or someone else does. ;)
Yes, history does help put things in perspective. It's weird to think that some day, this moment will be 200-plus-year old history. I wonder where all these blogs will be then?
I've had a hard time reading Zinn's book. I recall you and I discussed that...the difficulty of plowing through it and learning about what went on behind the scenes and with the common man and woman.
Much love backatcha!
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