As a child, I had walked the length and breadth of our three hundred-acre farm with my father. We traced back streams to their source and explored great cracks in the ridge's cliff faces that surrounded the farm on three sides. I had the run of my own massive playground where my imagination could be free to find magic and mystery. Still, I will never forget the memories of the first hike where I was alone, where I chose the path I strode, and where to wander.
I left on a mid-spring morning telling my mother I was going for a walk before closing the door behind me and starting on my journey. As I had many times before, I began walking to the old forest path that led from our house in the small village of Jacktown; to our family farm that sat nestled in the bowl of a river valley. Two great trees seemingly guarded the entrance of the beginning of the long forest path. Their great boughs, heavy with age, twisting together to form an arch of greenery. The morning was chilly, and mist drifted along the trail. The warmth of the coming sun would soon chase these whisps away.
The path followed the edge of the ridge and sloped down slowly into the valley. Sandstone boulders lined the right side and, while brush shielded the view of the left side, I knew from experience that the edge dropped away into a steep decline that would have anyone grabbing for roots and branches if they fell off the slope. I strolled down the path listening to birds twittering back and forth across the limbs of the trees. Warblers and Red Cardinals, Nuthatches, and brilliantly colored Blue Jays darted around me. The path began to become dry and cracked as I entered an area I had always called "The Ravines." The trail wrapped around a large area that dropped away sharply at least several hundred feet in smooth white clay hills. Erosion had caused the earth to stand in pillars topped with living cedar trees, the lowest areas filled with a heavy green moss. The mists smothered everything in blinding white for the moment, and I could not see what I knew lay far below. The soil became spongy, and grasses only sparsely inhabited this section of the trail. It was almost as if a little piece of the Mojave Desert had been brought and shoved into the usually green and shady forests of Ohio.
Walking to my right, away from "The Ravines" and into a tall stand of old-growth Cedar trees, I grasped a limb and pulled myself up to nearly the top of the great tree. I sat for a while, listening and watching, almost merging with my environment. The tree and the trees swayed slowly in the wind making long groans as they moved. In my mind, it sounded as if the ancient trees were having a conversation; slow, soothing, and melodic. A soft rain began to drizzle. I stayed dry in my little perch between the branches of the cedar, watching the world around me gain a glistening sheen. Thinking back, I must have sat in that tree for hours, merely observing. I would return many times over the years, only to sit and watch.
Finally, the rain stopped, and I lowered myself, sloshing through the now muddied ground. I walked back up the path and headed home. I had barely begun my walk but deciding my few hours in the tree, having sated my craving for wonder. Finally returning to the old red brick house and walking through the door and leaving my muddied shoes on the front porch, I let the front door close heavily behind me. "Did you commune with nature" my mother joked as I sat down to a hot bowl of soup she dished out for me. She would never know how right she was.
Looking back, I realized that this was the first time I had the chance to enjoy our farm's natural beauty on my own. After many years and many acres of the farm being parceled and sold, I still cherish its beauty and the time I was allowed to spend there in my life.
No comments:
Post a Comment