This past Tuesday night, my good friend, Brian, and I ventured out into the nearby woods. We trudged through brush alongside a creek that runs along the bottom of a hillside. It’s an easy path to follow, after walking down my road just 200 meters or so you divert north along the stream. This time of year, late May, the scene takes on a completely alternate persona than the last time we headed out this same way. Over Easter break, just after returning from a trip to California we set up our hammocks, strewn from the very same trees. During that time of spring the creek was still running high from the remnants of the melted snow and the ground was bare, exposing the rotting leaves from the previous season.
We made our way through thick brush, wide ferns and dense shoots of young plants. The stones and damp, brown leaves that covered the ground earlier in the year were no longer visible. The creek was running much lower, even though the area had some rain the day before. Once we found the spot, we left it to our experience to trust that the hammocks would be set up properly. Luckily, both Brian and myself are fairly well adept to the procedure. By the guidance of our headlamps we set up the hammocks, mine strewn directly across the creek between two large trees with about thirteen feet between them. Brian’s hammock set up just upstream from mine between two trees on the western side of the creek.
Crawling into my bug net, jumping and maneuvering onto my hammock has become instinctual. Where I once may have fallen off, I now stay balanced and can move freely with all the expectations that the nest will not turn over. Although the canopy was heavy, the moon was able to tease me through the breaks in the branches. The faintness of the light and the slow trickle of water cradled my soul and rested my body.
The morning arose earlier than I, much like a baker awaiting their customers. A new song emerged from all directions, with no harmonic balance, save for its completeness and totality, a maestro and a mother; Nature, left no void in her song. Every lark sung its most sensuous tune. Every creature could not resist the temptation to let its presence be known, the forest was alive. The trees stood proud, proud that they were singing the songs of the birds, for the birds rested upon their branches and were thus one. The birds flew between their brothers and were thus one.
The time came and our packing began. Out through this new wondrous land, we would take a different path. Through new ferns and fallen trees, a trail-less course would provide our way. We parched past a hunter’s stand; left empty on this day, for the “season” of allowance has not yet come. Sitting and waiting with one’s piece of armory, a silent spectator until the kill is in range. An empty stoop means a free place to roam, both for the wild ones and for myself. We continued on through rough clearings that appeared suitable for a deer’s bedding. Turning, as the trail petered out, we took up the trampled stone wall, once separating the vast fields now covered by dense forest. A new field made its presence known through the thicket of brush and, realizing the marker, we followed its edges to a corner where a trail began. This one was well traveled or at least dug into enough by an all terrain vehicle that the growth of new life had been halted. Walking around its soft bends we continued until the visage of humanity protruded in the form of a white, vinyl-sided house. A black tarp served as a fort of sorts for the children and was submerged into woods, just past the break in the tree line. The family dog was not shy about revealing our presence.
In an effort not to disturb the canine, we walked the edges of the home, along the trail, until it left us at the edge of a steep hill with thick brush or a small trail leading to the edge of the yard. Being a resident of the neighborhood, I figured it easiest to keep to the perimeter of the yard, deal with the consistent yelps of the dog and make it to the road that leads shortly back to my home. Well, just before reaching the point parallel to the back of the house a woman emerged from the back door with a cautious, angry demeanor, suggesting a lecture in our near future. I cannot blame the woman for her nervous reaction, indeed, according to her we were on her property. Did a barking dog not give us a clue, she asked? Of course, I thought to myself. However, were the dog of any harm it could easily have taken action much earlier. Not until the women walked through the door did the dog have the balls to begin coming within ten feet or so and even then it was simply teasing with little nips in between barks. Our backpacks and sleeping paraphernalia showed we were not a couple of terribly menacing kids. She asked if we knew who’s property we were on and my quick response led me to say, Camp Echo’s; a summer camp that’s just through the woods. She thought it was someone else’s. It didn’t matter though. She just warned us that we shouldn’t pass through people’s yards, etcetera, etcetera. Calling her dog to her side, we were allowed to continue on our way home. Thinking to ourselves, both Brian and I were sorry that this encounter had to happen so early. We commented to each other that there was fundamentally nothing wrong with what we were doing. I thought to myself that we were not on anyone’s property for the land cannot be owned, especially by such beings as mortal as mankind. Why must we divide and create sections, rules by which define our boundaries. Are these folks not neighbors of mine? Should a neighbor welcome one another, rather than ridicule them for not obeying the rules?
I did not say anything to the woman about these thoughts and I only briefly discussed them with Brian; he had to get going, but would have surely been a good person to discuss them with. It may not be something to share with everyone, for it most definitely does not abide by the constructs that we have come to live by. It saddens me to think that so many people live in such a different way, they see the world in pieces. Although it heartens me to know of so many people that are so close to me who experience things in similar ways. We may just have these experiences for brief moments, but we hold on to them forever and recognize that they are not to be thrown away as fairytales and dreams, but are just as real as anything else we experience. I cannot wait to meet others who know and understand these ideas. I cannot wait to meet those who are open to experiencing this, for they have only experienced a doubt in their current mode of being. I cannot wait to possibly inspire another in a way where they can now go forth into these experiences. For now I will continue to type, drink my coffee, occasionally snap pictures of mon chat and stare back at the statue gargoyle sitting across my yard.
