That was me this morning. For the last three months, it has been one gut punch after another. Nothing huge. More like a water boarding session, where you're strapped down and that one stupid little drop of water keeps hitting your forehead. Drip... drip... drip... You can't move. You can't stop it. You can't do anything but lay there. I can handle the big things in life. It's the little, minor inconveniences and frustrations that send me over the edge.
I needed to work. I needed to go look at a couple jobs. I needed to do some things on the house we have on the market. (Don't get me started on that one. See minor inconveniences and frustrations reference above. Ok, it's not all been minor, but still.) I needed to do all those things, but I just didn't have it in me anymore. This week, I am at my limit. My breaking point. One more text or phone call that is less than stellar and I may just disappear into the woods.
Which is exactly what I did.
Hiking is my escape, my sanctuary. It's one of the few places in my life where I can get away from the noise and stress. It's also where I find hope, and I'll get to that in a minute. I hiked last Wednesday, and it was wonderful. Somewhere between 6-7 miles over right at 4 hours, but it's never enough. Today, I didn't know where I was going to go, but I knew I was going somewhere, so I tossed some snacks in my day pack, filled up my water bottles, grabbed my socks, (My hikers stay in the car) and took off to Land Between the Lakes.
I didn't actually hit a hiking trail, like I usually do. I've hiked almost every trail in LBL. Instead, I walked Jones creek for a while, came back to the car, drove down the road a piece, and walked an old abandoned and gated road. I knew the odds of running into any other humans back there was next to zero and that was exactly what I needed. I needed some fresh air, some quiet. I needed to hear the wind in the trees and listen to the birds and squirrels. I needed to just be alone.
Funny thing is, even when I am, I'm not. My thoughts never go completely quiet, and I'm never really alone. Pink Floyd was playing the soundtrack in my head, "I wish you were here," "Dark side of the moon," songs like that. Other worldly. Ethereal. Music like that can transport me to another place and time. Unlike some songs that make me want to drive fast, this made me want to slow down, and I just walked. I'd never been back there before, which is odd, since I feel like I've hiked pretty much every trail in LBL. This one road, though, I hadn't. There's an abandoned campground at the end of it, Cedar Bluff campground, and I spent some time wandering around it, as well. It was a beautiful walk. I can't really call it a hike because the road was paved all the way back, covered in leaves at times, but still paved.
And here is where the hope comes in. Don't laugh. I hike for the fresh air, yes. And for the solitude, exercise, quiet, and the sounds of the forest. But I'm also looking as I go.
See, here's the thing. With the world, and our country in the shape they're in right now, we all need something to hope for, to look for. We all need something to believe in, something bigger than we are. Maybe even something as yet undiscovered. Don't laugh. You have to promise.
For me, that's Sasquatch. You promised you wouldn't laugh! I know, I know. "But Jamie, be serious. You cannot believe that's real." Oh yes I can, and I do. At least I hope it is. How cool would it be to find out eventually that there is a species in our world that has existed just outside the range of discovery? Just living its life, totally unconcerned about the news, or social media? Just being... unstressed, unbothered? And that at a time in our history on this planet when we think we have all the answers and have it all figured out, there is this entity just hanging around in the background, saying, "Nah. You don't." I have to admit, I'm kind of jealous. I think that's why I love to hike so much.
I'm always looking as I go, watching the ground, looking up into the trees, checking each shadow, listening to every sound, hoping that there is a creature out that who has actually figured out what living is all about. Just be. Let the world do what the world is going to do, come with me, and just be. Damn, that sounds heavenly.
I guess, maybe, I could say I'm living vicariously through a mythical creature, but still I hope that one of these days, I'll round a curve in the trail, and there he'll be. Tall, stinky, unkempt, and not really caring about anything other than finding something to eat and a place to take a nap. Doesn't that sound nice?
I mean, since the Fall, humankind has had to work to eke out a living in this ol' world, but what if? We bust our tails for 40-50 years at work, finally get to an age where the government says we can stop working (even though they're trying to raise that age again,) but by then we're too dang tired to enjoy anything. Meanwhile, this mythical creature has spent the same number of years tromping through the woods, snacking on mushrooms and berries, and just not caring about governments, or pensions, or Fridays. It gives me hope that maybe I can figure out how to do that, too.
Yeah, I have the "Believe" stickers on the back of my car. I've experienced things in the woods that I can't explain. I've heard sounds that I've never heard before, and I've found bare footprints 6" longer than my boot, but I've never seen one. I may not. They may not exist. But what if?
See? It's not just about Sasquatch, Bigfoot, Yeti, whatever you want to call it. It's about anything that we don't understand but hope for anyhow. Waking up not stressed in the morning. I hope for that one of these days. Going to bed and not hurting all over. I hope for that. Seeing folks start being nice to each other again (Actually, it's easier to believe in Bigfoot than to believe that will ever happen.). All those things I may never see, but I still hope for them.
So, I hike... and look... and listen... and hope.
Last weekend, we were anchored out on the boat, and just as the moon came up over the trees, we began to hear these long, low howls in the distance. Maybe a mile away. My first thought was there were Bigfoot hunters afoot, making calls. Then we heard a second one, about a half mile away from the first one. And these creatures, whatever they were, one would howl and then the other would answer. For 20 minutes we listened to this in the dark. It was pretty cool. What was it? I don't know. I know what I hope it was. I know what it wasn't. It wasn't a coyote, or an owl, or a wolf. It wasn't a bear, or an elk, or bison. It wasn't a big cat. I can tell you what it wasn't, but I can't tell you what it was. I will say that I know what I hope it was, because, if it was, then my hope for all things is bolstered.
Laugh at me, if you want. I don't care. Then go hiking with me. You'll see.
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