A Nod to Robert Frost

A tree oddity on the trail behind the house

I found this essay I wrote back in 2006. With the forecast of warmer weather ahead, I anxiously await to once again walk in the woods....

Around 2 pm, I felt this overwhelming need to be outside. I felt confined, restricted and struggled to be. So I put on my hiking boots and along with water and cell, I set off. Once on the trail behind the house, I walked a long familiar path. Logically I knew I would not reach my favorite destination, a grove of paper birch, but familiarity drove me down the now branch-spewed way. I stopped, observing the houses, fences and brush piles that kept me from my beloved birches. I turned around and retraced my steps to another familiar path. Again, I was rebuffed by houses and fences. My beloved woods, once a maze of intersecting deer trails that led to hundreds of acres of trees, now felt as constricted as my house.

I cried silently, wanting to escape this human invaded area. In time, even this parcel of wildness would be gone, replaced by more overgrown houses with fences.

In frustration, I took a less know trail. Thinking it circled quickly back home, I walked over its undulating geography. Instead of houses, I found myself walking deeper into the woods. The bright blue sky was shrouded by the tree canopy. I could hear the distant sound of traffic but no sign of humanity.

Frequently I came upon crossroads- adventures for another day. The wide trail narrowed to a single track. Soon I came across a utility right away. I felt unsure of my location as there are no overhead lines in my neighborhood. How far had I walked?

The trail darkened again through a grove of cedar. From a tree top, there was the familiar scolding from a red squirrel. Was it one of mine that I released years earlier? I congratulated the squirrel on his diligence in protecting his home and moved on.

I turned a corner and found myself on a wide sandy road. Marking the trailhead with a branch in case I had to backtracked, I turned left and started up the sandy trail. Walking in tire tracks, I saw the fresh footprints of another walker. Stepping my foot beside the track, I found it larger than my own. I am not afraid of the woods with all its inherent dangers, but definitely afraid of meeting a man in this isolated, unknown place. I turned on my cell.

The sandy trail gradually climbed and in the open, I grew warm from the sun. It soon became apparent that I had found the sandy right away that connected to my neighborhood. In a short time, I was back on the street and on my way home.

The constriction that drove me outside had subsided, as did the sadness that arose when confronted by human sprawl. Yet I sensed a loss of place here and a fear that eventually this small piece of nature will soon be gone.

In these waning days of summer, I feel a foreboding of a cold and sterile future. Not the frostiness of winter, but the irreparable destruction of the natural world.

Despite these emotions I take comfort in the harsh chatter of my red squirrel friend, the numerous tracks of deer hooves upon the trail, the blue sky, white fluffy clouds, and the rustling leaves. And pray for wisdom – wisdom for myself and all my fellow people, wisdom to recognize and cherish the precious gift of wildness given to us.