I’m thinking of how to approach the
wild lands, the forest, now that my mind has changed on the matter of who is
there. Questions arise which didn’t exist before.
As a child I never gave that question a thought. I grew up near a forest comprised mostly of alder, it’s what grows after the first growth firs are gone. And they were long gone. We had maples, a few small cedars, and one mystical white birch, ghostlike, deep in the forest where I alone, of us kids, walked.
If I had thought about it, I think I might have considered the forest a kind of a no man’s land, random, unclaimed, open. It wasn’t really all that wild, but to a child’s eyes it looked like total wilderness. There were other times when I was older. I don’t know exactly what I thought I was doing.
I remember threading my way through underbrush. There were huckleberries, the red kind, and salmon berry bushes too. Where there was sunlight reaching the ground, such as in a bit of clearing, there would be those low-growing blackberry vines. I received many scratches on my ankles from those vines, but the berries were worth it.
I was familiar with salal bushes, and Oregon grape shrubs. Then there were ferns, at least two varieties. Tall grasses grew too, up to my should sometimes.
There were four of us. As I have said, I was the oldest. I don’t remember the younger ones walking into the far parts of the forest as I did. I would be several miles from home, and no one knew where I was.
I never felt alone. I don’t remember being afraid. If I had been afraid, I wouldn’t have gone out there. I was never told not to go.
I knew there were some animals in the forest. And of course there were birds. There was one with a call that sounded like trickling water to me. I never learned who it was
I liked to find a place to sit and then be silent and as still as a part of the forest until the creatures forgot I was there. I met something like a fisher or a weasel once. He was sleek, small, brown, and slithery. The birds would forget me too, and I would see them near. I feel as if I must have been still enough to meet a forest person. Perhaps I was seen. I wouldn’t be a bit surprised. Maybe she had pity on my youthful blindness, or maybe he watched over me. I wouldn’t be surprised at all.
Oh, there were many times of visiting other forests later in life, but not with the intimacy of childhood years. My visits were unfailingly pleasant, though. Usually I was accompanied by a daughter, or my son.
Things are different now. Now, I know that someone could be there. Is there a shadow of apprehension? Or just a nervousness about meeting someone who is not supposed, by the common mind, to exist. Maybe so.
It may be that preparation is a process.
I never documented a moment of my time there, as Ms. Ash suggests, unless my memories serve as a kind of documentation.
When the weather improves, I can foresee some visits being made, but with awareness.
If any of you were near me, you could come too!
As a child I never gave that question a thought. I grew up near a forest comprised mostly of alder, it’s what grows after the first growth firs are gone. And they were long gone. We had maples, a few small cedars, and one mystical white birch, ghostlike, deep in the forest where I alone, of us kids, walked.
If I had thought about it, I think I might have considered the forest a kind of a no man’s land, random, unclaimed, open. It wasn’t really all that wild, but to a child’s eyes it looked like total wilderness. There were other times when I was older. I don’t know exactly what I thought I was doing.
I remember threading my way through underbrush. There were huckleberries, the red kind, and salmon berry bushes too. Where there was sunlight reaching the ground, such as in a bit of clearing, there would be those low-growing blackberry vines. I received many scratches on my ankles from those vines, but the berries were worth it.
I was familiar with salal bushes, and Oregon grape shrubs. Then there were ferns, at least two varieties. Tall grasses grew too, up to my should sometimes.
There were four of us. As I have said, I was the oldest. I don’t remember the younger ones walking into the far parts of the forest as I did. I would be several miles from home, and no one knew where I was.
I never felt alone. I don’t remember being afraid. If I had been afraid, I wouldn’t have gone out there. I was never told not to go.
I knew there were some animals in the forest. And of course there were birds. There was one with a call that sounded like trickling water to me. I never learned who it was
I liked to find a place to sit and then be silent and as still as a part of the forest until the creatures forgot I was there. I met something like a fisher or a weasel once. He was sleek, small, brown, and slithery. The birds would forget me too, and I would see them near. I feel as if I must have been still enough to meet a forest person. Perhaps I was seen. I wouldn’t be a bit surprised. Maybe she had pity on my youthful blindness, or maybe he watched over me. I wouldn’t be surprised at all.
Oh, there were many times of visiting other forests later in life, but not with the intimacy of childhood years. My visits were unfailingly pleasant, though. Usually I was accompanied by a daughter, or my son.
Things are different now. Now, I know that someone could be there. Is there a shadow of apprehension? Or just a nervousness about meeting someone who is not supposed, by the common mind, to exist. Maybe so.
It may be that preparation is a process.
I never documented a moment of my time there, as Ms. Ash suggests, unless my memories serve as a kind of documentation.
When the weather improves, I can foresee some visits being made, but with awareness.
If any of you were near me, you could come too!
🍁
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