Forest Portal
“What’s left of the snow cleaves to my heart, as if its melting is some remnant of my own dissolution. For dissolve, we must, as each day brings us whole, into a new paradigm, and a new reality. The confidence I had yesterday may linger, or not, as upon waking, I struggle to remember what my tasks will be, & which problems will be rising to be solved. I feel grateful for my employment, set up with its tools and trajectories, which I’ve won, over many hard years of substandard living. There are oddities, to be embraced, and losses, and then, perhaps on a good day, surprises, that warm the soul. But nothing is a given, not now, not here. The world is all a shambles around us, and from this, we must forge our own, unique, reality, each and every day. The loss I feel, for a neighbors foundered horse, its eventual demise, along with some triumph rising amongst those ashes, by now, can’t really surprise me. I am in mourning, alongside these incredible gifts which I continue to encounter. And so I will always hold fast, to the things that are bright, and comforting, on any given day. We texted briefly, and from there, we found ourselves clomping up a wood’s road, sketchy at best, but laden with clues. The back forty of any rural home, is never bereft of portals. Which is the modern term for land that shifts us, out of sync with what was bothering us, or dragging us down. You could also call it “taking a walk”. I think that’s fine. Why try to make things sound more grandiose, when they are already amazing? We don’t need to make things fit the current lingo. And without fancy gear, just a couple ill-fitting pairs of ice cleats, we headed uphill, thinking we might make it to the top. “Do you have any ... twine?” she’d asked, hoping to head off a situation. I did have twine, being a professional gardener, of course, I had twine. She roped up her boot, while I was having a second cup of coffee. It was not as if I had any more preparedness, according to official guidelines, for the back country. I was not in snow pants, at all, which would have been smart. No, I was not “flush” with any gear. I had that cocky approach. “This is basically my backyard”, I said. “What can go wrong?” Well, the Green Mountain National Forest, I will add in hindsight, is a place where things can go wrong. Not to alarm anyone, but nature is pretty wild. However, our aim for the morning was modest. Just a little exploration of some topography viewed on maps, which we hoped to pin down, & align with our imaginary concept of it. The initial ascent went well. Passing the run-down cabin, we began to see the criss-crossing tracks of local backcountry snow-boarders. “I think that’s probably Brian”, I said. She agreed. “Yeah, he took us up this way and I think this is near the place where I completely lost it”, she said. It had not been a good day, even for an accomplished skier, due to some miscalculation. It’s the woods. I know she could have easily run the glade on another day, but the challenge out here is often about not being on top of your game. I’m no skier. I just use skis to get myself in trouble. I see nothing wrong with walking in boots because I understand & appreciate plodding. I could say I was happy to plod, especially with the changing snow conditions, just about to tip the freezing point. The dogs were hyped to be messing around, and one had the Zoomies: the way they do, and you feel a bit nervous they’ll knock you off your feet, out of sheer joy. We had ski poles, and a slow demeanor. But it got a bit harder. Suddenly we were slipping, as the snow boarders old tracks veered onto truly steep terrain. I wasn’t comfortable. I didn’t have snow pants, as you will remember. Getting wet would not be so nice. We were close to an hour out. I hadn’t imagined going this far up towards the Long Trail. But it’s a mesmerizing forest. You see hills, hummocks, stands of conifers, stoic rises of land that seem to call for you to keep ascending. You might be right, that only a handful of humans ever went here. Past the pyramid of quartz crystal; the huge arm of a tree over-hanging a plunging ravine; the mound of prehistoric granite, covered in yellow birch.Who knows. It does make you wonder.”