““I’m pretty sure this is not on their property,” I said, hustling us along the woods road, one eye shifting towards the shuttered house on the hill, curtains drawn, blinds down. Surely my map study from ten years ago would hold me in good stead ... and in a place so far off the beaten path, our traipsing go unnoticed. “That stream,” I continued, “winds down to Teacups, I think”. The day had dawned cold & clear, not like yesterday, when I’d traversed the same route in a snow squall, or two. We followed my barely visible foot prints, and luckily, the falling temperatures allowed us not to fall through the crust, to a deeper level of powder. Going abroad into the back country without snow shoes, or skis, is a rare day, indeed, not to be taken lightly, or without knowledge of the terrain. We passed through several fields in succession, each one rising slightly, aiming upwards, towards the abandoned farmstead. We explored the first outbuilding, weathered by time, looking lost, despite its obvious stature, indicating former usage. There wasn’t much to see anymore. Approaching the next turn and crest of land, an ancient maple stood stoically, unmoved by the small disturbance of our presence. A tree, among trees, but somehow, removed, surrounded by a felt veneration or by its own vast remembering. Something ahead, called us further, the shadow of a building, becoming slowly visible, crouched in the lee of the larger river’s tributary. I had seen it all yesterday, but somehow, as a duo, my friend and I were seeing it for the first time, again. This is how it is in the woods, the woods where things are largely, left alone. Landmark structures disappear, then reappear, without warning. “We’ve definitely passed through a portal,” she said, and I nodded, half in agreement, half in disbelief. It all looked undiscovered, as if the infrequent visits by humans were merely erased, then reset, to void zero. “I’d love to fix this up!” she exclaimed, as the stream gurgled “no”, and we poked around the back, peering thru a dusty window. “Sugar shack,” I muttered under my breath. But perhaps some enterprising soul had made it home, during brighter days. I’d once lived in such a world, where anything was possible. I could almost see the glimmer of youthful ignorance, and boundless joy, within its decrepit, sagging frame. The road curled up from here, steeper, manicured by winter, and hemlock branches, as if leading to a castle. “We’re almost there,” I said, panting in steaming bursts, while the way up became drudgery. On both sides now, the muffled sounds of water under ice followed us, our well placed access finding its way between double torrents of spring fed collection. We clung to our whited out highway, climbing, curious, and I wondered why it was so, that we were here, and not any others. Finally, the forest opened, and for no reason I could fathom, a fully appointed barn appeared, miles from nowhere, miles from electricity, miles from modern life. Well, I thought, I may never know why. This has to be okay. I wasn’t meant to solve all the mysteries, only some of them. Turning east, the enormous panorama of vaguely familiar mountains opened out, like a fan. Yesterday I’d arrived in a gray fog of wind driven precipitation, and thought I was 180 degrees opposite the very same view. I’d looked out, with excitement, perplexed by the odd feeling of not knowing anything about the place I call home. How could I have not seen these majestic, shrouded cliffs, as anything but miraculous. Strangely, they still were. Only reversed. I can’t explain how completely these occasional reversals can be when emerging from the woods to a vantage point, but in all honesty, there is a sobering slap to being turned around. “This is amazing”, she said. I was no where close to disagreement. Why should it be so invigorating, that when looking east, we decide to see west? And marvel at its sudden, unexpected beauty? I think at base level we all know, that the world is far, far more enigmatic, and powerful than we ordinarily allow ourselves to believe. And that believing is everything, and all that we have. ”
