“The sign said “Wilderness Area” as we knew it would, and yet, we continued to gaze down at the impassable stream, hidden by snow, each of us wanting to cross over. These markers, put in place by the forest service, clearly laid claim to their assumption, that such a place had been delineated by experts, and/or bureaucrats. Yet, our claim, being there in the middle of winter, was of a more intimate nature. We lived here. This was our backyard. The hike up on spikes, with poles, followed a ski trail, an abandoned road, now a trail owned by federal designation. But only a handful, by observation, still used the way. The borderland where ordinary use, meets protected forest, remains fraught with contradictions. Our desire to visit trees always includes a wanting for more, for deeper penetration, and for the chance to meet native, sequestered beings at ground level, without interruption, or scientific commentary. Jennifer looked up. “Look at this”, she said, pointing to a group of yellow & white birch, mixed other hardwoods. I stared into the comely stand, bursting with tones of vitality and virtue. The outdoor room was silent, but for an icy snow, starting to fall, with a determination both rain-like, and musical. After our long climb, she delicately slumped to a kneeling position, into packed powder, ready to listen. This sense of waiting for something in the forest, could be called a conversation of sorts. I leaned on my poles, and took the moment, to catch my breath. Across the rugged valley, a precipice of spruce, perched below the high peaks. “I want to go there”, I said, repeating myself for the umpteenth time. “But not today... we couldn’t do it, today”, I added, stating the obvious. The dark clouds of imminent sleet, hung heavy on my words, as did the depth of a winter’s worth of unencumbered snow. The feel of all that snow, can be daunting, in the wilderness. One step further towards the hidden waterways ahead, could trap us, or our dog, in a hopeless morass of immobility. “Soule”, I said, vehemently, as she seemed poised to plunge down the hapless slope. What better companion, than a dog, named Soule. In these times between frenetic tasks, and endless conflict, who could guide us, if not Soule. But dangers lurk on all sides, for even the most innocent, and wisest, among us. Those who seem most sure of their position, and navigational prowess, can, in these times, none-the-less, be fooled. It is perhaps in the difficult conditions of literal survival, that our purest glimpses of reality, occur. And it’s come to that, have no doubt. No reliable power grid, or superior internet connection will safeguard our future, as earth dwellers of the highest caliber, which is what we are. Amongst ourselves, in small, unheralded ways, our humanity is to be tried. That old trope “unplug” is not a platitude anymore, it’s a directive. They’ve been playing us for a long time. Both Jennifer and I knew, when we’d had enough. “Shall we go back now?” she said. Or maybe I did, but we were of one mind. There was no point in proceeding into the “designated wilderness” for today. We weren’t equipped, but we would be, come spring. Soule didn’t really care which way we went, which cheered us. It was all about the adventure. “We’ll come back here, after things have melted, and make it up there,” I said. Jennifer smiled, and probably Soule did too, because she always smiles. Our beaten trail led back to a warm fire, and ample time to lay our plans for the future. In small steps, we retreated from an inhospitable place, no one knew we’d visited. Which is how it is, when you’re able to keep to your own counsel, and reject what makes no sense. The new snow covered all our tracks.”
