This
coming Tuesday, November 17th, is a very special day that you’ve
probably never heard of, may never celebrate and may never think about again. I
hope you do, though. You won’t get presents, candy or a day off. If you even
asked anyone else what they were doing for it, they’d probably just look at you
and walk away.
Yet it
could be one of the most rewarding days you ever took the time to acknowledge.
Ever
hear of “Take a Hike” day? If you were to search it online, you’ll find it’s
vaguely mentioned here and there, often with jokes about whether it’s intended
as a day to wander a forest trail, or an open invitation to tell someone to
buzz off. Most folks, however, tend to settle on the former. It’s a day to
remind us all of the stark importance of, occasionally, parking the car,
foregoing the gym or mall and leaving behind our all important work, and
getting out there and spending a little time listening to what Mother Nature
has to teach us.
To
honor the occasion, I thought it would be nice to take you on one of my very
favorite hikes.
So, you
get out of the car and find yourself in a little parking lot at the edge of a
sprawling park. You head towards the nearest path. It leads you across a green,
grassy field, spotted here and there by loan trees and a bench or two. As the
field falls behind you, you reach the crest of a gentle slope, and beneath you
appears a scene of pristine beauty. A chuckling brook curves and bends through
a quiet ravine, towered on one side by lush forest, and the other by a sheer
precipice mottled by the layers of the ages.
Your
feet thump on the surface of a wooden foot bridge and you pause to look down
into the quiet, murky water and watch a pair of ducks float by. Both are an
unimpressive dingy brown with nothing special about them. Suddenly, one of them
rears up and flaps her wings grandly, showing off the shimmering patch of
luminous green on each. You have to smile. Lady mallards. Some of the most common
and beautiful ducks in the forest.
You
move along. You follow the winding, gravel path observing a sea of ferns and
other plants carpeting the forest floor on either side. Huge trees, way too big
for even the largest adult to wrap arms around, tower over all else in the
woods, as they must have been doing for an age. In some places, fallen trees,
slowly returning to the earth, play host to colonies of mushrooms or blankets
of soft, green moss. Deep in among the trees, you can hear the sweet, familiar
trill “chick-a-dee-dee-deeeee!!!!” And from further still comes the response “chick-a-deeee!!”
The air hangs heavy with the scent of over ripe high-bush cranberries.
At one
spot, you stop and poke your head through the branches, craning your neck. Down
the slope, long grasses and reeds are criss-crossed with the winding, curving
paths left by generations of beavers following the same trails since time
immemorial. Water trickles silently through the trails. You watch for the
little brown guys, but the only thing winding through the trail is a single
contented-looking Canada Goose.
The
water trickles on for quite a ways. You’ve seen, before, how it grows faster
and deeper until it’s a small river. And you’ve seen the beavers’ sturdy dam
beneath the third bridge. You know it must be sturdy because it’s been standing
there for as long as you can remember. They don’t wash away easily.
Perhaps
you’ll wind up down there, today, but for now there’s another old haunt you
want to visit. A place of unbreakable peace and tranquility, where nothing
seems to matter but this place at this moment in time. It’s a small observation
place. It’s little more than a modest square deck edged by a safety railing.
You
settle on the one small bench and listen, for a minute, to the
trickle-trickle-trickling of a stream that gurgles just out of sight down the
slope. Above, the occasional gentle flutter of robins' wings stir up the air.
Otherwise, all is quiet.
You
wait. Any moment. Just another minute and – Oh! Here they are!
A soft
little red-squirrel pit-patters his way onto your deck, hoping for a few seeds
or a nut or two. He patters this way and that, sniffing the air and running
that way again. When a second squirrel breaks out of the brush and onto the
deck also looking for a snack, the two break out in a bickering crescendo of
chatters and chirping that you’re sure can be heard half way through the park.
You’re
sitting on the deck floor, now, your hand held out, and full of sunflower
seeds. You’re hoping one of the creatures will take your offering, just so you
can be close to them. You half-watch as the squirrels chase each other in and out
of the bush, each determined to show the other who’s boss. But your attention
has also been stolen by some adorable little striped chipmunks darting easily,
and vertically, up and down the railing and, now and then, across the deck,
getting just a bit closer to you each time to see what it is you’re offering.
Finally, it gets close enough to grab a seed, and as he passes, you become ecstatically
aware of the tiniest speck of a cold damp nose brushing your arm followed by
the softest, furriest and tiniest of cheeks.
Then he’s
gone.
Take a
slow, cool, fresh breath, and enjoy “Take a Hike” day.
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