Take a Hike

It’s been our weekend tradition for the past few years that regardless of weather, the $15,000 golden dog and I venture out into the woods for some contemplation and solitude amongst the maples and ash and evergreen and holly.

Last weekend was no different, and the wee yellow bitch and I set forth on another mid woods adventure. This moon goddess has a knack for finding the trails that are a) full of ticks, b) under construction or otherwise prohibited and c) complete mud pits. We ventured on all three, and at about 45 minutes in, she stopped and sat.

I took this as her cue that the 75° shaded woodland landscape was too hot for her furry frame, and got her water out of my backpack to hydrate her, and my own for myself.

Now for anyone who has met Luna, you know that she is the dog with the heaviest chi. And when I say heavy, what I mean is that when she does not want to move, she has the ability to increase the effects of gravity on her 45 lb frame to the extent that it is impossible to remove her from the ground. You cannot pull, push, pick up, coax or move her by any other means, and she will only move when she damn well feels like it again.

So we stayed in a section near the pond for approximately 25 minutes while she rolled around on the ground and encouraged ticks to hop a ride on her yellow school bus. In that time, I saw a small snake slither into the water, a red eared slider poking his head above the water, and a crop of wild blueberry bushes. Any of these things I may not have had the pleasure of observing if I had not stopped with her, and I realized I had been more worried about completing the hike rather than taking it.

And how much of our existence are our actions are motivated by our past or what might come next? It is okay to be present with what is happening. It is okay to breathe and find calm awareness regardless of circumstances. Sometimes it takes someone else (in this case, my four legged bestie) to show us the way. And what we discover are things that we never would have before had we not stopped.

So take a hike. And just stop.

Get lost

Do you ever feel like someone is watching you? Tracking your every move? Waiting for just the right moment to show themselves?

Once every seven days, the golden moondog and I venture into the woods for a romp. Whether it be for foraging or exercise or meditation, or a combination of all three, we make it a point to slather ourselves in tick repellent and find a trail to leave footprints on.

This past weekend was much like any other. Backpack ready with with foraging gear, water, snacks, dog treats and man-spray (because I choose the bear), we set out on a journey on a well worn local hiking and bike trail.

Late in the season for fiddleheads, and too early for gathering much else, we decide this hike will be primarily for running and meditation. At one point we ventured off the hiking trail and down an unmarked bike path. The forest floor glowed green with early huckleberry, and the dappled streams of sunlight through the canopy created a magical descent into the unknown.

It was then I first noticed that something was different. The birds were not chirping here. In fact, the silence was a stunning contrast to the grackles and blue jays and starlings that provided the soundtrack to our journey thus far. Two birds swooped down across the path- one, a blue jay. The other was too quick to identify. It was the way they swooped that caught my attention, and a thought came to mind that perhaps it was a warning of some kind.

I reached down to water the moondog, and upon looking up, there was a set of eyes staring back at me, not 40 yards away. A fully grown whitetail doe was standing across the path sideways, observing Luna and me. I slowly stood up, and with a quick whisper Luna sat at my feet. The doe and I locked gazes for what seemed an hour, but was in reality only about 20 seconds. She then nodded her head three times in deep bows. I returned the gesture. And then she was gone.

As wondrous and ethereal of an interaction it was, I took the warning heeded and returned back towards the hiking path.

I enjoy getting lost. It’s really the only way to find a thing, is for it to be lost. To know the way, you must first not know the way. If you think you don’t know the way, you’re correct. And if you think you know the way, you have a lot to learn.

I wonder what you would find, if you would just get lost?