I'd been waiting for the flood waters recede. That may conjure images of flooded towns and deep water. It was nothing so dramatic. The river didn't flood anything beside my small, local trail. As sumer struggled to arrive, the snow pack, double what was normal, was melting. I visit this area regularly. I've been to Yellowstone, Crater Lake and on many wilderness excursions. I suspect some of my deepest memories, will be of "my place".
Schmoozer, the Wonder Pup, and I, arrived to grass smell is so strong I could almost taste it. The first meadow had just been mowed. Schmoo and I walked along the edge of the meadow, captivated by the change and a big mountain beaver trundled by. We cpntinued to the back meadow. It's such a peaceful place with the open field, bird song and view of Mount Si but a sense of adventure crept in. For weeks now the end of trail has been full of water because of the amazing snow melt. Water slowly receding, the flooded trail had become a big mud bog. I'd visited recently and decided to cross the next day. However, when I'd arrived expecting to walk barefoot through the mud, the river had risen like the temperature and the trail was a wide expanse of water.
This time I found lots of mud and shallow water. I squelched carefully along the edge and looked for a way across that wouldn't soak me or suck the shoes off my feet. No luck. I back tracked and squishing around the other side. I stopped at the water and peered at the narrow impasse. l gazed dubiously at the teeny logs across the water and decided I couldn't wait for another day. I wobbled my along. The Wonder Pup crashed about, delighted that I was finally crossing over. He swam through water, and leaped onto my uncertain bridge. I stood there keeping my balance. Schmoo is full of enthusiasm but lacks a degree of grace and he sprawled surprised and uncoordinated across the logs. Finally he got himself sorted out and dashed off so I could cross safely. I was proud I survived 80 pounds of excited pup on my perilous perch. The path was all overgrown. Spring time and weeks of no visitors had created something exotic. The whole way jungle like leaves bumped my face. My eyes closed, I pushed through the tangle and arrived at the river. At last I had made it. Here was a wild river and almost no beach. My place has changed. It was just me and the pup and some Canada geese and I had the same feeling I've had walking a trail at Yellowstone.
I stood at the edge of river throwing sticks for Schmoo and marveling over Nature's ability to transform. The mosquitoes also loved the wet, jungle atmosphere and soon it was time to leave. Back through the green shimmers of bushes, moving with the whoosh of the river I felt like I'd stepped into some wonderful children's storybook. I was on some sort of glorious adventure where the ordinary becomes something magical. I squelched through mud, stepping carefully and wobbled across the tiny logs again. Relieved I'd passed this hazard, I took one more step and squoosh! One foot sunk in. I pulled it out quickly but that shoe came out gray-brown and slick. Strangely, I felt slightly pleased, as if I'd been traveling some place far away and needed a souvenir. I wandered back through the familiar meadows, Schmoo bounding happily ahead. His joy added a layer of satisfaction the peace I felt as I watched the birds. The good feelings carried us to the car. As always, on the drive home, I checked for elk, and the meadow beside the road was filled. The biggish herd was spread out and the sun was low and kept splashing on them so there'd be these moments of intense brown-red stark against the yellow-green of the field.
I've been looking at the water on the trail for several weeks now pondering how to get across. Waiting for the moment I could follow Schmoo to the other side. Sometimes the metaphors are true I suppose because all the anticipation and effort into crossing the water was such a small part of a larger journey and not the point at all. We all need to have a place of our own. I think we also all need to have moments of transformation that allow us to see our familiar paths as adventures and opportunities.
Schmoozer, the Wonder Pup, and I, arrived to grass smell is so strong I could almost taste it. The first meadow had just been mowed. Schmoo and I walked along the edge of the meadow, captivated by the change and a big mountain beaver trundled by. We cpntinued to the back meadow. It's such a peaceful place with the open field, bird song and view of Mount Si but a sense of adventure crept in. For weeks now the end of trail has been full of water because of the amazing snow melt. Water slowly receding, the flooded trail had become a big mud bog. I'd visited recently and decided to cross the next day. However, when I'd arrived expecting to walk barefoot through the mud, the river had risen like the temperature and the trail was a wide expanse of water.
This time I found lots of mud and shallow water. I squelched carefully along the edge and looked for a way across that wouldn't soak me or suck the shoes off my feet. No luck. I back tracked and squishing around the other side. I stopped at the water and peered at the narrow impasse. l gazed dubiously at the teeny logs across the water and decided I couldn't wait for another day. I wobbled my along. The Wonder Pup crashed about, delighted that I was finally crossing over. He swam through water, and leaped onto my uncertain bridge. I stood there keeping my balance. Schmoo is full of enthusiasm but lacks a degree of grace and he sprawled surprised and uncoordinated across the logs. Finally he got himself sorted out and dashed off so I could cross safely. I was proud I survived 80 pounds of excited pup on my perilous perch. The path was all overgrown. Spring time and weeks of no visitors had created something exotic. The whole way jungle like leaves bumped my face. My eyes closed, I pushed through the tangle and arrived at the river. At last I had made it. Here was a wild river and almost no beach. My place has changed. It was just me and the pup and some Canada geese and I had the same feeling I've had walking a trail at Yellowstone.
I stood at the edge of river throwing sticks for Schmoo and marveling over Nature's ability to transform. The mosquitoes also loved the wet, jungle atmosphere and soon it was time to leave. Back through the green shimmers of bushes, moving with the whoosh of the river I felt like I'd stepped into some wonderful children's storybook. I was on some sort of glorious adventure where the ordinary becomes something magical. I squelched through mud, stepping carefully and wobbled across the tiny logs again. Relieved I'd passed this hazard, I took one more step and squoosh! One foot sunk in. I pulled it out quickly but that shoe came out gray-brown and slick. Strangely, I felt slightly pleased, as if I'd been traveling some place far away and needed a souvenir. I wandered back through the familiar meadows, Schmoo bounding happily ahead. His joy added a layer of satisfaction the peace I felt as I watched the birds. The good feelings carried us to the car. As always, on the drive home, I checked for elk, and the meadow beside the road was filled. The biggish herd was spread out and the sun was low and kept splashing on them so there'd be these moments of intense brown-red stark against the yellow-green of the field.
I've been looking at the water on the trail for several weeks now pondering how to get across. Waiting for the moment I could follow Schmoo to the other side. Sometimes the metaphors are true I suppose because all the anticipation and effort into crossing the water was such a small part of a larger journey and not the point at all. We all need to have a place of our own. I think we also all need to have moments of transformation that allow us to see our familiar paths as adventures and opportunities.
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