May 26th: Moments on my Solo

May 26th

It has now been a full day since I have returned from my solo trip and aside from the innumerable amounts of mosquito bites and a little sunburn, I have taken only memories from the forest. Attached above is one of the two pictures I took during my trip. It is my campsite, which I set up on Saturday around 7:00 and packed away around 9:00 on Monday. During my time alone I could feel the day slow to a steady pace. Like time itself, I would pause, wait, and observe the slightest detail. Strangely enough, for as long as my trip felt, my memories are most clear in the brief moments where I felt most intimate with nature. These are the moments I want to remember and they are the experiences with which I will compare my future encounters with nature. Thinking back to my first night, right after I finished tying makeshift knots to hold my hammock and tarp, I sat against a large oak tree. The sun had set and the forest grew darker as I lay, focused on the brightly-illuminated pages of Into the Wild. My mind, betraying me with paranoia, began thinking of all the scary campfire stories I heard as a kid. Every crackling branch could be a serial killer or a murderous beast stalking my sight. My thoughts eventually fell out of my focus as my ears were subjected to the distorted echo of frog croaks from the nearby pond. A common theme of being mindful, I thought to myself, is carefully savoring every slight noise you hear, and listing to its slightest complexities in tone, cadence, location, and pattern. I finished my reading for the night and was serenaded to bed by an ensemble who’s complexity and odd familiarity rivaled any mankind could create.

My next notable memory is the chill in the air the next morning. Climbing out of my hammock and feeling the air on my legs made me feel exposed, as if I should have a layer of fur or hair to insulate me. I underwent my firs hike of the day and while I felt as if I was walking forever, the sun never seemed to move from it’s place in the sky. My mind noted the sounds of chipmunks scurrying, birds calling, and trees swaying in the wind. I can recall my feeling of curiosity as felt relaxed by the smells of pine tar, mud, and horse manure. I chalk this associate to the barns I would grow up in, watching my older sister ride horses. Somehow nature presented a parallel to my life that was so ingrained and ancient that even I was unaware of the effect this scene would have on me.

Much later I came across what must have been a five and half foot long Rat Snake. I sat on a hill and observed the creature slide down a hill, black tongue flicking as it moved. That was the second of nine snakes I saw that day, all with the same beady black eyes and emotionless smirks.

After saying my goodbyes to the immense reptile I headed to a pond where I watched the green frogs explode from the bank at my slightest movement. I managed to sneak up on a particularly bold frog who, when he eventually jumped into the water, stirred up a bellowing cloud of mud. I observed the cloud and noticed no trails signaling which direction the frog had swam off to. Curious, I stuck around for a few minutes and was pleasantly surprised to find the same frog, who I named I named Leroy, sticking his head just above the surface. I watched intently and noticed every detail; his nostrils flaring when he breathed, the wet texture of his back, the webbing and shape of his feet. I stared with blank childish curiosity into his eyes. Unlike the snake, Leroy did not have his own agenda and simply looked back at me, waiting for me to make a move. I realized after some time we were studying each other, each on as curious and cautious as the other. Eventually Leroy ducked back under the surface, and with a smirk, and I set off again along the hot and sunny trail.