BWCA Wilderness Trails Essay Contest 2007
Third place
copyright 2007 BWA Committee
A Walk in the Woods
By Beth Erickson
“Dad, can we go pick leaves in the woods?” Each fall, the words still ring in my head. An annual event as common as the cutting of the Christmas tree, the making of a snow man, and the first swim of the summer, I always had an extra fondness of those autumn walks that still resonate with me today. And only now, as the years continue to catch up with me, do I recognize why.
As the summer sun would begin to fade and the cool crisp shades of fall arrived, I’d patiently wait for the day my dad had the time to take me for a ride in the woods. Riding along on dry, dusty back roads, the questions would begin. “Do you think we’ll see any animals?” “Do you think the leaves are changed, yet?” My father would quietly nod and smile. Eventually, he would determine it was time to stop. We’d pull off to the side of the road into some unmarked parking lot. I’d immediately jump out of the truck ready to experience the great wilderness. “Stay close,” he’d say. Those few words instilled a sense of danger and wilderness exploration in my head that only a 5-year old can truly understand. I’d patiently, or in most cases, impatiently wait while my father got the dog, loaded up some snacks, checked a compass and familiarized himself with the woods. Finally, we’d take those first steps through the ditch and into the “wilderness.”
Within moments, the woods would swallow us. As my eyes adjusted to the changing light, I’d begin looking around in awe. Our walks would often take us into mixed forests – at times we’d be seeing pine trees stretching up as high as I could see – and moments later I’d be surrounded by golden colored leaves and the stark white trunks of birch. An occasional bird would flap its way through our path.
As my legs began to grow tired and I ran ahead looking for the perfect souvenir and our truck, my dad would instill simple lessons in my head. “Do you even know where you are going?” he’d ask with that grin only dad can give. I’d give my bravest answer and pretend to know exactly where I was. At times, I’d even look to the sun as if it’d provide the answer and direction to his question. Most times I was wrong. But out here in the woods, there is no judgment. Slowly, my father would guide and occasionally urge me into the general direction of the truck. Some days took longer than others, but we always made it back.
As afternoon turned into evening, conversation dwindled. Now, only the deafening sound of dried leaves crunching surrounded us. At times, my father would pause – perhaps instilling the moment eternally into his memory. I, who did not appreciate the power of silence, would be smart enough to stop for a moment. And while I didn’t know why, it always seemed to be the most powerful part of our walk.
Eventually, our surroundings would begin to look familiar. I’d know my time with dad was coming to a close. Still hopeful to find the crimson red leaf, I’d be torn between darting off the trail is search of it or continuing my conversation with dad. Dad usually won out. But somehow, despite the tough choice, that perfect leaf always appeared before our journey’s end.
Year’s later, I still find myself waiting for those cool crisp fall walks in the woods. My friends, busy with the complexities of day to day life, never understand my longing for those long walks. To them, silence is non-productive. A walk with no destination is a waste of time. It is easy to understand why they don’t “get it.”
For those who have never experienced the power of silence, the changing of seasons, the humbling experience of being lost in god’s grandeur – wilderness is counter productive. It is just endless miles of prime real estate sitting undeveloped, unappreciated, undervalued. But, it is only in this “undervalued area” that families from all walks of life are equal. Here, it didn’t matter if I was the most popular kid in school, had the right sneakers, or lived on the right side of the tracks. Here, my surroundings didn’t judge or make fun of me. Here, time stopped. And now, years later, it is where I go to simplify life.
Overwhelmed with too much to do, the need to make something of myself weighing down on me, I return to these woods to stop. To recognize what really matters. To pause for a moment and reflect on what is important. It is during these moments I question the value of wilderness. How do you put a price tag on happiness, understanding, equality and most importantly memories? How do you reflect those feelings to others in hopes they will feel the same knowing that until they do, the wilderness areas will never be safe. The older I get, the more I find myself pondering this question, praying others are thinking and trying to answer the same question.
