For those who may wonder where I've been for the last couple of years, I've been traveling. Time flies. I hadn't realized it had been so long since my last blog. Perhaps I had nothing to say... Though recently, I've had more time to reflect on my own personal philosophy of sacred ecology (the subject of a future blog, of course).
After graduation from Portland State University with my Master's in Sustainability Education and certification in Service Learning and an emphasis on Spirituality in Higher Education, I took some time off to spend with my aging parents. My father was diagnosed with 2 forms of leukemia and was starting chemo therapy in the fall of 2013. I tried to help get their house ready to sell, but was limited in what I could accomplish due to my mother's "collecting". They are still in the process of relocating to Texas after 45+ years in Illinois. Forty-some years of stuff...Ugh. I have never wanted to have so much stuff that it weighed me down, though I do still own a few boxes back in Portland, Oregon at a kind friend's home. She lets me store my few wordly possessions there, mostly books...
So, much to my joy and great satisfaction, I spent a lot of time in the outdoors, clearing overgrown woods. I loved it. The fall of 2013 was the most colorful I can remember. Deep crimsons, brilliant reds, glowing yellows and golds, and regal purples covered the landscape. I was privileged to explore the midwest with friends in the area. I did some biking with an old high school friend. We biked along the Illinois River down at Grafton, Illinois and hiked from time to time at Pere Marquette State Park. Elsah, Illinois is still a quaint colonial-looking village with its stone cottages. I love wandering the streets of Elsah. We also visited Principia College, a Christian Scientist stronghold, built along the edge of the cliffs overlooking the confluence of the Mighty Mississippi and the Illinois River. One of the most gorgeous campuses in the United States...
Winter back in Illinois was delightful. We had several deep snows and ice storms, which transformed the bare trees into silent, glimmering sentinels. I love the hush that falls in a deep snow. Here is nothing on earth to match the gentle hush of fluffy snowflakes gliding to the earth, muffling out all other sounds, except the occasional cardinal. I even tried my hand at snow sculpting for the first time in my life (outside of the traditional snowman, of course).
I rambled along the trails at Beaver Dam State Park near my parents' old home. I even witnessed a "bird tornado" or a kettle of birds. Hundreds of birds swarmed in a tornado-like formation above Beaver Dam's Lake. Breath-taking...so awesome to behold.
In April of 2014, I moved on to Southern California, where I've done some local hiking in the mountains just behind the house. My dog, Sammy is now 14 years old. I can't believe it's already been 6 years since our last great adventure on the via Francigena, from Calais, France to Rome, Italy. Since 2010, I've been to India twice, and visited England, Belgium (twice), and Cypress. I feel incredibly privileged to have taken so many "road(s) less traveled", and indeed, it has "made all the difference" (Robert Frost).
For a couple of years now, I've been longing to go to Scotland. I can't explain why. I just feel it calling me, much like my trek to Oregon. I couldn't explain why I felt called to Oregon. I just did. I felt it in my spirit. Oregon was calling me in 2008. I answered that call in the fall of 2009.
I remember being in Portland in the autumn of 2009, my feet barely touching the sidewalk, as I giddily and gratefully lived out my dream. Portland and Oregon still hold my heart. So many wonderful friends...so many solitary saunters along mossy silvan paths...stepping into the rainforest only steps from my gracious home, caring and kind professors who challenged me to expand my world view.
THE NEW ADVENTURE
And now, I get to walk out another dream...trekking through the Highlands of Scotland in June of this year. I am so grateful to be able to make this once in a lifetime journey. The West Highland Way is a 96 mile trek through the Loch Lomond National Scenic area, traversing Ben Nevis, one of Scotland's highest mountains. It is rugged and steep and gorgeous. It is probably my last long trek with Sammy, my faithful cocker spaniel. I've got 6 weeks to prepare for the journey, but we have much higher mountains here, so I'm not too concerned. Though the highlands get loads of snow, the highest peaks there are around only 4,000 feet above sea level.
I wish I could express in words how I just feel such gratitude. I am overwhelmed at the thought of the freedom of the road. Traveling with the basic necessities and my faithful dog by my side. Stripped of most worldly possessions. There is an incredible freedom of the soul when we strip away the worldly trappings. It cannot be explained. It is in the place beyond words...
I'm thrilled to be walking in the birthplace of the "thin places", sacred places where the veil between this physical world and spiritual world is thin. Though I believe that these thin places are more a reflection of the openness or state of our own hearts, I love the idea of connecting to the Divine through nature. The Apostle Paul said that God can be known and understood through nature (Romans 1). I love the motto at Camp Stevens in Julian, CA which reflects my own state of soul: Openness. Gratitude. Connection. Wonder.
I can't even explain my giddiness at the thought of being there in Scotland for midsummer's night.
Perchance to dream... The long, long daylight hours. To be able to walk slowly from village to village with no urgency to get there before dark, because daylight does not fade till late at night.
WHY GO? WHY RAMBLE?
People ask me, "why?". Why do you always travel alone? Why do you have to go do such extreme vacations? Why do you walk such long distances? I can't seem to find the words to explain what is in my soul. Only other pilgrims can know what it means to walk, to trek through the magnificence of nature, to slow down, to be a "leather tramp". It's the "wonder", the awe, the curiosity, the joy that drives me to walk the lonely places of this earth.
How can you explain that kind of joy? It simply is part of your being. It's the reason we can endure hardships. Joy drives us onward. Joy leads us. Jesus suffered the cross and endured its shame for the joy set before him. He knew who he was and where he was going. Joy led him on. That's how I can endure the pain of a long distance trek. It's not just the destination that drives me on, despite sore knees or thirst or just sheer exhaustion at the end of a long day's trekking. It sounds trite now, I know, but it truly is the joy in the journey, in the discoveries of each new crag, each new vista, each new friend met along these quiet paths.
I suppose I've always been a free spirit. Some of my earliest and most precious memories are of long, quiet strolls through the fields, meadows, and forests of my home in Illinois as a very young child of 4 or 5. I distinctly remember the call of the wild, especially in autumn, somehow calling me to wander, to breathe in the earthy scent of decaying leaves, to embrace the crisp autumn air, to recall the sweltering, deep green heat of summer or the musty scent of tall cornfields.
Lord Byron once wrote: " There is pleasure in the pathless woods, there is rapture in the lonely shore, there is society where none intrudes, by the deep sea, and music in its roar; I love not Man the less, but Nature more."
I'm currently reading Thoreau's essays on walking. Though he starts out a bit too condescendingly, I get what he means about just getting out in nature, taking the slow way, journeying under your own steam. Even in the 1800's he lamented the shrinking of natural spaces. I can only imagine how horrified he would be to see the lack of open spaces in our modern world. But I hope to explore those few remaining sacred places while I can. So when others ask me, "why", I answer, "Because I can." For me, that is reason enough. Why not? The day will come, when I can no longer trek in solitude. Until then, I simply walk because I can.
After graduation from Portland State University with my Master's in Sustainability Education and certification in Service Learning and an emphasis on Spirituality in Higher Education, I took some time off to spend with my aging parents. My father was diagnosed with 2 forms of leukemia and was starting chemo therapy in the fall of 2013. I tried to help get their house ready to sell, but was limited in what I could accomplish due to my mother's "collecting". They are still in the process of relocating to Texas after 45+ years in Illinois. Forty-some years of stuff...Ugh. I have never wanted to have so much stuff that it weighed me down, though I do still own a few boxes back in Portland, Oregon at a kind friend's home. She lets me store my few wordly possessions there, mostly books...
So, much to my joy and great satisfaction, I spent a lot of time in the outdoors, clearing overgrown woods. I loved it. The fall of 2013 was the most colorful I can remember. Deep crimsons, brilliant reds, glowing yellows and golds, and regal purples covered the landscape. I was privileged to explore the midwest with friends in the area. I did some biking with an old high school friend. We biked along the Illinois River down at Grafton, Illinois and hiked from time to time at Pere Marquette State Park. Elsah, Illinois is still a quaint colonial-looking village with its stone cottages. I love wandering the streets of Elsah. We also visited Principia College, a Christian Scientist stronghold, built along the edge of the cliffs overlooking the confluence of the Mighty Mississippi and the Illinois River. One of the most gorgeous campuses in the United States...
Winter back in Illinois was delightful. We had several deep snows and ice storms, which transformed the bare trees into silent, glimmering sentinels. I love the hush that falls in a deep snow. Here is nothing on earth to match the gentle hush of fluffy snowflakes gliding to the earth, muffling out all other sounds, except the occasional cardinal. I even tried my hand at snow sculpting for the first time in my life (outside of the traditional snowman, of course).
I rambled along the trails at Beaver Dam State Park near my parents' old home. I even witnessed a "bird tornado" or a kettle of birds. Hundreds of birds swarmed in a tornado-like formation above Beaver Dam's Lake. Breath-taking...so awesome to behold.
In April of 2014, I moved on to Southern California, where I've done some local hiking in the mountains just behind the house. My dog, Sammy is now 14 years old. I can't believe it's already been 6 years since our last great adventure on the via Francigena, from Calais, France to Rome, Italy. Since 2010, I've been to India twice, and visited England, Belgium (twice), and Cypress. I feel incredibly privileged to have taken so many "road(s) less traveled", and indeed, it has "made all the difference" (Robert Frost).
For a couple of years now, I've been longing to go to Scotland. I can't explain why. I just feel it calling me, much like my trek to Oregon. I couldn't explain why I felt called to Oregon. I just did. I felt it in my spirit. Oregon was calling me in 2008. I answered that call in the fall of 2009.
I remember being in Portland in the autumn of 2009, my feet barely touching the sidewalk, as I giddily and gratefully lived out my dream. Portland and Oregon still hold my heart. So many wonderful friends...so many solitary saunters along mossy silvan paths...stepping into the rainforest only steps from my gracious home, caring and kind professors who challenged me to expand my world view.
THE NEW ADVENTURE
And now, I get to walk out another dream...trekking through the Highlands of Scotland in June of this year. I am so grateful to be able to make this once in a lifetime journey. The West Highland Way is a 96 mile trek through the Loch Lomond National Scenic area, traversing Ben Nevis, one of Scotland's highest mountains. It is rugged and steep and gorgeous. It is probably my last long trek with Sammy, my faithful cocker spaniel. I've got 6 weeks to prepare for the journey, but we have much higher mountains here, so I'm not too concerned. Though the highlands get loads of snow, the highest peaks there are around only 4,000 feet above sea level.
I wish I could express in words how I just feel such gratitude. I am overwhelmed at the thought of the freedom of the road. Traveling with the basic necessities and my faithful dog by my side. Stripped of most worldly possessions. There is an incredible freedom of the soul when we strip away the worldly trappings. It cannot be explained. It is in the place beyond words...
I'm thrilled to be walking in the birthplace of the "thin places", sacred places where the veil between this physical world and spiritual world is thin. Though I believe that these thin places are more a reflection of the openness or state of our own hearts, I love the idea of connecting to the Divine through nature. The Apostle Paul said that God can be known and understood through nature (Romans 1). I love the motto at Camp Stevens in Julian, CA which reflects my own state of soul: Openness. Gratitude. Connection. Wonder.
I can't even explain my giddiness at the thought of being there in Scotland for midsummer's night.
Perchance to dream... The long, long daylight hours. To be able to walk slowly from village to village with no urgency to get there before dark, because daylight does not fade till late at night.
WHY GO? WHY RAMBLE?
People ask me, "why?". Why do you always travel alone? Why do you have to go do such extreme vacations? Why do you walk such long distances? I can't seem to find the words to explain what is in my soul. Only other pilgrims can know what it means to walk, to trek through the magnificence of nature, to slow down, to be a "leather tramp". It's the "wonder", the awe, the curiosity, the joy that drives me to walk the lonely places of this earth.
How can you explain that kind of joy? It simply is part of your being. It's the reason we can endure hardships. Joy drives us onward. Joy leads us. Jesus suffered the cross and endured its shame for the joy set before him. He knew who he was and where he was going. Joy led him on. That's how I can endure the pain of a long distance trek. It's not just the destination that drives me on, despite sore knees or thirst or just sheer exhaustion at the end of a long day's trekking. It sounds trite now, I know, but it truly is the joy in the journey, in the discoveries of each new crag, each new vista, each new friend met along these quiet paths.
I suppose I've always been a free spirit. Some of my earliest and most precious memories are of long, quiet strolls through the fields, meadows, and forests of my home in Illinois as a very young child of 4 or 5. I distinctly remember the call of the wild, especially in autumn, somehow calling me to wander, to breathe in the earthy scent of decaying leaves, to embrace the crisp autumn air, to recall the sweltering, deep green heat of summer or the musty scent of tall cornfields.
Lord Byron once wrote: " There is pleasure in the pathless woods, there is rapture in the lonely shore, there is society where none intrudes, by the deep sea, and music in its roar; I love not Man the less, but Nature more."
I'm currently reading Thoreau's essays on walking. Though he starts out a bit too condescendingly, I get what he means about just getting out in nature, taking the slow way, journeying under your own steam. Even in the 1800's he lamented the shrinking of natural spaces. I can only imagine how horrified he would be to see the lack of open spaces in our modern world. But I hope to explore those few remaining sacred places while I can. So when others ask me, "why", I answer, "Because I can." For me, that is reason enough. Why not? The day will come, when I can no longer trek in solitude. Until then, I simply walk because I can.
No comments:
Post a Comment