And let me just say this: a lot has gone down in between.
I would think that a life as simple as this--eating, walking, eating, sleeping, etc.--would not be so filled with landmark events (minor and major, sharp, natural, diminished, augmented...depending on how you choose to see things)--but ah! When beingness is cleared of timecards and car payments, groceries and spouses, regulations and prohibitions, yes, yes, perhaps, room is created for these (internal!) musical happenings to occur.
Leaving the Nantahala Outdoor Center I was accosted by a friendly group of tourists--yes, in places where you pay 12 bucks for a burger, a man with a backpack and a beard attains celebrity status--asking me all sorts of questions completely un-obvious to an unseasoned mind, yet almost laughable to consider (ah yes, the beard, aside from stowing bits of pop-tarts for later also masks my amusement in these situations)...you know, things like "do you hunt for food?" and "where do you go to the bathroom?" and "does your mother know you are out here?" And me, smiling, answering respect(full)ively "no, in a hole, yes" and the fine ladies and gentlemen getting all worked up and gleeful, clapping and hooting, and as I turn my back to depart, the man of the house, old Jeff Davis himself, reaches into his billfold and retrieves a Jackson for me (amidst complaints from his wife regarding her lack of such treatment and protests from yours truly), only to be followed by his lesser, feeling slight, needing also to prove his masculinity through wealth, followed suit...and smiling, this solitary hiker trotted up the trail with 40 dollars in his back pocket.
And yet, money cannot buy you love, this we know thank you boys, not love from a woman to a man, nor from self to self, or even from me to the world. Because that day, climbing in the heat, I cursed the trail, cursed my faltering knees, my tepid water, and feeling lost and forsaken, made plans to hitch out at the next road, fleeing to those who can make me smile with a kiss on the cheek or a pat on the head, just like drugs, and sundaes....
And yes: I paused. I really did. We did not have to go to the situation room. We did not have to clean up aisle 5. Throughout a painful hour of emotional evaluation, I came to realize one major ability, necessity, facet, whatever you need to call it, of my existence out here in Appalachia: I have everything I need. I am not talking physically. This walk, jaunt, if you will, is 95% mental (the other half is physical), and by that I mean emotio-spirituo--yes! He has it all! I don't need drugs or sundaes or girlfriends to feel at ease! I just need this guy right here. And through pure grace, I was touched, and I grinned uncontrollably, and continued my trek onwards towards this day, where said feeling of not happiness but ease, comfort, serenity, contentment, has followed me. No, guided me.
I could tell you about all the 20-mile days I've done. Or the miraculous views. Or the amazing people. Or the moments of solitary joy. I could even use clever literary devices to tell you these things without having to grant them major significance. So I won't refrain.
But what I mainly want to say is this: the trail provides. It gives me food, water, shelter. Company and solitude. Laughter, grief, growth. Trial and triumph. And so, I make sure to give back to it. I leave food. I donate socks. I bury my shit at least 6 inches deep. The trail breathes, nourishing itself and invigorating all who tread on its dirty platforms.
Town has reminded me too much of how stressful life can be. And so, with that sentiment released in the Carolina wind, I lace up my boots and re-emerge into the mountains, into the trees, into Spring herself--the place where I feel at home right now. Safe.
All roads lead to Maine. Until next time, friends.
--Bootless
Amazing! <3
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