My injured lover is recuperating in a ranch-style home out in the suburbs. His body likes this better than the 3-story climb up to his room in the Victorian house he lives in. I was told it was a 10-15 minute walk from one of the suburban transit stations. Little did I expect these directions:
Go up the stairs and head east away from the parking lot. Emerge on a sidewalk where the buses come into the transit center. Continue diagonally along the fence to a traffic light. Continue on sidewalk, cross the median and walk across paving stones to a parking lot near medical buildings. Continue diagonally across the parking lot, cross another road and continue through the parking lot to another medical building. At the right end of the medical building there is a fence with blackberries. Follow the beaten path down the hill, through the woods and over a creek where people have laid down wooden boards. Emerge onto 95th, following the road north up the hill until it turns to a gravel road. A path will continue on a public easement next to someone's driveway and go through another blackberry patch and emerge onto 95th again. The road will take an immediate right turn. Follow 95th downhill, then uphill and take the 2nd left on that road. The road wasn't given its own name. Just follow the cul de sac to the only uphill driveway.
My first trip during the day was fine. The next day I was lugging lots of his stuff, so I went by car. Tonight I took the trip up before dinner and, knowing I would be returning after dark, I came prepared with out-of-the way directions by road. The walking path through the woods is really most direct.
But I've been studying deep ecology in a discussion course at work. We've been talking about wilderness. So at 11pm on a crystal clear night in a moonless sky I ventured into the blackberries, creek and steep woods in flip flops and without a flashlight.
The first patch of blackberry bramble went well. I emerged unscathed. Lights from the houses nearby lit most of the rest of the way, but I knew the final stretch was remote and densely wooded. The nighttime sky cast enough light to see the wood boards over the creek. As I entered the uphill stretch, I was amazed. The office building on the edge of the woods was, of course, fully lit despite its abandoned nighttime state. It was impossible to see, not because it was dark, but because the lights from the office building blinded me, making the path ahead of me disappear. I was forced to hold my hands up above my brow as a visor to block the light. As I rounded the corner of the building about to step into the parking lot, I heard the squeak and then hiss of the sprinklers turning on. Walking back into the concrete nation of suburban office complexes, I thought how tame that was. I expected something harder, scarier.
Walking up the final stretch of sidewalk toward the transit center along an undeveloped stand of tall grasses I heard a rustling. I turned to look in the direction of the sound. I saw movement in the grasses and spotted an animal of medium size. It stopped moving and made eye contact with me. It had the angular face of a cat, yet upright ears of a rabbit. It stopped moving and made eye contact with me. It moved again and I could see it was about the size of a large beagle, light in color like the dry grasses around it. I walked on, turning back to see it once more, but it had blended in to its surroundings. I could not see it, yet I sensed it watched me.
What is wilderness and where do we find it? What sheds light on the wild territories within us? What do we fear about quiet places that lack the walls and barriers we erect in our "civilized" lives? I walk through places in me and in the world in search of answers.
