I’m so happy to be back in the mountains. I love the weather, the trees, the birds, the rushing creek, the flowering bushes. The beauty. Yesterday I went for what I thought would be a short walk down to the garden to enjoy the roses and magnificent clusters of Annabelle hydrangeas. Drawn by the gentle sounds of Shadow brook, I moved on to the entrance of the pasture, imagining another horse here one day.
Still, my feet wanted to walk. So I let them move through the mown grass of the pasture to the open gate at the far end. It leads to the main trail through the dense woods beyond. With no plan in mind, I branched off onto a narrow path. This one winds through a more open stretch of woods before it eventually bends back around to rejoin the main trail further up the mountain.
Fortunately, I had my trusty walking stick—a straight bare branch I found years ago that just fits my hand and height. It would help me cross the moss-covered steppingstones at the entry. They’re set in a low muddy area where the drizzle of a small spring pools around them. Choosing my steps with care, I made my way to the dry path beyond.
There are lots of fallen trees out there, but Hermenio has kept the path open, so onward and upward I went, gradually curving back toward the main trail. I was curious to see if the little bridge Herminio built over a wider flow of spring water is still intact. Unfortunately, I’d forgotten about the big muddy area I’d have to cross before I got there. Around this time I realized my cell phone battery was almost out of juice.
When I reached the wet stones I stopped to consider my options. I’m 81 years old with thinning bones. I’m walking alone on a rugged mountain path. Sometimes my balance wavers a bit, even on smooth surfaces. To my left a fairly steep slope descends to the lower part of the path. To my right is a boulder the size of a Volkswagen. Ahead are more steppingstones; then more dry path; then the little bridge; then more path that ultimately joins the main trail. From there I can walk through my favorite part of the forest before heading back down to the cabin.
I could have turned back. But I didn’t. I’d come too far. How hard could it be? (Note to self: this is the dumbest question someone in my shoes could ever ask of this sticky situation.)
The first steppingstone was unstable. When it tipped sideways I lost my balance. Shouting “No! No!” to the universe, I foresaw a disastrous tumble down into rocks and trees. I’d probably break a leg or hip, after which I’d lie there for God knows how long with a broken body and a dead cell phone. I struggled desperately to regain my balance but when my other foot landed on another unstable rock I lost it again. Again, I bellowed an outraged “NO!” while wondering what I thought this would accomplish.
Somehow, I managed to regain my balance. I stayed where I was to think. The dry path was only a few yards away. There was no way I could go back. Ahead on the left was a sturdy-looking branch I could grasp for support. My walking stick was in my right hand. Slowly I reached for the branch, steadied myself, and tested the third stone. It didn’t move. With a few more cautious steps I landed on dry earth, marveling at how the brief seconds of being out of control had felt like an eternity.
As I made my way to the little bridge, then over the two-log six-foot-long walkway beyond it, then finally back to the upper part of the main trail, I reflected on how foolish I’d been not to tell Fred where I was going before I left. But then, he was in his office on a Zoom conference, and I had only meant to visit the garden. But what about my dying cell phone battery? Why didn’t I recharge it before I left home? Because I’d had no intention of taking a hike.
So the only things I could blame myself for were my poor judgment in leaving the main path, and the black mud all over my formerly impeccably white orthopedic tennis shoes. They’re clean and drying in the sun now. I guess my days of spontaneous walks through the woods are over. Another lesson about aging learned.
But oh, what a wonderful adventure it was. I felt so grateful to be able to walk through these hushed woods with the soft light filtering through a majestic canopy of oak, maple, birch, and poplar leaves; to know that every breath of fresh air I took was saturated with healthy oxygen, newly released and freely given by these trees. I didn’t mourn the passing of the dead trees because I knew that in accordance with Nature’s sacred laws, they are now giving back to the forest and its inhabitants in countless ways.
This stage of life is rife with lessons, many about inevitable losses. But this summer I’m beginning to suspect each loss might come with countless compensatory gains. My bones are thinning but the pleasure I take in my surroundings and the patience I’m acquiring for myself, my husband, and small, everyday tasks is expanding. My steps are slower, but that gives me more time to be mindful and to savor Nature’s myriad shades of green. My physical balance may be beginning to waiver, but this summer, my mental and emotional balance have never felt more stable.
Jean Raffa’s The Bridge to Wholeness and Dream Theatres of the Soul are at Amazon. Healing the Sacred Divide can be found at Amazon and Larson Publications, Inc. Jean’s new Nautilus Award-winning The Soul’s Twins, is at Amazon and Schiffer’s Red Feather Mind, Body, Spirit. Subscribe to her newsletter at www.jeanbenedictraffa.com.
14 Responses
Thank you so much, Jeanie, for sharing this wonderful summer adventure and the wisdom of your insightful lesson about aging! It’s simply amazing to read your beautiful words once more. I ab-soul-utely love how you allow yourself to step out of the ‘known’ and into the ‘unknown’. What a perfect metaphor for growing older!
As I step onto the Crone’s path myself, I’m realising that finding balance (in countless ways!) is proving to be central in helping me to move along on this, challenging yet deeply transformative, life-death-rebirth trail, I find myself wandering.
My dear friend, enjoy your summer in the beautiful mountains! Though before you leave, I’m hoping you have more amazing adventures there. If so, do share them with us once more! Lastly, thank you so much for sharing these wonderful photos too, they bring your words to life! Love and light, your poet friend, Deborah.
Hello my poet friend. It’s lovely to hear from you. I guess you’re right: I do allow myself to step out of the ‘known’ and into the ‘unknown’. Years of dedicated dreamwork have emboldened me to trust my instincts. And that is, indeed, a marvelous metaphor for growing older. I’ll remember that! At the moment I feel the same way about dying. I hope I feel the same way when the time comes.
How interesting that you’re finding yourself wandering. Although my body doesn’t do much wandering these days, mentally my mind wanders constantly into whatever piques my curiosity, (and that’s a lot), and I usually wander through the internet several times every day to satisfy it.
If I do have another adventure, or perhaps a valuable insight, I will, indeed share it “when the spirit moves me” as my mother used to say. I took several photos at the beginning of this particular adventure before my phone died, and I tried to use them for this blog, but for some reason, WordPress wouldn’t let me do that in the usual way. So I had to use some older ones that were already stored in my WP images library. But they do help to tell the story.
Love and light to you too, dear Deborah. Thanks for writing. Jeanie
Ah, that inner voice, guiding you through this poignant metaphorical adventure.
It made me think of Herman Hesse’s poem ‘Stages.’
… from its first verse …
As every flower fades and as all youth
Departs, so life at every stage,
So every virtue, so our grasp of truth,
Blooms in its day and may not last forever.
Since life may summon us at every age
Be ready, heart, for parting, new endeavor,
Be ready bravely and without remorse
To find new light that old ties cannot give.
In all beginnings dwells a magic force
For guarding us and helping us to live ….
This morning, before reading your post, I pondered on this same theme you express so movingly.
Dear Ashen,
I love the synchronicity of you pondering the same theme I was when I wrote this. It reinforces my trust in following the ‘magic force’ of my inner guidance. What a gift that has been to me during this stage of my life.
And thank you for sharing Herman Hesse’s poem. I can’t quite tell if you’ve included the whole thing or not so I shall look it up as soon as I finish this. He’s such a master at expressing the deepest realities of the inner life and their connections to physical life.
I’m looking forward to your next book. Don’t forget to let me know when and where I can find it.
Here’s to “Looking to find new light that old ties cannot give…”. Jeanie
Good morning Jean,
Such a nice account of your adventurous walk. Other than the “almost” mishap with the wobbly stones it sounded like a very pleasurable experience. I sometimes forget that I am in my early 70’s and pay for it later; however, as we know, life is good and it’s meant to be appreciated. Enjoy your time in the mountains and be safe.
Good morning, Fern. Overall, it was a very pleasurable experience despite the misstep! I especially enjoyed my spontaneous outburst of the ferocious “NO!” Where, I wonder, did that come from? Somewhere inside me there must be a ‘spirit’ with such a strong zest for life that it refuses to be a victim of my own bad choices and clumsiness. It sounded to me like the protest of an indignant, outraged child who’s not ready to go to bed yet. Perhaps that’s what it was . . . Thank you for writing. 🙂
Love it and join in your admiration of the nature around us. See you on the trail!
Hi Jennifer, it’s good to hear from you. Thank you for writing. I didn’t know you were a nature lover too. For me it’s sort of a spiritual thing. . . it’s all so miraculous and moving. And meaningful. I look forward to seeing you on the trail! 🙂
Hi Jeanie, such a lovely post thank you. This stage of life ‘is rife with lessons’. Life with lessons. I walked a huge trail yesterday with experienced hikers. As a guest of one of them. For weeks I was agonising about this. I was unprepared, afraid of embarrassing myself. I can hardly believe that I made it. Yes, at the end of the line (27 people) at all times. Another hill – o no. Yet another. But somehow I made it. This was the sense that I got from reading your post. I did it. In spite of –
This aging process challenges us. It is great when the challenge is met. Love, susan
Hi Susan. Oh my! You do love a challenge. I’m impressed! How I love your story. It reminds me of a two-day trek I once took through the Maritime Alps with two experienced hikers. It included an overnight stay in a communal ‘refuge’: one bathroom and one big room downstairs for breakfast (cereal and fruit, yogurt and muesli, one bowl and one spoon per person for whatever you’re having–including coffee or tea), and one big room upstairs with 12 thin mattresses on a platform on one side of an aisle for men, and 12 on the other for women. One window. All total strangers from all over the world preparing for bed in front of each other! I lay awake most of the night from the snores! I was also totally unprepared and always at the back of the line. And yes…oh no, another mountain, surely this one is the last!! Yet the sense of satisfaction in making it . . . “I did it. In spite of -” I think I was in my late fifties at the time. I wouldn’t try it again now. My kinder and gentler Smoky mountains are more than enough. It is, indeed great when the challenge is met! May the adventures continue. Loved hearing from you. Love, Jeanie
Oh, my goodness, dear Jeane! You wanted to take a walk, but the adventurous feelings of your youth overcame you. However, seeing how aware you were of every moment of that happening is fascinating. As you surely know, we learn something new every day, like the title I gave to your post by sharing it on Facebook; the school of life has no end!
Honestly, I was at work when I saw your post. I didn’t have time to read it thoroughly, but my inner voice told me what title to use. There might be no need to say, but nevertheless, please take the latter’s experiences with you next time.
You and your words are always a great lesson for me. Thank you. Love and peace.🥰💖🦋😘
Dear Aladdin, yes, you’re right. The feelings of my youth did overcome me. And I let it happen because it felt so good. Until it didn’t! I have learned my lesson for sure, one of many I’m still learning here in Earth school.
I don’t visit facebook very often these days, but I’m so glad I did yesterday. I saw that you shared my post. That was very kind of you. I loved the title you gave it.
Thank you for taking the time to write, my friend. Love and peace. Jeanie 🙂
I love your adventure, partly because it reminds me of my own. I’m glad it turned out well. Yesterday looking for Monarch eggs and caterpillars, the blackberry brambles scratched my legs and a yellow jacket zapped me for encroaching on her territory. Ouch. I survived. I saw my first Monarch butterfly in the garden near my back porch when I returned home.
It’s a beautiful time of year here and in the mountains, and you remind me I’m not the only one who can’t do what I once did. I was so sick this past winter that I couldn’t force exercise for a few months and now I’m paying the price I knew would come. (Lots of uphill climbing to regain breath and strength.) So what do we do except keep going? We’re the lucky ones, and you have a powerful Jungian calling.
You’re doing so well and doing so much, Jeanie. Be safe and be well, but keep your wild woman spirit. I’m glad someone (Fred) will know if you’re missing and I’m glad you have a good trekking pole. I’m about to hit the trail, hoping for more Monarchs today. Sending love from my green world.
Yaaaayyy! You saw your first monarch. I wrote a lengthy response to your latest post and clicked Send, but I see it never made it. I’ve been having lots of computer problems too. Anyway, I’ve been hoping to hear the monarchs have returned and am thrilled to know they have.
And, likewise, your adventures with nature remind me of my own. I got stung on the ankle by a yellow jacket when we first got here. Ouch, indeed! The UPS delivery man noticed a huge wasp nest under the eaves of the side porch roof. So I started spraying it with 409 and three of them came after me. My spray forced two of them to retreat but a third attacked my ankle from behind. Nasty little fellows. I ran inside but made several surprise attacks on them after that. They started tearing the ‘paper’ they make away until very little was left, then abandoned it altogether. When I removed the remainder of the nest I realized it had surrounded the Nest camera we have up there. So that’s why we hadn’t been able to get a view of the yard when we checked our Nest app on our iphones from our Florida home. Mystery solved.
I find the uphill climbs harder than I used to. It’s alway always taken a while to get used to the altitude up here: from zero sea level to 32,000 feet. But it takes longer now.
You are right. We are the lucky ones. And I do have a powerful calling that I must continue to follow. We seem to have similar trajectories in life. I’m so happy that you also have a powerful creative calling. It keeps us active and young at heart. Your book and wonderful nature pictures and posts have made an unforgettable impact on many people.
Returning your love and my best wishes from my green world, Jeanie