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Writer's pictureThe Hickory Grove

I Wander Alone

It all begins with the feeling I get when I pull my boot laces tight, crossing one over another, seeing the dust from the previous adventure fall off as I make the final knot. I stand up and grab my pack, which is always overloaded with more things than I will need for the day. I suppose the reason for this is my expansive hopes for what the mountains will provide me with this time. I kiss my wife goodbye, ensuring her that I will be back at a reasonable hour.


The drive there in my truck is usually filled with a mirrored conversation with myself through the rear view. I tend to ask myself repeatedly what I plan on doing out there and to be honest I never have an accurate answer. I pull into a dirt pad off the side of an old logging road and put it into park. Instantly, I feel myself in a hurry to get out of the truck, throw my pack on, and hit the woods. I have to remind myself to slow down, lock the truck, check your pack and......let's go!


My eye search for the best entry point and instantly I am in my world. The sun shines through the pines that bend back and forth slowly on the summer's warm breath. The birds start singing their songs as if I just switched on my favorite radio station. They tend to adjust the volume to the perfect level. A squirrel hides on the side of a giant old growth oak and barks at the top of his lungs to let his family and friends know a stranger is in the forest. To me, I am no stranger. I am home.


My journey begins on the mountainside overlooking the foggy cushions to the cold creeks below. I horseshoe myself back and forth down the mountain, stopping to admire the mighty mushrooms and friendly plant life. I use the strength of the young, bold maples to steady my pace down the slopes. Shale rocks slip under my boot and tumble to the water below making an ever so small echo throughout the woods.


I finally make it to the bottom. The air is so pure, so crisp, it feels as though the trees produced it specifically for me. I kneel down to the water and fill my canteen. The taste of the mountain water refreshes my soul. My pack gets grounded against the nearest pine and I take a seat.


Off in the distance is a faint call of an excited Tom turkey looking for some female companionship. His voice fades off into the distance and is replaced with the scream of an eagle flying over head. She draws my attention to the sky so I can witness the extended arms of the trees reaching out trying to tickle the clouds. It's peaceful. It's real.


It's in this moment with a slow breathe in and a slow breathe out that answers the question as to why I wander alone for no one can bare witness to my soul in the way mountains, streams,animals, and trees do. They are the truest of friends, always lending a shelter to stay for the night, a cold drink to quench your thirst, an abundant grocery selection free of charge. Nature is my caretaker and I am hers. This is what I prefer, to wander alone among these friends in my life.


Keep Wandering

Matt from The Hickory Grove









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