A Walk in Time

Ordinary, plain-talking folks have been walking this country since its inception in the colonial era. They rambled along to find themselves, to find their countrymen, to find their destiny. Great migrations from East to West, West to North and every direction in-between carried their tired bodies in search of that elusive goal, often not defined, but understood in their soul.

The most recent rambling narrative I read was called American Ramble. It was written by a much-traveled veteran of journalistic assignments around the world and at home. It’s not the first walkin, talkin narrative I’ve read or seen.

During World War Two, a film came out entitled ‘A Walk in the Sun.’ it was about a squad of infantrymen who landed at Palermo, Italy and began a forced march across the countryside to their first objective, a farm house at some critical crossroads.

‘A Walk in the Sun’ had very little combat action but ran with poignant dialogue that truly captured the everyday thoughts of those infantrymen as they marched through the Italian countryside. It was at once reflective, insightful, and thought-provoking. It connected the audience on an emotional level with each one of those soldiers. Walking in the woods, alone or with a friend, and getting lost there can have the same effect. It’s like an elixir for your mind and soul at the same time.

Folks have been wandering this planet, with pen in hand, since the beginning of time. Walden and Thoreau, in their time, were able to capture the peace and serenity that accompanies this kind of soul-soothing venture. On a more personal level, I’ve found that long trail runs and mountain hiking can produce the same kind of mind-altering euphoric effect on the brain. Some call it a ‘vison quest.’

Back in time, I’ve taken on my own kind of ‘vision quests’ climbing the mountains, finding a spot to nest in and then get lost inside my head.

The surrounding environment found in mountains and woods is much the same. It’s a quiet that can pound on your eardrum with its softness and penetrate your psychic with reflective thoughts that seem to come out of nowhere and get lodged there. Much like the girl I knew back in college who taught me how to walk in the rain; solitary walking in the woods can have much the same visceral, cerebral cleaning effect.

When he was just sixteen, Brian and I did that in the Amazon River basin. It was a wonderful kaleidoscope of running the Amazon in a narrow canoe carved out of a tree trunk, trudging through the jungle in the pouring rain and crossing raging river streams.

I repeated that experience again in Costa Rica with a number of long forced marches through the jungle. Most folks don’t understand that jungles are usually not found on plateaus but rather steep hills, gullies, rugged crevice’s and rolling terrain.

When Brian and Melanie were younger, I would sometimes take them into the woods to get lost. We’d stop by some fallen log and just sit there and listen.

At first, the kids couldn’t hear a thing but gradually they would grow accustomed to the quiet and slowly, ever so slowly, would begin to hear the wind, the birds, traffic far off in the distance and a myriad of other woodland sounds. It’s meditation on a soft blanket of moss surrounded by forest sentinels.

I took a forced march in the woods recently. I wasn’t wearing khaki or carrying a backpack or satchel of supplies. Just my water bottle, tiny binoculars and good hiking boots. It wasn’t a forced march or trudge through the jungle. It was, as expected, a quiet meander to listen for birds calling my name, the wind ruffling my thinning hair and the sun to brighten my way. A backyard ramble not far from home that took me to an entirely different world inside my head.

I still treasure those moments in time when I get to let go of my surroundings and let my mind and imagination float away, taking me along for the ride.