An outlet for the feet that wander

The Maine Woods

Summary of recent Events:

  • Successful move to Garland, ME. I live with my brother, his wife, and their three children.
  • Enrolled in Unity College’s Adventure Education Leadership program.
  • Lost friends back home due to strenuous circumstances – new friends made in Unity.

The Maine woods

My socks were damp as they were jossled around on the skin of my shins.  Some odd ounces of powder had found their way into the tongues of the somewhat new winter boots, bypassing the double-layered snow pants I wore. I was moving into the layered woods and the snow was deep. From what I could measure, the recent snow storm poured on an extra five inches above the now second, lightly iced over layer of snow which extended at least another ten inches below that – likely twelve or thirteen. I went to a private christian elementary school so you can’t trust my math, but I believe that’s over a foot – actually, it’s approximately a knee. I stood for a moment, listening and glancing back at the treeline of the yard. I was waiting for the kids to follow me.

The snow displayed pockets and depressions only a centimeter or two deep, and ranging from 1×1 to 3×3 inches. I do not know what causes them – it seems unlikely to be vegetation, wildlife, or even atmospheric conditions (Out of those, however, weather seems the most likely). I will continue to check on them.

Up ahead there appeared a clearing I could make out from inbetween the branches and trunks. The snow pack tapered off ahead towards the clearing – strange. My boots caught on fallen limbs trapped beneath the pack, sometimes breaking through unexpectedly and jolting me forward while other times propping me up into a snowy pine bough, which reacted to my disturbance by piling its snow down my collar. My boots began to find less and less snow beneath them as I approached the edge of the treeline ahead of me. The final boughs bent back to show me a great plain, reaching farther than I could make out with the sun reflecting off miles of light snow. White capped peaks sitting on monoliths reaching out to me from across the void of white and I recognized them as the Rockies. Behind me, so close, remained the Maine forest. Penobscot hunters tread lightly above the snow pack which I had stumbled through as if a bumbling beast.

My time and place is upset. I did not return through my foot trail. My weight shifted back and forth as I waited for the children to come out and follow me. I thought I could see them, hear them from back in the forest, struggling to wade through the layers of snow. They did not show immediately, and I began to doubt. I began to think it may have been the hunters, looking through the tiny spaces at me – the bumbling beast. There was much to see and I was eager, but I sat to wait for the little ones. I hope to see them soon, following in my tracks if they must, or pushing through the difficult snow – as long as they get here, for there is all the world ahead.

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