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The Art of Autumn Strolling By Vern Pococke There is something about the Autumn, with its crisp clear days and frosty nights... There is something about the Autumn which draws me to the woods. I am not a hunter but I know the hunter's annual addiction. Is there some primal urge to stock the larder, to ward off winter's starvation? After twenty years of effort, I've finally learned to walk in the woods. A physical workout it is not. It is more akin to the gait of a drunkard; take a few steps and stop, take a few steps and stop. Then lean over to pick up the shell of a black walnut or the perfectly shaped red maple leaf; "Oh Canada!" Moving this slowly, I've become an obstacle to the joggers as they flit by in their bright, form-fitting clothing and black headsets. Even worse are the dreaded mountain bikers storming through in packs on a rampage. "You'll cover more ground in less time!" they say. But is that really the point? I find myself taking the short loops; the same ones each visit, over and over. Why? At sixteen, a group of classmates with new drivers licenses in hand set out for the Upper Peninsula in search of Bear and Moose! We didn't see squat. The only other mammals we saw were humans. But what did we truly expect when we never got off the highways except for stops at beaches? We did "cover a lot of ground in a short period of time." But so what? I've discovered that it takes time to get to know the woods. It takes time to see more of nature than Blue Jays screeching and Squirrels clucking at you. One 'legend" about the mythological 70's rock band character Jethro Tull was he went for a walk in the woods and fell asleep. By the time he awoke several weeks later, his long over coat had become covered with moss. It doesn't take that long, but it does take at least a half an hour or so to settle down into the rhythm of the woods. The first step is to get rid of the chatter in your head so you can actually hear what is going on around you. Eventually, you'll find the warning cries of the crows and chipmunks will melt away to a more easy and natural patter. Now you have a chance of seeing more of a deer than its white flag of a tail hastily bobbing away from you as it flees to safety. I've found that when I'm still for awhile and appear disinterested in them, deer will begin to come toward me sniffing all the while. One time former Reviewer Steven Gotts and I ventured into the woods of Shiawassee Flats with a drum. As we sat drumming and singing songs of Michigan's indigenous people we attracted a large herd of curious deer. More recently I was delighted to stumble upon a flock of wild turkeys basking in the morning sunlight. There is mystery in the woods and an ancient wisdom. The secrets of the seasons, such as the meaning of Halloween and Easter, are held in trust here for those pilgrims who seek them out. Only a few places are left around here where the fingerprint of humankind's heavy hand does not predominate. Only a few tracts are left where the yoke of human folly can be cast off and our souls can be rejuvenated by the joy of our Creator in its purest form. During the Autumn and Spring I often take walks on Saturday mornings. If you would like to join me, leave your name and phone number with the Review and I'll contact you. |
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