Mother earth. My most favorite person.

A very precious gift my parents gave us, was taking us hiking and camping in the Stein Valley, among the many other adventures they took us on. I’ve been reaquanting myself with writing. What I’ve been focusing on, is recording my “Happiest Days.” There is not one single happiest day, but this is one of them.

Many happiest days

Entering the forest. The first thing that hits you is the scent. A clean smell. Not like a household cleaner scent. No. It’s like a jolt of something cleansing, as you take that first inhale. The smell of green. There is no way to adequately describe the smell. But for me, it is the cleanest, purest aroma that exists. This is in an old growth forest, mind. Ancient, mysterious woods of glory.

I can begin to hear the songs of the forest. The chittering, the melodies. The rhythms of the earth. It is not a traditional song, of words and instruments. The instruments of the forest are birds and the vibrating planet. The creatures. And behind that the silence. As I continue on the trail, I begin to hear the river, and that eventually drowns out all other sounds. It is a wild untamed sort of sound. Like a drum, and my steps keep in time. I am energized further. I am encouraged and pushed along by the voice that is telling me to keep going. To follow it’s path. Welcoming me, to the heart of the forest. Guiding me along.

I could be wearing the cheapest quality of shoe, and it would still feel as if I were walking on a soft cloud. The cloud is actually layers and layers of rotting decomposing soil and moss and who knows what else. It gives my steps a bounce. Like I’m on a trampoline. I can imagine the bounce lifting me as high as the magnificent trees. Into the sunshine. I can see the river. I can see the ecosystem. Unspoiled by man. And I gently fall back down. The ground allowing me to sink as deep as the tree roots then lifting me back up to the trail.

I am surrounded by green. I notice the foliage. The flora and fauna. The ferns. I am embraced by trees, plants, moss. I imagine fairies. This seems like a place fairies would like to live. I imagine myself living there. Fishing. Surviving. Flourishing. I imagine that life in detail as I walk. I make up stories of my life in the forest. I walk, as if in a dream. I trip on roots. I remember to ground myself to earth. I leave the fantasy of my imagination.

We stop at a bridge and go down to the stream. I put my feet in, I feel the icey coldness. A new feeling. I feel the movement of the water against my feet. I look at the moss, and rocks. I take in the smells. I start to imagine the fairies again. They don’t allow me to see them, but I believe they exist. Unknown and hidden. Ethereal. Almost invisible. They blend in, but they are there. I am so sure now.

Continuing along. We are now directly beside the river. There are ancient rock paintings. This is a sacred space. A holy space. I climb up onto the giant rock. I sit, and look. I hear. I smell. The same as the ancient ones did. A parallel experience. As they must have seen, smelled and heard the same things. Maybe they sat in the same spot. Sure as the day is long, they existed. As I exist in this moment, and someday won’t. I think of the cycles of life. The continuation. The way nature, unharmed by man can remain many life cycles later.

I think about how it is our legacy to protect these sacred spaces, untouched and pure. Not messed about with. Not tarnished. But exactly as it was. A snapshot in time. A moving, living picture we can step into.

We reach the first campsite. It’s a little disappointing at first. To have to share. But then I imagine this campsite with teepees. I begin to see the people as if they are the ancient ones. I smell their fires and food cooking. The sounds and smells of living in the forest. It gives me a feeling of home. Of community. It’s a feeling of nesting.

We make a fire for our food. Eating in the forest is so different. You really appreciate the food. The sustenance. You have earned it somehow. Or it feels like you have. I feel like I’m an animal now. Feeding. I am feral. This is a basic need being fulfilled. We carefully extinguish our fire and continue along on our journey, energized.

The trail is winding and there are hills. It is a fun hike now. More challenging. I move faster, because that feels right to me. Like I’m on a ride at an amusement park, but the ride is my body moving quickly on the winding path. We reach the site of sand and rocks and river. There are places to sit on the giant rocks. To behold the glory of it all. I take off my shoes. I feel the ground beneath my bare feet. I step into the river. A quiet pool, that seems to exist just for that purpose. I search for rocks. I find some treasures. I wonder if it’s okay to take them. I put some in my pockets, feeling a little guilty, but I just can’t help myself, as I am a rock lover and collector.

We reach the Devil’s Staircase. As a child, this part scared me at first. But at the end there is such a feeling of having conquered something difficult. That was the end of the hike, where we would camp. There is a sense of euphoria. I do not remember putting up tents or preparing camp. I just remember being so happy. We saw a birthing rock. The ground was so soft there.

This space, just below the devils Staircase is home for just one night. But I am, of course, imagining I live here. I feel like I belong in this spot. It welcomes me, as an old friend. As if I’ve come home after a long absence. That is how it feels. It doesn’t feel like a new place. Though it is shining as if it were.

The river keeps me awake for a while. It’s power, right outside my tent. And I feel it’s strength which overtakes my senses. Making me a little afraid. But I stay with that feeling, and soon the river is talking to me. Reassuring me that it means no harm. And soon the talking turns into a song. I am asleep. Feeling as safe as if I’m being rocked by my mama. The river has rocked me to sleep. Singing to me it’s song. Mother earth has nurtured me.

That is the end of another happiest day.