My parents had good friends that lived in the mountains, and often we would visit. The husband was a wood worker, and he built their house on a mountain. It is very beautiful and secluded; to get there means driving up the side of it on a dirt road. The house is surrounded by forests, in fact, they have 80 acres. Dad would go up to see Mac and he'd bring me along. Sometimes I would walk over to Mac's mother's place, right next door and play in her flower garden. She was a beautiful woman who had a heart of gold.
On that cold December day, Dad and I went to visit. It was cold...very cold. The sky was overcast, but not rainy. The leaves had all fallen, it was one of those days where everything feels like it is standing still--no birds, no wind, no animals. Nothing but stillness and peace. Dad went inside, but I didn't want to. So, spotting Mac's two sheep dogs (they had thick, bushy fur--almost like yarn), I walked over to the woodpile where they lay. Their coats were a mixture of dark brown and tan. They were pretty massive dogs, around the size of a golden retriever. I can't remember their names now--they are no longer with us. But they were the most loving, devoted, and tender dogs. I would spend hours there. I have pictures of us together in the garden behind Mac's mother's cabin.
Well, on this occasion I wanted to explore. I had always had the urge to go rambling alone. So I told the dogs, "let's go," and we were off. I followed, they knew where they were going. We ambled toward Mac's mother's cabin, past the drive way, and away from Dad. The mother had passed away, so the house was empty. The garden was in decay, and on this day, it just made you sad. With the silence of the day, it was almost like you could touch the ghosts of the past. You could almost physically feel the memories. I paused in the garden behind her house, just imagining this barren garden full of the color and life that once was. In it's glory it was so beautiful. It would take your breath away. She had beds of yellow daffodils that the dogs and I liked to lay in. To lie in a bed of sweetly perfumed flowers, feeling the petals caress your bare skin, and the bouquet of their fragrance flooding into your bloodstream is a breathtaking experience.
The entire garden was encompassed by a dark wooden fence and, despite the decay, you could tell it had been magnificent. The garden was enveloped by the woods behind the cabin. There had been vegetables as well--snap beans, tomatoe, radishes. But my favorite things in the garden were the rose arches. Oh, they were wonderful, she loved roses. There were trellises that the roses could climb onto. Yellows, deep reds, pinks--it was a sea of colors that would swim before your eyes. Sometimes you could just spin around in a circle, really fast, and the colors would blur as you spun around and around. The colors would just burst before your eyes. Then I'd walk underneath the red rose arches. Oh, the fragrance! Image being overwhelmed by the sweet scent of roses...being wrapped in a blanket of soft petals, soothing your weary and tattered soul.
As the dogs and I roamed past this once-fertile garden, I couldn't help but remember it. That's how it will always remain in my mind. We walked past it, toward the woods. I followed the dogs; they ran ahead of me and I had to chase them. We made it a game. They realized that I was falling behind and would wait for me to catch up. We moved into the forest, feeling the branches swallow us up as we travelled deeper and deeper into the trees. So deep we entered, that all you see were the gray trunks of the trees. The browns of the fallen leaves were beneath my feet. The only sounds I heard were the crunch of the leaves beneath my tread and my breath as it escaped through cold lips. I could see my breath as it departed, the chill on my rosy cheeks. But this chill did not drain me; nay, it just filled me with life and energy. Despite the forest's appearance, there was life. It was merely sleeping, resting.
I followed the dogs up the side of a hill, being careful not to slip because of its steepness and the wet leaves. Looking behind, I saw how far we had ventured. All I saw was the barren branches of the trees. I climbed up the hill and surveyed the distance around us, a little out of breath. The dogs waited, but I could tell they wanted to run ahead. The excitement was clearly etched in their eyes; yet they waited...
The altitude was high here, which made running up hills a challenge. I recognized a sound over my short gasps for breath. The sound was running water. I looked down the side of the hill and saw a little creek ahead. It was too deep and broad to traverse by foot; I would have to find a way to cross. Heading down the incline, mindful of my steps, I noticed the dogs just leaped through the water. But wait! I couldn't do that. At first, I was frightened. "Oh no!" They were leaving me. What could I do? I couldn't turn back--I had no idea how to return home on my own.
It was almost like they read my mind. They saw the confusion and fear on my face and stopped on the other side. They stared back at me as if saying, "Well, hurry up." I spotted the fallen trunk of a tree that arched over the creek. It was very large. I carefully crept up to it and climbed on. The dogs leaped to the other side and waited, almost as if they held their breath in anticipation. Ruefully, I realized I was getting dirty, but that was half the fun, the adventure of being with nature.... I crawled onto the trunk, feeling the rough bark bite into the tender flesh of my palms . I smelled the tangy essence that only rotting wood can have, the essence of the earth. It brought a small smile of pleasure to my face. I could even sense the purity of the cold water.
I gave a silent prayer of thanks that I made it across without falling into the cold, cold water. Dusting off my hands on my jeans, I stood up on the other side of the bank and surveyed my progress. Pride surged through me. Wasn't that fun? The dogs impatiently rushed ahead and I raced after them. I felt the breeze of the air brush past my flushed cheeks, the cold air kissing them. It reminded me that I was alive, the giddiness of the pure joy of living flowed through me. The trees all became a blur of browns. I wove in between the trees in a wandering, complicated winding way. Then a clearing emerged. How odd, I thought. I stopped, gasping for breath. The dogs' tongues lolled out of their mouths, panting. I saw before me what appeared like a well and I peered into it. The urge to drop something into it to see how deep it was overcame me. I found a stone, and leaned over the edge, dropping it. I waited...one second..two seconds. Finally, I heard the "plop" of the stone splashing into the water. "Wow, I didn't realize it was that deep," I whispered. Anything spoken louder felt like blasphemy.
The dogs were impatient again. After all, they had graciously allowed me to accompany them on this trek. By now I noticed that time had passed, and the real world came crashing back. I knew that Dad would be looking for me, so I called to the dogs, "Let's go home." They looked almost disappointed, yet they obediently turned left and climbed up the embankment of the hill. I chased after them and then I heard my name being called. I spotted the dirt road ahead of me through a break in the trees. There he stood, not very happy. My journey, a bit of escape, had come to a conclusion, but the memory would always remain, to be revisited many times. Like an old friend, it is faithful. Like a warm blanket, it soothes my tattered soul and brings comfort to those who need it...
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