Come away for a while

(Mark 6: 31a)

I am lucky to have provision for an annual retreat in my letter of employment. For a few years now, I have used that time to go to the woods on backpacking excursions for nature is a good teacher and a quick-working antidote to the screens, conference rooms and phone calls that make up my regular working environment.  There are other times on retreat when I immerse myself in the liturgical cocoon of our tradition, seeking refreshment by keeping the hours of our church within a monastic community, and those times are balm for the soul.  But there are different benefits to being outside with the Creator and creation which, lately, have won the day for me when planning my annual retreat.

Notice, first, that the word “rest” does not appear in these opening sentences.  Jesus used the word “rest” in the cited bible passage from Mark, calling his disciples to “Come away and ‘rest a while’…” (Mark 6: 31a-b) but a week of backpacking is, honestly, anything but rest.  It is challenging for the body, requires problem solving and decision making, quick-wittedness and flexibility.  Backpacking (at least the way that this novice engages it) is exhilarating and hard.  “Rest” is not part of the equation.

In this past Easter week, I hiked a section of the Appalachian Trail in New York and Connecticut, continuing my effort to “connect the dots” of this 2,190-mile trail that wends its way from Springer Mountain in Georgia to Mount Katahdin in Maine.  I’ve got just a small amount of the full hike completed- from the Shenandoahs in Virginia through West Virginia, Maryland, and up to the middle of Pennsylvania, and now, a hunk of New York and Connecticut; there is plenty left for me to complete in my retirement!  I’ve done the “easy” parts of the trail so far.  Hiking in New England- especially in the Presidential Range of New Hampshire and through Maine- requires a level of physical fitness and conditioning that is beyond me right now.  I hiked this past week with my daughter, Emma, who is a steady encourager, leading the way up the hills and exercising great patience with me, 30 years her senior.  This is the second year in a row that Emma has given up her spring break from the school that she works at to accompany me on my AT quest. I am grateful to her for her willingness to fly across the country and tramp about in the early spring woods with me.

Because the lunar calendar picks the date of Easter each year, (and Emma’s week of spring break always follows immediately on Easter), our trip took place in early spring this year.  Hiking before the leafing of the trees allows for beautiful views across hollers and glades that would be obscured later in the season, and it is guaranteed at this time of year that the brooks and streams will be running with plenty of water.  There are no mosquitos, gnats or black flies to bother, and my usual high-alert for snakes was even turned down a notch. Do snakes come above ground when it is 35 degrees?  

Our hike began at the great Dover Oak near Dover Plains in New York and finished up in Salisbury, CT.  We skipped over a section in the middle that we had completed last year, but our time was spent in the portion of that tri-state area where I spent summers, growing up. It was familiar territory.  Despite the familiarity, though, there were lessons to be learned and well-conceived plans to be re-thought, as the temperatures dropped, the winds picked up and the spring rain turned to snow.  We spent a couple of nights indoors instead of in the shelters or our tent.  It wasn’t that we couldn’t have managed (why does one buy a 17 degree sleeping bag if not prepared to use it?) but it was less about physical comfort and more about time management that drove us indoors: On both nights when we “took a room in town,” we had arrived in the driving rain at our shelter for the night by 3 PM and simply didn’t want to sit in the rain for 5 hours before settling down for the night.  In both instances, the next shelter was too far to get to before nightfall, we were physically spent, and the thought of a dry hotel room that was easily accessed by walking a couple more miles to catch a shuttle into town?… that was an adventure worth pursuing.  And so we did- and it opened up a whole new pocket of the AT Experience that included meeting shuttle drivers (experienced local hikers who care enough about the trail and its community to spend their time giving rides to folks),  securing lodging in small town motels, walking into restaurants with water pouring off of our backpacks, and making coffee and oatmeal in the morning in a motel bathroom using a camp stove.

A few pictures within this blog post allows the beauty of Creation to speak for itself.

Here are some of the lessons that I learned (or re-learned) on this retreat:

1. Humility.  There is an old Breton Fisherman’s prayer that says: “Protect me, O God, for the sea is so big and my boat is so small.”  As I am now in the middle of my seventh decade and not in the best physical condition of my life, the physical challenges of hiking over mountains (even small ones in NW CT) with a 30-pound pack on my back are real. I stop a lot going uphill to catch my breath and allow my heart rate to go down a bit. I feel the strain of my calf muscles and my hamstrings as they labor to get me where my mind is willing me to go, and I am both in awe of the human body and what it can do while simultaneously humbled by the terrain and its ruggedness.   
2. It’s not a battle to win. The challenges of backpacking can easily set up an adversarial relationship between the hiker and Creation. Hoping to “crush” a climb over a peak suggests that, somehow, the hiker has prevailed when they are finally on the descent, but the truth is that, in fact, they haven’t. There’s no “winning,” or contest, or “crushing” on the trail as much as there is a learning to become one with the Creation and move within it.  That might sound a little bit too “woo-woo” but when I learned not to make a big sigh at the bottom of a steep climb and look at it as something to get past or achieve, but rather, as simply what Creation (and the trail) had to offer me in the moment… it became a little more enjoyable. We all have our favorite parts of hiking:  for some, the downhills are the best parts and for others, the steady climb up to a ridge is favorite.  A switchback that allows moving horizontally along a hill’s face with just a slight ascent is a beautiful thing, and who doesn’t love a good stream crossing on a log or series of rocks to hop on?  Hiking the trail can be seen as a challenge because it involves physical activity that my day-job does not serve up on a regular basis, but it is just different, not something to “win.” (I’ll save my competitive nature for the croquet pitch in our back yard this summer).)
3. The mountain is not going to move.  There is a parable in scripture about how  “those who have faith can move mountains,” (Mark 11:23) and, while I consider myself to be a person of faith, so far, I have not had any luck in this department.  The beauty of the AT is that it is a single footpath marked by white blazes with one way to go.  On the few occasions when I have diverted from the trail to avoid a large boulder climb or to try to find a faster or easier way to get to the next summit, I have discovered that the trail is always the safest and the best path.  And, I’ve learned that one step at a time is what moves a body up and over a hill or down and around a rocky descent.  The mountain will not move. It will not lie down. The rocks will not turn to soft moss, the water in the overflowing stream will not stop, and the rain- if it is raining- cannot be turned off like a faucet.  The temperature is the temperature, the bugs, snakes and bears live in the forest, first, and we are their guests.  And so, we pick our way through, gently, and carefully, honoring what has been put in our path.
4. Flexibility wins the day over hard-line planning.  While I consider myself still in the novice category, I have gone on at least a dozen different backpacking trips, now, involving multiple days and nights on trail.  I’ve spent hours beforehand mapping my routes, calculating mileage, looking at Youtube videos of the places that I am going to hike, planning menus, packing and re-packing gear, and imagining how the trip will go.  And, not once, has the trip gone as planned. Not once.  I’ve under-estimated my capacity for mileage, overpacked on food, changed my mind about staying at a shelter because the “vibe” wasn’t right, gone more miles than I’d planned because of a group that I’d fallen in with while hiking, or switched up the plan because of the temperature, or availability of water, or recent bear activity… there are so many variables.  For a trail that is a single footpath headed in one of two directions (North or South).. there are lots of options. And so, even though I am a Myers-Briggs ENTJ and Enneagram #3, (personality types that like plans and achievement and strategy)… I’m learning how to assess, respond, and change plans when needed. (Sometimes it’s easy, and the needed changes are evident, and other times, it’s a gamble.)
5. Creation’s re-generativity is a model for our own self-care. There is something about being in the woods at the dawn of spring that is exhilarating.  It is a privilege to watch the earth come alive again after winter.  The buds on the trees ripened in the week that we walked, the moss was emerald green, raspberry vines pulled at our sleeves with their thorns and still tightly wrapped leaves, and the bare branches of trees knocked against each other in the wind, offering their own percussion to our hike.  I was keenly aware of the hardiness of nature and its ability to re-generate and give birth again to green leaves, verdant pastures, clear pools of water along rock-lined brooks. I was also keenly aware of how we are responsible to care for this gift of Creation and to tread lightly.  I love the rhythm of nature and its regeneration.  And I recognized that this trip was an important part in the regeneration of my spirit after a season of hard work, separation from my daughter, and a need for re-creation.  

I am home now, in my familiar chair in the living room with a fire in the fireplace.  I have a dining room full of equipment to put away and the first load of laundry is already in the wash. Emma sent a text at 3 AM that she’s made it back to Sonoma. And I am already imagining the next trip, the next section of the trail to encounter, my next turn to learn, again, from the wisdom of Creation.  My laptop just sent a banner across my screen telling me that my time online last week was significantly lower than previous weeks.  Yes, I know.  And now, to the emails awaiting me.

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