“And the world cannot be discovered by a journey of miles, no matter how long, but only by a spiritual journey, a journey of one inch, very arduous and humbling and joyful, by which we arrive at the ground at our feet, and learn to be at home.” Wendell Berry
We finished the second third of our journey in the dark. The day had begun at the bottom of Dark Canyon. We climbed up out of the canyon as the sun’s rays slowly made their way down. Soon, the large yellow cottonwood trees where we camped became dots of bright color in a vast landscape of rock carved by time. After several hours, we reached the top of the canyon and headed over land across white slick rock that had eroded into pockets, crevices, and small arroyos. Eventually, we reached a road. From there, our legs covered the miles quickly. As the waxing moon rose, we arrived at our car.
We felt reluctant to enter the car and end this section of our journey. In the dark, we turned to face the direction from which we had come. We raised our arms above our heads, stretching until our hands seemed to blend into the stars and our chests blurred into the shadow of the mesa in front of us.
“Thank you.” The words came without invitation and took up residence as I thanked each place we had visited: Salt Creek, a corridor of windows into the past; North Long Point, a mesa filled with coyotes, deer, cattle, and jeeps; and finally Dark Canyon, a world of granite, water, unexplored side canyons, and adventure.
Now, in front of the computer, I struggle to explain the liberation encompassed in that space of gratitude. I felt heir to Aldo Leopold. “I am glad I shall never be young without wild country to be young in. Of what avail are forty freedoms without a blank spot on the map?”
These wild places restore my soul. Here, the humbling scale of life displays itself, from rock records of solidified sand dunes and extinct shallow seas to the evocative chorus of coyotes at dusk. I finally understood the end of Mary Oliver's poem, Wild Geese.
"Whoever you are, no matter how lonely, the world offers itself to your i imagination. Calls to you, like the wild geese, harsh and exciting--
over and over announcing your place in the family of things."
We finished the second third of our journey in the dark. The day had begun at the bottom of Dark Canyon. We climbed up out of the canyon as the sun’s rays slowly made their way down. Soon, the large yellow cottonwood trees where we camped became dots of bright color in a vast landscape of rock carved by time. After several hours, we reached the top of the canyon and headed over land across white slick rock that had eroded into pockets, crevices, and small arroyos. Eventually, we reached a road. From there, our legs covered the miles quickly. As the waxing moon rose, we arrived at our car.
We felt reluctant to enter the car and end this section of our journey. In the dark, we turned to face the direction from which we had come. We raised our arms above our heads, stretching until our hands seemed to blend into the stars and our chests blurred into the shadow of the mesa in front of us.
“Thank you.” The words came without invitation and took up residence as I thanked each place we had visited: Salt Creek, a corridor of windows into the past; North Long Point, a mesa filled with coyotes, deer, cattle, and jeeps; and finally Dark Canyon, a world of granite, water, unexplored side canyons, and adventure.
Now, in front of the computer, I struggle to explain the liberation encompassed in that space of gratitude. I felt heir to Aldo Leopold. “I am glad I shall never be young without wild country to be young in. Of what avail are forty freedoms without a blank spot on the map?”
These wild places restore my soul. Here, the humbling scale of life displays itself, from rock records of solidified sand dunes and extinct shallow seas to the evocative chorus of coyotes at dusk. I finally understood the end of Mary Oliver's poem, Wild Geese.
"Whoever you are, no matter how lonely, the world offers itself to your i imagination. Calls to you, like the wild geese, harsh and exciting--
over and over announcing your place in the family of things."
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