No one goes to the place I visited last Sunday. It is not too far from my house. It isn’t popular, has no trailheads, and is mostly an inconvenience for those who must travel through it. But it is remote, quiet, and accessible. After so many days of long hours, a barrage of unpleasant news, and so much uncertainty, I needed some time in nature. Nature, right now, is the only sense of normalcy I can find.
I parked the car and started walking to the west, heading very slowly towards a rocky outcropping crowned with some scraggly juniper trees. I wasn’t sure what I was looking for, except for an assurance that the familiar landscape was there, the events that happen when the seasons change were still occurring, and that I was far enough away from the ringing of my cell phone.
The curly dock was just awakening from its long winter’s nap, and it’s green leaves were a joy to see. I don’t think I’ve ever taken a photo of freshly-sprouting dock leaves, but I excitedly got on my knees for the best angle. Those knees cried out in pain when I felt a sharp poke into my left kneecap. Moving my knee, I noticed four pieces of chipped stone sticking defiantly out of the dirt. Evidence of the Archaic culture is found in this area, and these pieces were undoubtedly a result of someone crafting stone projectile points and tools, perhaps as long as 5,000 years ago. Would I have noticed them half-buried in the sand if I had not looked for the perfect angle to take a photo of the dock?
Continued explorations in the dirt led to more stone flakes scattered around the little outcropping. What a beautiful place this would have been to work! Views that go on forever, a good supply of chert deposits on the hills behind me, and a few trees to shelter from the wind. Of course, I have no idea what the environment may have looked like at the time the Archaic people lived here, but it made for some pleasant daydreaming.
In a place where silence is the prevailing sound, something caught my attention that few people have the privilege of hearing. In the distance, weaving its way through the juniper branches, a dust devil materialized, and made its way towards me. The swirling wind struggled to pick up any of the damp dirt, so it’s approach was almost invisible. Knowing that I was in its path, I stepped off the rock I was standing on and braced myself slightly, leaning into the impending blast of wind. The trees around me, previously motionless, began to tremble as the wind caught their branches. Fifty yards…thirty yards…ten yards…the sound became louder and louder as the dust devil enveloped me and my rock outcropping, throwing a few juniper needles in my face, then continued to the east, quickly dissipating. In the space of thirty seconds, all was quiet once again.
I stepped off my rock outcropping, allowing the silence to, once again, surround me. I noticed how I had already claimed some ownership of the locality in the hour or so that I had been wandering. Making my way back to the car, I saw things I had missed on my walk to the outcropping. My eyes were re-attuned to the small discoveries that a quick hike might miss. It was a satisfying feeling.
The two hours I had spent wandering didn’t add many steps on my fitness tracker. But that wasn’t the objective in this saunter. With the increasing concern over Coronavirus COVID19, my increasing workload, and the decreasing availability of time and location to escape the barrage of news and data, I needed a place to reset my mind. And nature gave me that opportunity. The fresh green growth reminded me that the cycles of the seasons are still in place. Slowing down and carefully observing the dirt under my feet literally grounded me for a blissful two hours. And the almost invisible dust devil assured me that events, be it the wind or a virus, come and go. How you weather the event depends on how well you can lean into it. I will take that wisdom with me as return to work.