Room to Roam

So the resolution I care most about, in many ways, I didn't write down while tipsy. That is, if it is not below twenty-five degrees and blowing like a bastard or persistently precipitating, I will get outside and get some fresh air, whether walking, hiking, swimming or sledding. Last year, and through the summer, I lived as though I were house-bound. Mostly it was ignorance of the island and its geography, and not yet feeling like I had any rights to the place.

This obviously changed with the dissolution of my Portland-based relationship, and with the tenuous threads of belonging I'd spun for myself. Also, at long last, I had a guide. As evidenced by the posts here, my view of the island widened; the shy girl lifted her eyes.

Two days ago, after stocking up on necessities (whole wheat flour, blueberries), I headed out into the advancing day well before sunset, so that I might climb Champlain and try descending by the trail that goes down its Northeast side. It is a pleasant hike up- there's a lovely stand of stunted pine that always makes me smile. All was well- I reached the top in plenty of daylight.

And was assaulted with associations, the sharpness and strength of which I did not expect.

So I made no delay in seeking out the opening I'd been shown that would lead me down the fresh path. No ghosts of companionship past on this side of the hill. It just felt like a parting gift, in line with everything else he gave me- thoughtlessly perfect. This side is substantially steeper, and the trail not always as clear: there was the occasional cairn; I had to read the huckleberries. Once in a while I would lose it and consider that I might need to just retrace my steps. But I trusted that I would find the way, and eventually emerged on the main road.

A note on handling slippery slopes:



I didn't stay on the road for long- sometimes you just go a little woods queer and want to stay invisible, or need to prolong the journey. I turned into Rich's Cove, another summer settlement, though substantially less pretentious than the Point. There I found the perfect rope swing. Is there any better thing in this world than a length of thick rope, knotted in a few strategic places, secured to a sturdy tree? I pulled it up a rocky incline, grasped the top knot, and jumped, swinging my legs around the large bottom knot as I whipped through the air.

It was not the end of my adventuring for the day, though it was the last major event before I wandered home in the twilight. There was one more small act of significance. Before I left, I climbed down into the curve of the cove, knelt at the water. Yes it's January, but the inlet is not yet all that cold.