(no subject)
The other day, in my hunt for crinoids, I thought to check the old rock pile in the back of the woods behind the house. I hadn't been back there since I was a child, really, but I can remember spending hours in those woods playing and searching the rocks for geodes and other fossils. I was usually barefoot, even though my mother told me off for running around with no shoes on. I'd just wait until I got to the trees and out of sight, and then I'd kick my shoes off until it was time to go back inside. I was always careful to wash my feet before putting my shoes back on, so she wouldn't know what I'd been up to.
I didn't care about blackberry brambles, or ticks, or snakes, or sharp rocks or anything. I'd climb trees and poke bugs and examine any animal bones I found. I'd pick sorrel and chew on the stems, and strip sassafras trees of twigs and chew on those, too. I just didn't give a damn. I was of the "I'm a child, so I'm invincible" mindset. Nothing could hurt me, there.
But I was terrified of ghosts, and was convinced aliens were going to come through my window and abduct me at night, so I always slept with my bedroom door open and tried to make one of the cats sleep on the bed with me.
So the other day I decided to go back up to the woods to search that rock pile. I changed from my shorts and sandals into jeans, which I tucked into a pair of steel toed work boots, in the event that I encountered any brambles, snakes, or sharp rocks. I pulled my hair back and put a hat on, in an attempt to keep away ticks. I took a long stick with me to help part some of the undergrowth, and once more to protect against snakes.
It's strange, how things change like that. All the things I feared as a child no longer bother me, while the things I had no fear of I now try to protect myself from. I did not even get to the rock pile that day, because when I was done pushing my way through the woods (carefully, slowly, watching out for poison ivy and wild animals and thorn vines), I discovered that it was too overgrown with plants. Nature had reclaimed all of my old childhood haunts. The fallen giant of an oak tree I used to play on was almost gone, rotted away into little more than soil and a few pieces that were barely recognizable as having once been a tree. It used to bridge a hollow in the woods, where the ground dipped on all sides, forming a bowl with a rocky bottom. Ferns and touch-me-not had taken over over the old creek bed where wild scallions used to grow so thickly that you couldn't walk without making the air smell like them. The vines I used to swing on were gone as well, knocked down by a storm that they never recovered from.
The rock pile has become nothing but a patch of mossy dirt and ferns and a massive wild rose bush that will probably never bloom because of the shade.
I felt like an intruder, like I was trespassing upon some secret place where I didn't belong. All around me was nothing but wildlife, plants and birds and trees, and there I was, all dressed up to protect myself from it. I'd never come to harm in the woods as a child, and I always felt at home there, like the trees didn't mind the presence of one more small thing amongst them. Now I felt like I'd stumbled upon something I wasn't supposed to see, and slowly, awkwardly I retreated, passing up the patches of sorrel and the sassafras trees, using my stick to poke aside blackberry canes, not feeling the touch of moss and decaying leaves and soft earth beneath the soles of my heavy boots.
I didn't care about blackberry brambles, or ticks, or snakes, or sharp rocks or anything. I'd climb trees and poke bugs and examine any animal bones I found. I'd pick sorrel and chew on the stems, and strip sassafras trees of twigs and chew on those, too. I just didn't give a damn. I was of the "I'm a child, so I'm invincible" mindset. Nothing could hurt me, there.
But I was terrified of ghosts, and was convinced aliens were going to come through my window and abduct me at night, so I always slept with my bedroom door open and tried to make one of the cats sleep on the bed with me.
So the other day I decided to go back up to the woods to search that rock pile. I changed from my shorts and sandals into jeans, which I tucked into a pair of steel toed work boots, in the event that I encountered any brambles, snakes, or sharp rocks. I pulled my hair back and put a hat on, in an attempt to keep away ticks. I took a long stick with me to help part some of the undergrowth, and once more to protect against snakes.
It's strange, how things change like that. All the things I feared as a child no longer bother me, while the things I had no fear of I now try to protect myself from. I did not even get to the rock pile that day, because when I was done pushing my way through the woods (carefully, slowly, watching out for poison ivy and wild animals and thorn vines), I discovered that it was too overgrown with plants. Nature had reclaimed all of my old childhood haunts. The fallen giant of an oak tree I used to play on was almost gone, rotted away into little more than soil and a few pieces that were barely recognizable as having once been a tree. It used to bridge a hollow in the woods, where the ground dipped on all sides, forming a bowl with a rocky bottom. Ferns and touch-me-not had taken over over the old creek bed where wild scallions used to grow so thickly that you couldn't walk without making the air smell like them. The vines I used to swing on were gone as well, knocked down by a storm that they never recovered from.
The rock pile has become nothing but a patch of mossy dirt and ferns and a massive wild rose bush that will probably never bloom because of the shade.
I felt like an intruder, like I was trespassing upon some secret place where I didn't belong. All around me was nothing but wildlife, plants and birds and trees, and there I was, all dressed up to protect myself from it. I'd never come to harm in the woods as a child, and I always felt at home there, like the trees didn't mind the presence of one more small thing amongst them. Now I felt like I'd stumbled upon something I wasn't supposed to see, and slowly, awkwardly I retreated, passing up the patches of sorrel and the sassafras trees, using my stick to poke aside blackberry canes, not feeling the touch of moss and decaying leaves and soft earth beneath the soles of my heavy boots.