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October 10, 2002 ~ Autumn's Treasure Pouch
Thursday.
You didn't think that I could leave all of those uncharted trails unexplored, did you? I hiked on Jones Mountain again today, since I had another hour and a half block before Morgan would be there to pick me up. I had no idea where I was going, but at least I knew that it would be fun going there.
Big Timber Trail passed under gigantic oaks. I walked beneath a canopy of green. The leaves still have not changed here, not even at the higher elevations. I am beginning to wonder if we will have an earnest autumn at all, or if, when winter finally arrives, the green leaves will just turn brown instantly and fall to the ground, robbing us of the beautiful colors. It is mid-October, and the weather has not been cooperating. I console myself with the occasional leaf here and there which changes of its own accord, independent, rebelling against the other leaves, bursting forth in brilliant color and falling. I find them here and there on the trail, little scattered jewels, as if Autumn's treasure pouch is cinched tight this year, and Winter has poked a very small hole in the bottom, letting the occasional brilliant leaf escape. These few fallen leaves had collected small puddles from last night's rain, which sparkled in the afternoon light. I collected a few of these leaves to bring back to Morgan, because we need a little autumn.
After a time, I spotted a very small, seldom used trail with a marker reading "to Barefoot Trail." The name sounded interesting, so I turned off of Big Timber Trail" to make my way up the steep, narrow path, slipping occasionally in my flat-soled shoes. I always forget to wear my boots. The climb quickly stole my breath. (I would not, by the way, recommend hiking Barefoot Trail barefoot. Lots of sharp rocks and such.)
Eventually, Barefoot Trail met up with Hung Tree Trail, the route that I had taken up the mountain last time. I decided to follow it up, rather than heading back down. I knew that I had plenty of time; there was no sense in hiking back down only to sit at the bottom waiting for a good forty-five minutes.
There is a point where a barbed-wire fence follows the trail. Last time, I realized that I noticed immediately when the fence started, but I didn't notice when it had ended. It slowly dawned on me that the fence was no longer there, and I looked back and couldn't see it at all, so it must have ended a while back. I promised myself that the next time when I hiked there, I would pay closer attention. Even though I had reminded myself to pay attention to the fence this time, however, the exact same phenomenon occurred. I noticed immediately its start, but again, I failed to notice its end. Perhaps this is psychological? I immediately notice when I am being fenced in, limited, having freedoms taken away, but I am not so careful to note when the fence is removed, when I am given more freedom? I think it is good to be aware of and resist limits to my freedom, but shouldn't I also be aware of and thankful for the removal of limits? Something to work on, and an interesting idea to ponder.
A tree, about eight inches in diameter, had a patch of bark about four inches above my head (I am 5'5") rubbed away, the raw wood had been bleeding sap. The bark had been rubbed off at least a few months ago, the wood underneath showing significant weathering. I looked closer and noticed short, fine hairs stuck here and there to the bark and wood in places where they had caught. I smiled. Antler velvet, probably. Bucks often rub their new antlers on trees in the spring, don't they? What must it feel like to grow horns from your skull? Is it maddening and painful, like teething? Do bucks rub them on things like trees because it feels good, just as babies enjoy chewing on things when they are teething? Imagine. Growing horns.
As I grew close to the summit, I noticed a leaf holding a drop of red liquid. Blood? It looked like it. I continued on and found another, and another. Had something carried its bleeding prey along this trail? But why would it only drip on the leaves? That's unlikely. I stopped to look around, and I noticed a few little fallen berries here and there. I took one, stuck my thumb nail in it, and dropped it in a little puddle of water caught in a fallen leaf, and started laughing at myself. Not blood at all. Just berries in water.
When I was about thirty feet from the summit (next to the patch of fur that I mentioned before), I found another trail turn-off, and decided not to go to the summit (I'd already seen it anyway) and explore this trail down instead. It followed a ridge, and to either side of the trail was just a few feet of relatively level ground and then a steep fall. I watched my footing carefully, and I eventually came to a portion of forest that had very little underbrush and few small trees. I looked to the bases of a few of the trees that were standing. Fire-blackened--whether from a forest fire or a controlled burn, I didn't know. It was somewhat eerie, however, walking amidst those blackened trunks.
Near the base of the mountain, I finally met up with a trail that I recognized and made my way back down to the trailhead to wait for Morgan. Right as he pulled up, it began to rain.
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