Where I grew up -no matter which town, there were always plenty of trees all around. Behind the middle school there was a giant hill with a forrest behind it at the top. Within a stone’s throw of entering, my best friends and I or even if I went by myself wouldn’t be able to even see the clearing the trees were that dense. We spent countless hours there talking, walking, hiking, climbing over and around rocks and it just kept going.
There were areas and times I’d just be walking in the woods and find one of the largest local rivers calmly meandering, or when I did the same but on the other side of the main drag, I discovered I had inadvertently walked so far that I ended up three towns away (but to be fair the towns were small).
Then as you followed the road past the middle school and especially behind the high school there were the mountains full of winding roads, scenic overlooks and hidden monasteries. Down the other way was a massive swamp which is actually acres upon acres of a natural preserve which had miles of wooden plank walkways lined on either side with beautiful trees and other foliage of so many different varieties.
But throughout any of these areas you could be back on a major highway within at the very most twenty minutes and the same for a train station that could get you into the city in under forty five minutes, less depending on where you started from.
Now I live in an area so polar opposite, the plethora of open farmland (however beautiful during sunsets) terrified me when I first moved down here. Everything from homes to businesses are such loosely populated areas that everyone answers what township they are from as opposed to giving the name of a town.
If you were to break down in certain areas there’s no cell service and no house within sight that you’d have to walk a good while before being able to get help. That’s not the general rule, but it is still applicable. The cornfields and other type of fields do eventually have some trees around and there are areas where there are more trees, but they’re all people’s personal property.
I decided to change my routine and go to a park nearby (thankfully I’m lucky enough to live in one of the more populated areas and it’s not as isolated as twenty minutes in a certain direction will take you).
All I wanted was dense trees and elevation. So despite the lack of quality in the path’s upkeep, I did find myself much closer to the type of woods I so miss.
Trees act as a type of emotional, physical and mental grouping of sentinels when in the thick of them. Their height alone calls one’s spirit upwards as different vines may wrap around the trunks or squirrels or birds racing vertically unequivocally lengthens one’s sight and thoughts.
However the path I took was very poorly kept; there were easily two to three foot deep crevasses along that sandy path so it was strikingly apparent in an entirely new manifestation for me of how different things are and that only the paved main paths are…I don’t know, considered used enough to warrant their upkeep. Which on one hand I can marginally understand but on the other, this was the 9/11 memorial path and it was only until you returned to the beginning that any proper maintenance was apparent. They had a piece of twisted I beam with a gash down the center from one of the towers and soil in a container within a glass container from the Pennsylvania crash site. It hurt to see how hidden away these were, how in disrepair the trail is and it even reminded me of how little it’s ever been referenced here in my conversations with others. What’s worse is that people less than ten years younger than I am admittedly feel like that’s ancient history or happened in another part of the country so it doesn’t carry the same weight. And to be honest, it is a different country here.
As I walked back to my car, I had a father and daughter cross my path, her with bright hot pink soccer socks and shin guards and him with about ten or so soccer balls in a net and a folding field diagram under one arm. I smiled, asked “soccer?” And said “yes, I just hope the rain holds out”. I passed the playground as an older maybe early teenage girl swung, a very young girl in the structured, protective swing and a mother all were talking, but they were too far away to interact with. I watched briefly then looked away but then forced myself to look again and just be in the present moment knowing I’d more than likely never see them again, and tried to feel happy for them, and the father and daughter about to play soccer.
I’m keenly aware of trying to balance finding and making meaningful connections but not overtax or wear out those relationships already in place. So I as I drove home I remembered a number of people I grew up with who now have families, those I’ve met down here who have their own spouses, children, grandchildren or the like and I wish them the best, but hope they know and cherish what they have. Obviously none of them are perfect, and it’s all only a snapshot of what I see on social media.
As for me, I came home to my cat, spoke with my mom and realized there’s no one else here. But there hasn’t been since moving down here and having my own apartment for three years, so I shouldn’t be surprised. Instead the word is resigned.