An Unexpected Friend
Once when hiking, I had an unexpected encounter with a friend. It
was early Spring, and it was a long journey, of more than a hundred
miles. The timetable for resupply had necessitated that many miles
be covered each day. While the weather had been warm in the lowlands,
snow still stood in the mountain tops, and frost covered my sleeping
tarp each morning as I awoke with the dawn.
Days
were not so bad, though the snow at times made the passage arduous.
Still the wonder of nature surrounded me, and I was filled with the
hope of the growing season after a long Winter that all living things
were feeling. Green shoots pushed towards the light of day through
the retreating fingers of snow from the grip of Old Man Winter. Deer
and birds rejoiced as they foraged, and the trees were set to blossom
with the joy of Spring.
After a sleet filled night, up cold on the mountain, I worked my way
down to the valley according to plan. Cold with wet and groggy from
lack of sleep, I fell into the rhythm of walking as I worked my way
down a mountainside whose trees had been shattered and cracked and
fallen with the violence of the cold. The path was obscured, because
of the damage, and those trees remaining threatened hurt in heavy
wind as the Sun rose through grey dawn to midday. Far below a ribbon
of dancing light beckoned: the stream that I knew would lead me back
to my path again.
Skirting amoung fallen wood, I made my way down, and down and down
to the shimmering light, as the Sun began to peek from the low clouds
that surrounded me. Finally its heat won, coupled with my lower elevation,
and I found myself mud covered and steaming in its brilliance, though
the wind still roared over head. Still I descended, ‘til at last I
reached the freshet less than an arms length wide, but moving fast.
I followed the rushing water, still fresh with snow melt, until I
could go no farther, the heat of noon teasing my exhausted form with
the promise of warm sleep in its comforting light. Finding a dry rock
at the foot of a tree, I laid my pack down with a sigh, and spread
my sitting pad, and breathed a contented sigh at the much needed rest.
The area was sheltered, a flat area on the dwindling hill, and the
babbling brook took a bend there, flattening out the water. I fell
into a deep sleep, listening to the snow melt gliding happily by me
on its way to the sea.
I awoke sometime later with a start, hearing squabbling noise, realizing
that I was not alone. A groundhog had emerged from his burrow, beneath
a tree just opposite from me, and I realized that I was sleeping in
his front yard, an uninvited guest. Still too tired to move, I asked
for his forgiveness at the intrusion. This seemed to mollify him somewhat,
and he went about his task of gathering fresh watercress from the
stream, though still muttering under his breath and clucking at my
intrusion into his realm. I watched his efforts, less than a yard
away from me, and grew hungry for this fare too, filled with the exuberance
of new growth.
He grew wary as I moved towards the water, crawling low as to not
alarm him, drinking downstream to as a nod to his sovereignty. I sampled
the cress, definitely a nose twister, the strong taste sending the
vitality of the hard mountain into my blood. I took some more, bending
to drink to wash it down with mouthfuls of the cold and clear melt
as he watched me, with what seemed to be an inquisitive smile on his
face. One more pinch of the cress, and a little more drink and I was
sated, and washed my face, before returning to my seat, and absorbing
the sun once more.
The groundhog grew less wary of me, and continued his rounds, tasting
and testing the cress, checking on some wapatoo that grew near. Having
his fill, he returned to his burrow with a mouth full of the cress
for a later salad, and disappeared into the roots of the tree.
I looked at the entrance to his home and saw that there was a flat
rock, similar to the one that I was sitting on, in front of his home.
Around it I saw scattered the remains of nuts: a nice dining room
table for a fella, that made me smile. I hoped that he would come
back out, as I suddenly felt lonely in the valley there, wondering
what thoughts were inside his head. I reached in my pocket for my
mix of nuts and dried fruit, and placed some on his table, calling
for my shy companion to come out and join me. I could see his eyes
after a short while, reflecting in the dark. I ate some of the mix,
and he boldly came out to join me. Again I apologized for the intrusion.
He sat on his haunches, as I laid back against my pack, and we shared
a moment in the sun together. It seemed that our minds melded with
our surroundings in the simple enjoyment of the perfection of the
moment, in the comfort of the warming Sun. We ate of the same fare,
and this was a further connection, and he, like me, did enjoy those
dried apricots. Two bachelors enjoying a meal. He retreated after
several minutes of sharing like this, with the remainder of the food
that I had offered tucked by his jaw.
I thought this to be the end of our meeting, and began to gather the
strength to resume my walk once more. But the groundhog had in mind
a parting gift. Several moments after he had disappeared into the
recesses of his den, he returned, bearing a nice sized hickory nut,
ready for cracking, in his hands. For the slightest moment he hesitated,
before placing it on his table, before retreating slightly into the
roots of his tree. I thanked him for the food, knowing his sacrifice,
our eyes locked in commonality, the warmth of a smile passing between
us.
I gathered his offering, slipping it into my pocket for later use.
There I found more of my trail mix. This time I hesitated, though
not from need, but from want of not insulting his gesture. But I figured
that he might enjoy the rare treat of some more apricots, so slipped
out three more and placed them on his table in return. It seemed as
though he was pleased.
With that I arose and gathered my pack, and thanked my friend once
again for the hospitality. I slipped the weight onto my back, and
adjusted the straps, leaning on my walking stick as I did so. Turning,
I began to walk away, though I bent down to gather a bit more of the
watercress as I passed it. I called back my farewells and appreciations,
and continued on down the stream to find my path.
On cold Winter nights I am reminded of this time, a tale to be told
around a warm fire late on. I think of the kindness of strangers,
and the ties that bind us all in the web of life. I know that by best
of chances my friend has no doubt passed. But I think of his descendents
living there as they have for millennia, burrowed under the snow,
sleeping, waiting for the coming of Spring, like me.