Miles From Nowhere

Look up at the mountain – I have to climb.

About nine months ago my youngest son and I went for a walk up a small mountain in the woods. I was feeling low. I think I was trying to use my body to exorcise myself through vigorous activity.

Lord my body – has been a good friend…

It was a complete fiasco: we got lost. You could say I’ve lost my sense of direction. I thought I remembered the map at the start showing the trail looping. We never made it around the alleged loop; at one point losing the trail altogether.  With dusk hurtling towards us, I made him run at top speed doubling back on the trail so that we could reach the bottom before complete darkness set in or at least get past the scary overhangs that we had to edge around. He was heroic, but vowed never to go walking with me again.

Cause I know when I find it my honey, it’s gonna make me feel good. 

But, he is young and forgiving. Yesterday we walked on a nearby trail. He took a compass, a cell phone, a brother, and charge of all sign reading.

I’ll drink to you my baby, I’ll drink to that. 

Miles from nowhere, guess I’ll take my time – to reach there


12 responses to “Miles From Nowhere

  1. That first photo stopped me in my tracks – stunning, absolutely stunning.

  2. Jessica. I am glad I read this post in the early light of day. It is illuminating with beautiful and intriguing prose and imagery. I was mesmerized by the two constrasting elemental photographs and the way they hinted to the story.

  3. children are so forgiving of adults. my dog knocked over my mother when we were out jogging. he thought it was a great joke so was bouncing round her. i had to laugh but she never went running with me again. she said she gave birth to a monster. the jury’s still out on that one.

  4. I love Cat Stevens.
    I took the girls for a walk in the Old Saybrook Town Park when they were 6 and 4. A 30 minute walk burgeoned into three hours. I tried to remain calm as we passed trees and bushes I recognized because we had passed them a number of times already. Then 6 y.o. Zan noticed, too. Somehow, we, too, lost the trail and doubling back landed us in barberry patches and no hint of the route back out of the woods, much less to the park parking lot. The thorn patches were the height of the children, so Zan goes up on my back and Bobbie in my arms. Finally we came to a dirt track that led to a house and we continued out its driveway, a long and winding road itself. One of the house’s occupants came driving up on her way home. She stopped; I told her of our plight and she she allowed as lost park users were not an uncommon occurrence. She had once had to give water to a lost person and her horse. She said we were miles from the entrance to the park; we should go back to the house and take some trail she began to describe until she saw the anguished look on my face. “Do you want a ride..?” she reluctantly offered.

    At home, later that afternoon, I felt something tickling under my pant leg. A deer tick. “Come here, girls,” I called plaintively. Both girls were infested with deer ticks–over fifty each. Get out the tweezers and the poker face. Children’s blood must be heavily laced with the same chemical that makes the memory of child-birthing subside.

    • Yeah it took us about three hours to right ourselves. We didn’t have ticks to contend with but we did have Eric heading up a search party in a furious rage of panic. I think I’ll take 100 ticks over a teenager’s irate alarm.

  5. Photos are beautiful! …of the everyday landscape that speaks of its vicinity to people and all their weird needs to channel and direct and access it.

  6. RE: Teen’s irate alarm–I had to face Bobbie after being more than a half hour late picking her up from practice one evening. She was crying and screaming at me at the same time because she was afraid I had been in a car accident. Boy I felt like I had won Bad Mother of the Year Award.

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