Garden of Solitude

I had a friend who used to say that he had moved from the "desert of loneliness to the garden of solitude". While he has since moved on to the garden beyond, I hold those words very close in my heart. That description was a lasting gift from Julian to me.

It's been a week of being busy outside of the house for me, and today I am steadfast in my resolve to spend time alone. I took Mama to daycare early so that it would be cool enough for a walk in the woods with Buddy. We've been missing our walks for the past six days.

For me, there is always the danger of becoming unmotivated to do the things that are best for me, if I go on hiatus for awhile. I don't know what that is ---- some internal bent toward self-destruction, or just plain laziness and sloth ---- but going six days without walking was right on the borderline of saying what the hell, and giving it up entirely.

By 8:10 Buddy and I were parking on North Hills Drive to try another link of the Ironwood Trail that we hadn't walked before. I knew where it would end up, but we were starting from another point. Buddy has missed his walks terribly and was positively jubilant when we got on the trail. He didn't know what to sniff first, and couldn't stop prancing back and forth across the path. To my surprise, I felt much the same way. We were no sooner out of sight of the road than I felt like I could breathe deeply for the first time in days. There was a ferocious wind and rain storm last night, so the trees were dripping in the early morning sun, the usually quiescent stream was out of its banks and careening toward Crabtree Creek. The damp earth and clean air combined to give the forest the sense of having been freshly scrubbed, ready for whatever adventures the new day would bring. And that is how I felt as well.

The first three decades of my life, I spent a fair amount of time outdoors. My mother was of the old-school in believing that children needed to play outside whenever possible. Since there were no toys outside, we devised our own games and star-studded theatricals. We could take a few things out with us --- toy dishes, tricycles, dolls. But for the most part we used what we found ---- sticks make admirable guns and swords for pirates, cowboys, cops and robbers. Jumpropes were good for everything from defining boundaries to tying up bad guys. And there's really no way to cook up a three course dinner without plenty of flowers, grass, seeds, and mud. If the sky hadn't provided water lately, there was always the yard pump or the garden hose.

Somehow, playing outside, even though I was scared of bugs and spiders from an early age, was the memory that has survived the longest. Perhaps that's because it was so sensory laden. Perhaps it was the level of attention I gave it; I was absorbed completely in whatever I was doing.

The need to be outside in order to feel whole carried over into adulthood, to some extent, though it started to be extinguished during my twenties. I still went for long, solitary walks by riverbanks and through parks. Whenever I was overcome with feelings that needed to spill, I sought the out of doors. More than once, I literally hugged trees. There were also escapades aplenty as I grew older, the ones that necessitated secrecy and subterfuge. Where better than a lonely beach or abandoned farmhouse, neglected walled garden or secluded forest to indulge in activities that were off limits? Skinny dipping in the river, smoking pot in the old barn, and let's not forget parking in the corn fields. I didn't get sober till I was thirty, so there was plenty of opportunity for scrapes and scrambles with illicit company in the great out-of-doors. Did I mention cemeteries? Nighttime on the golf course?

From thirty to sixty I was busy, too busy for all that messing around in the mud. Even taking children to the park seemed like an imposition on my very busy life. It's amazing that they got outdoors at all. I haven't ever talked to them about their memories of indoor/outdoor life ---- that will be an interesting conversation or two. I do know that both of them enjoy plenty of outdoor activities now, as adults. Making a living and raising kids, trying to run a business, stay sober, tend to everyday family life, kept me indoors and on the run for most of my middle decades. There were exceptions: some camping here and there, visits to state parks and lakes, trips to the beach. But somehow, when my life already felt so chaotic, nature did not feel restorative, it felt untamed, unpredictable, dangerous. There might be enormous, scary bugs in the woods, or murderers and rapists on the greenways. And anyway, I just didn't have time.

So now, once again, I'm back full circle. I haven't made any mud pies, but I've certainly been floating sticks and leaves in the creeks and running along the bank to watch them float through the rapids. I don't stay out playing in the long grass till I'm covered with sunburn and mosquito bites, but I smell the trees and flowers and listen for birdsongs, watch the fledgling cardinals in the backyard and hold very still to see the doe and her fawns cross the stream close by. Maybe one of these days I'll fling myself down in the grass to watch the clouds, or roll down a velvety hill to make myself giggle. I've been known to make a snow angel, winter before last.

What I hope is that the child of wonder who still resides within and the natural world that never stopped rocking along without, will continue to converge. For me, that's the best of all worlds.