This Kind of Quiet

I can't even remember his name.

"Hello, is ?? there?"

In a wary tone, "May I ask what this is regarding?" she asks.

She thinks I'm a telemarketer. I know she does.

"Yes, I met ?? at the youth hostel in Seattle and he said he was about to travel to Ireland for two months but to call him afterwards so we could maybe get together."

Silence.

"Hello?"

"I'm so sorry..." Her tone has totally changed. She really does sound sorry.
"...but ?? was hiking with his friend in Ireland. It was really foggy and they hiked off of a cliff. Both of them died."

"Oh!" I say. And then I pause, thinking that this is his mother and that I actually had more recent contact with her son before he died. It seems so wrong. "Oh. Okay, I'm sorry. Good-bye."

The last thing I hear before I hang up is "I'm really sorry. Good-bye."

I haven't thought about that conversation in years. Over a decade even. But it comes to mind as I plead with God to please keep me safe after I've fallen through the snow up to my hips. I've lost the trail and even though there are markings the snow has covered it and I'm going in circles back over and over trying to find the trail.

I fall through again, up to my hip and almost underneath one of the huge fallen Sequoia trees in the forest. I'm alone and I haven't seen anyone for the past 2 hours.

One way brings me to a cliff and the river. The other way to the huge fallen trunks and snow that I keep falling through. Now to my hip, now to my waist. Brambles on the other side. I go back to the marking. Which way is it pointing? I don't see a trail that way at all.

Another prayer leaves my lips as I follow what I think is the trail to the edge of the cliff. No, I'm not falling off to my death. That conversation will not be happening again.

Finally, after covering the area in a grid pattern for about an hour...I find the trail again. This part of Sequoia is so confusing. I have a map, a compass, and trail markers and I still am losing the trail. The light is slowly fading as well and dark will not help me get out of the forest any easier or faster.

Breathe. Remain calm. No, I don't know what time it is, but looking up past these tall, tall, trees I guess at where the sun is hiding. Maybe 4 or is it 6? I started at 10 this morning.

In another hour, I lose the trail again. My head pivots. Look at the markings, look at the trail. Look at the markings, look at what I think is a clear trail...but it's going in the opposite direction of the markings. Which do I follow? At this point I decide to go with my gut and continue to follow the trail. These markings aren't as clear as I'd like them to be. Summer is one thing, but when there's snow on the trail, it's another.

I actually thought the first marker was a warning. Yellow triangle with a tilted tree. "Warning, Falling Trees" or tree branches. I mean they were everywhere. Huge fallen Sequoia trunks. They're so huge they could easily crush a person. It made sense right? But then they started showing up not so tilted. Straight up and down even. After a few more I understood it to be pointing the way to the trail.

There's nothing like taking a long hike in an isolated spot by yourself. It clears your head. Gives you perspective. And every now and again, reminds us of our mortality.

We re-calibrate our worth. Not based on what other people think we're worth, how popular we are, how useful we are to society and the world or how much we are needed. We find our worth from a different place. The center shifts and strips us of all the layers we humans put on things until you've reached the core. To find our worth, as a person doing nothing but hiking in the woods without anyone else nearby.

These huge trees that have lived for generations and generations have cleaned our air and provided shelter for so many now also are the backdrop to the hike that helps to clean my soul.

When I stop there is no sound but the wind rustling the tree branches, the leaves blowing, and the birds twittering. It's been so long since I've heard this kind of quiet. Living in the city, there's always some sort of traffic or neighbor or dumpster diver or helicopter.

As I move slowly back into the presence of people. Tourists just passing in their cars who've taken a short walk. One gentleman has a cell phone earpiece on and is in a 3 piece suit. He's walking back to his shiny luxury car. The kind that looks as if he could limo people around in it but you can tell he's a businessman and not a limo driver.

The quiet from the hike stays within me though. Transforming itself and growing. From experience I know that eventually it will fade. How long depends on life. How long can a person keep this kind of quiet? That's the test. For now, I'm very grateful to be alive, breathing, and going back to the Ranger Station to see if there's a pay shower. Then, as I look forward to the warmth of a clean shower and breathing steam into my lungs, I'm reminded that civilization isn't all bad.