31 August 2007
Day Twelve
I am camped at Moskey Basin at the western end of Rock Harbor. The wind is strong out of the east and cold in a way that it hasn’t yet been. Paddling would require battling that wind. I have chosen to hike the trail to Daisy Farm campground.
Daisy Farm, on the shore at the intersection of four the main trails, usually bustles with backpackers, paddlers, boats on the dock, miscellaneous researchers and park staff. Arriving there today, I hear voices of two pre-teen girls wading from the dock. Two children can make a campground seem crowded. When the family and two men I passed earlier on the trail shoulder their packs to head for Rock Harbor and the sea plane that will carry them back to Houghton, however, I am the only person in the camp. The park is emptying of people like the last grains of sand from an hour glass. I’ve imagined being the last person on the island, but this experience resonates deeply.
Personal insanity has hit me today like that headwind. Two days ago I was confident, feeling my body strong and healthy in a new way, proud of doing this trip completely by myself. Today I am plagued by self-doubt and deflation. Part of these emotions is low blood sugar. I have no interest in the lunch of flat bread, cheese and summer sausage that lives in the yellow deck bag on my shoulder. I am spontaneously fasting. At the end of the seven-mile hike from Moskey to Daisy I am light-headed. Walking requires the same careful attention as the trip itself; but trees, the trail, the sound of bird calls all have an altered clarity. I am both mindful and given over to desire ~ against my better judgment.
5 comments:
Hmmm..."Personal insanity has hit me today like that headwind." As a detached reader I love the paragraph that starts with that sentence. As your daughter, of course, I hate it but it is, admittedly, very well written. It gives a very poignant glimpse of what the end of a day of camping can feel like--sometimes pinnacle of all space and time and sometimes like just enough to rouse an overwhelming hunger for more.
Your comments are both an inspiration and challenge to my writing in several ways. You are my best reader. Love, Mom
Don't forget me, another reader of your blog, even I can not be as good as your daughter.
This is my first experience in the world of blogging and its odd flavor in a liminal space between private and public. Even this tiny step confronts me with a foundational writer's question: Is anyone reading? Deep in my belly is the my writer's answer: It doesn't matter. I write it anyway and I am my own best reader.
Despite this answer, I am deeply grateful to you, greenfield, for also reading; without knowing one other thing about you.
greenfield:
I've reread the blog and your first comment. Now I know more about who you are. I've a whole story in my head about you: an immigrant from China finding yourself on the Island. About how it is different than any place you might have imagined in the world. That you might not have realized that such an uncivilized place existed without either the comforts of home or even the bare necessities of our normal lives. Please write more about your experience. Replace my imaginations with your own actual story.
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