A Walk in the Woods

Archived from March 2020

Dear Lainey, 

Do you remember the scene in Breakfast at Tiffany’s when Holly explains the “mean reds?” It’s a comically honest scene. There she is feeding her cat cream out of a martini glass, vulnerably expressing her emotions. It may be one of the few moments of truth in the movie. “The blues are because you’re getting fat or maybe it’s been raining too long...the mean reds are horrible, suddenly you’re afraid and you don’t know what you’re afraid of.” It’s not the blues, it is being panicky,  even angry, and not knowing why. That’s how I’ve been feeling lately. Letting myself get low due to the craziness in the news, life in lockdown with this pandemic, and work stresses that take too much precedent.

So, I picked up, for the first time in at least five years, some G.K Chesterton. He writes in Orthodoxy, “we need this life of practical romance; the combination of something strange with something that is secure.”  What a phrase, “practical romance.” I was quickly struck: this is the experience of getting older. In my teens and early twenties, all I wanted was the strange, the new, the magical. That desire has not gone away, but it has been combined with maturity and an understanding of the sacredness in our own spaces. That is why we have decided to begin these letters. Now, with Covid-19, more than ever is time to take joy in the small beauties, the romance of daily life. 

And here is one little adventure I experienced lately…

Last week was filled with grey clouds and snowy days. Mid-week I thought about going for a small ski in the woods behind my house (not in avi terrain) but decided to keep things simple and just take, Brea, for a walk. We have those nordic trails just above our house and since the ski area has closed down snowmobilers have been using them, so the path is packed down and perfect for dog walking. 

It was around 5:30 in the evening, and, now that we are in springtime, there was plenty of daylight left. We walked up out of our yard during a break in the snow. But as we started down the trail, dark clouds rolled in almost like a thunderstorm. Rather than releasing deluge and light, they released soft, large flakes that turned the forest silent and still. There are dense woods on each side of the path and the lines “the woods are lovely, dark, and deep,” twirled over and over to the beat of our steps. And the internal darkness I had been experiencing grew stronger. 

There was a moment, with the snow continuing to fall, when Brea and I turned the corner out of the woods. We walked out onto a small collection of rocks and looked over the lake by our house. No footprints had been there, and white light streamed down. This was true peace and meditation. And while Brea obsessed over the stick she found (her own way of worship), I got the chance to sit on unmarked snow, clean and pure, and rest in the foundations of water, earth, and light. 

This is simply a place I walk my dog regularly, but by noticing what was turning in the wind and shifting through the trees it became a practical romance. 

Cheers my dear friend,

Hilary