A feeling of reverence and awe strikes me. I am sitting on a rock, feet dangling over the edge of a mountain taking in the scene below and before me. Forested mountains as far as the eye can see. My friend Kevin and I had been hiking for three days through the presidential range in New Hampshire and were about to camp on a ledge on the side of Mount Jefferson. But the view before me was both overwhelming and serene. It was a transcendent moment for me.
Backpacking and camping you get close to the earth. You sleep on the ground and look for the earth to provide a soft pile of pine needles, a bed of moss or a blanket of ferns to tamp down for a night’s rest. You are close to the ground as you cook and eat, looking for a log for a seat and rock to sit the stove upon. This closeness to the earth brings an appreciation for the interconnectedness of all living things and reminds me of how removed we are from our place in this world in our “normal” day-to-day living.
Out on the trail, resting, munching granola, I have a front row seat at a small scene in the cycle of life – a decaying tree stump of what was once clearly a massive tree. The stump is several feet in diameter and judging by the trees around us, this was probably a 60 -80’ hemlock or cedar. But now it is hard to distinguish where stump ends and humus begins. Looking like a lopsided volcano, a rim of rotting wood on one side and a flow of decomposed organic matter spilling out and becoming one with the earth around it. The remains of this tree are the business of thousands of ants and bugs swarming through and taking what’s left. Soon no one will even know that this patch of fertile ground was created by the interplay of tree, insects, fungi, bacteria, water and air. And soon a seed will take root here and gain sustenance from the fertile earth to repeat the cycle again.
Our guide book tells us that we are crossing from the Saco River Drainage to the Merrimack River Drainage on this trail. The Saco is in Maine and the Merrimack is in Massachusetts. We hike along and realize we have started to gently descend. If I spill water now, it is heading back to Massachusetts, I think. That was barely noticeable. Not exactly the continental divide. The Appalachians were once taller than the Rockies are now, but have been eroded down to the not as impressive, but beautifully verdant mountains we have today, with their diversity of flora and fauna.
That night we lay in our tent, on the earth, next to a small stream that lulls us to sleep. The stream will follow the contours of that earth, meandering back and forth, joining with other streams, carrying its load and my dreams down to the sea.