Somewhere in the Woods, Near the French River
We all lose our way, sometimes, somewhere in the woods. Taking a step off the path, we misplace our sense of direction. This may be an invitation into a surrendering to what is coming. I think it’s a guarantee that it’s a sure thing in life, in what Kate Bowler calls this “No-cure for being human.” Maybe it’s illness. Maybe it’s an unwanted transition. Perhaps we’re catapulted off the path, by a choice someone else makes for us. In this case, I was not paying attention. Not to the first or the second or the third time something niggled at me, nudging me gently, a whisper of maybe this isn’t even a path at all.
Last Monday I drove nearly four hours to a gorgeous destination called The Lodge at Pine Cove, in Northern Ontario, just south of Sudbury. Oh the joy of leaving Southern Ontario’s hustle. The drive was worth it, as I would soon spend nearly 48 hours gazing at the French River, admiring the clear, deep blue waters of Pine Cove, both on and from my own personal screened-in porch. I’d been working hard on a few extra projects, in addition to my regular practice management, and had just held my first full-day retreat. I was tired and decided it was a good idea to steal away, on my own, to rest and restore while exploring the location where I am hosting my next weekend Fall retreat. Go hard, and then relax. Balance the work with play. My motto for living, these days.
I watched the first sunset from my cottage, planning the following night (if we were lucky enough to have another) that I’d literally soak in it. Alone, I kayaked around a jagged coastline for half an hour, before turning back and paddling towards the sunset. The river was waveless, apart from the occasional fishing boat wake. I snapped photos, as often as I could. A smattering of clouds framed the bright orange ball descending toward the horizon. My heart felt as light as a feather.
Sunset at Pine Cove, after Summer Solstice
I floated a hundred metres from shore, waiting for its final descent, then quickly decided to jump in and swim toward it. It was serene and exactly what I needed. I slept like a bear that night, after weeks of mild insomnia.
The next morning, I decided to take a hike before breakfast and checkout.
An hour later, I stand in silence, on a rock face at the edge of the woods. The sky is bright and blue, and a shimmering pond lies before me. I have little idea of where I am, realizing only now, that I have been walking off the path for most of this hike.
Soft spikes of brush, a kindling forest floor. Branches beginning and ending; sprawling, uncleared tree stands. I find myself somewhere in a mixed deciduous and evergreen forest, one I have never hiked before. There are no more orange tags on any trees. I’m aware I could probably retrace my steps, but that feels more tortuous. To compete with those branches, scraping their sharp ends against my skin. Going back is a last resort. I can’t hack another hour of mosquitoes feasting on my sweaty neck and shoulders. Swiping left, right, up and down, I have been clawing my way through this foreign place. I look for a trail - anywhere - but there is none. At least not visible to me, yet.
At first, I wondered how they’d called it a trail. Thought maybe I was spoiled by living in a town with such well-maintained ones. Uxbridge, claiming its title as the trail capital of Canada. Realizing after about 20 minutes of bush whacking, that I had long left the path and was only now starting to care. I had convinced myself I’d meet up with the demarcated path - eventually - although I hadn’t seen any paint markers for a while now. Maybe this is some sort of logging maze, I wonder. I had been following a random passage toward an unknown place. I didn’t care until I cared enough to. It isn’t unusual for me to carve my own path, but usually I have guidance or more information.
Eventually, after the last orange tag I stare between two tall trunks that offer no more direction. (See first photo) I scramble up and down, searching for the next one but there is none. Back to this rock face. Taking slow sips of fresh air, soaking up sun rays, away from the bugs and possible ticks. It’s a good thing I’m not that scared of them, I think to myself.
My panic level begins to rise, just a little. I am thirsty, having been sweating for the past hour and now I have little idea of how long it will be to find my way back. Alex is expecting me for a meeting at 9:45 am and I feel my throat clench, my pounding chest and I hear my mom’s voice in my head. “Jaclyn, oh my, oh my.” I can see my father shaking his head, scolding me for not taking a water bottle or staying on the right path. “I trained you better than that,” he would say. No compass, not paying attention. Unacceptable to a man who spent the first decade of his career as a forester.
There has been no rain for days and days. My mouth is dry from the dirt I’ve kicked up from scaling the dusty forest floor, my feet and legs tired and stretched from the crackling of piles of leaves and twigs, climbing and descending mounds of moss and undergrowth, nearly falling into holes that appeared to be solid ground. Every now and then the sun streams through breaks in the trees, lending its lightness to me. I don’t really know where I am right now. My head swivels back and forth. I squint my eyes, scanning for an orange tag - anywhere. I am so close, but feel so far. My heart gallops as my breath shortens.
That’s how life is sometimes, isn’t it? Finding yourself unsure of what direction to take, which way to run, to walk, or avoid. Every possibility seems to looks the same, blending dead ends and wrong turns, and you finally realize how lost you are. You wonder how many bad decisions led you to this one moment in time. Foolhardy, heavy-loaded, burdensome. You have grown away from yourself, from listening to the sense in your head. You have been distracted and off-course without pausing to reflect.
So here I stop to pause, on this rock even though my impulse is to keep moving. I try my Iphone, and unsurprisingly all I see is an SOS signal in the top right-hand corner. I have had little to no service here, as the Lodge is proudly off the grid, with the exception of the main office. I feel really alone. What was I thinking? I scold myself, again.
I consider my options, again. Go back the way I came. Keep searching. My blood sugar is now quite low, from delaying breakfast. Another silly choice.
I walk another few steps forward along the shoreline. I take a deep breath. I look up and ask “Show me the way.”
I hear my girl’s voice in my head. “You’ve got this, Momma,” her sweet tone reminding that I’m capable when something feels hard. Somedays I feel like I could hear this on repeat. Over and over, replaying her voice.
But for today, the memory is enough. Even after decades of hiking in random rural places and provincial or national parks, with so many reminders of how much water to take and always stay on the path, I stop thinking ‘I should know better’. I stop beating myself up. Instead, I walk a few more steps, repeating, “Show me the way.” I feel my shoulders melt down, catch my breath, just a little. And then I see it.
A tree with paint. A sign. I’ve been out here 90 minutes - half-running, climbing, scrambling, sweating and thrusting. I laugh aloud at my tomfoolery. One orange mark leads to another and find myself on a four-foot wide path that leads to a clearing. I hear voices through the trees. The way now clear.
People get lost all the time. In the woods. On the ocean. In life. What enables us to find our way home? What returns to us a sense of direction, a knowing, an inner wisdom or God-voice that guides us towards a tree, a sign, a way. Who’s to say I couldn’t have found my way back via an alternate route? Someone questioned whether I was actually lost when I was so close. Maybe I was not in danger, but I certainly felt lost. It’s always easier for others to see the way for us, isn’t it?
I whoop when I see my cottage, running towards my door, changing into my swimsuit and jumping into the cove. I rub and scrub my skin, wiping away potential ticks before showering and applying after-bite lotion to the dozens of mosquito bites. I am grateful to wolf down the breakfast hamper delivery of house made granola, chia seed pudding and fried eggs.
Lesson learned. No more hikes on unknown trails without water bottles, food or and consistent trail markers. Stick to the trail that is wide and clear. At least when in the woods.
I love it when you
Thanks for reading this week’s account of tomfoolery.
Peace and love,
Jaclyn xo
This is what resonated with me "People get lost all the time. In the woods. On the ocean. In life. What enables us to find our way home? What returns to us a sense of direction, a knowing, an inner wisdom or God-voice that guides us towards a tree, a sign, a way." Ryan calls it his spidey-sense or a gut feeling. I often find myself reflecting that I had a sense that I shouldn't do something, but don't listen to that voice. I need to learn to recognize and listen to that inner voice when it is speaking to me. Just as you trusted it to help you find your way home. Perhaps that will help me find the right path towards happiness.
Such a beautiful story of surrender my friend. Thank you for sharing 🙏🏼