It’s a feeling I know very well. It’s not a bad feeling if you know home is not far and your directions are sure. You can put up with the cold because comfort is waiting and you are sure of yourself.
It’s not close to a survival test, that is terrifying. I’ve felt the creep of fear before when my clothes are damp, or I’ve no more water and my body needs it. The gnawing concern that I may be in the woods all night. You can feel the beginnings of the sour taste in your mouth. I’ve been lucky, it’s never gone beyond that. I’ve found the way when panic was trying to gain a foothold, or came upon water when I needed it the most. They’ve taught me a healthy respect. Even for a simple little hike, bring more water, bring more food, bring a light, bring warmth, bring a map and a compass. Drop a pin if you can.
But the feeling I’m talking about is not unpleasant and rings with nostalgia. I cherish the days of skiing down a long twisting trail thorough the woods to find my family waiting for me in a warm hotel room. Or hiking back to the car on a backcountry trail. Or simply taking a long cross country ski loop and grabbing the hot chocolate waiting for me.
To takes me back to an era where maybe a former self lived. Plaid jackets, wool pants, sturdy hats, wooden skis and snowshoes.
I love the warmth of a southern beach, the never ending views from the Blue Ridge and the beautiful soft tones of my Virginia friends. But I need time in the North Woods, feeling the hint of cool air even on the hottest day…the moss covered trail beneath my boots. My soul knows there is something there. Something very familiar.
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