The Riddle and the Discovery − 20 May, 2008
Rider was feeling out of sorts. She had planned to ride but Weather was being fickle. First she would shine her sun upon the land, but then she would blow her winds, and cruelly withdraw her sun, leaving Rider feeling quite gloomy. Rider fiddled about with chores for several hours, hoping that conditions would improve, but by late afternoon, she’d had it with Weather. Her roommate, Hiker, had noticed her malaise.
“Rider, you don’t look too happy. What’s up?” Hiker said kindly.
“Oh, Hiker, this weather is just the pits. I want to ride, but I don’t like riding when it’s cold, cloudy, and windy. At least, not for fun,” Rider moaned. “You know, at the pharmacy, I saw a shopping cart blow over in the wind. But then I saw other Riders. I just don’t get it! How ‘come other Riders don’t mind riding when Weather is being so fickle?”
“Rider, I honestly don’t know,” responded Hiker, shrugging her shoulders. “I personally don’t have a problem when Weather is being fickle. I like it better when she announces her plans and sticks to them. But when I’m in the forest, I am protected from the winds”.
Rider frowned, and kicked a chair. “Well, I wish I were like you. Why don’t you take a hike? At least one of us would have some fun!” Rider offered. Hiker nodded, looked at her watch, and smiled.
“I think I might just do that”, she said. “Mind if I take Writer and Dog with me?” she asked. Writer had, by now, come into the room to see what was happening. Dog stood by eagerly, hoping something good would happen. She hadn’t had much fun yet today.
Rider looked at her roommates, and felt sad that today was not her day. But she was never one to stand in the way of others having a good time. “Go for it”, she said, feeling just a wee bit sorry for herself. Hiker readied Dog, and Writer shoved her notebook and a pen in her pockets. As Hiker was shepherding Dog into the car, Writer asked her, “Shall we invite Photographer to join us?”
Hiker gave a Writer a long look. “You know what that means, right? We’ll be stopping every ten steps to wait while she takes a photograph!” Hiker complained. Writer just smiled.
“Don’t worry. We can tell Photographer that we’re trying to get some exercise. She’ll catch on.” Hiker thought about it for a moment, and then nodded her head.
“OK,” she said, you go grab Photographer while I get Dog ready.” Writer ran back into the house, and soon returned with Photographer, who was carrying her new digital SLR camera. She looked very pleased to have been invited. The girls piled into the old Nissan. The poor car’s rear view mirror was duct-taped on, hanging at an awkward angle that rendered it useless to the driver.
Hiker drove them all to Peach Mountain, a large property owned by the University. Hiker had been coming to Peach Mountain for twenty years now. She knew it quite well. Every year she discovered one or two new trails, but she knew that a year would come when she would discover no new trails. Each new trail was like a precious jewel. Peach Mountain had so many trails that Hiker sometimes became disoriented if she had brought a friend and forgot to keep track of her location.
The girls piled out of the car. Hiker put a leash on Dog; Photographer slung her camera over her shoulder; and Writer ensured that her notebook and pen were securely tucked into her jeans pockets. They set out in the spirit of anticipation. Each girl anticipated something slightly different, but they were united in their anticipation of an enjoyable afternoon.
Dog immediately did what came naturally to her. She laid a wet, stinking pile of droppings in the weeds. Hiker dutifully pulled a plastic bag out of her pocket and began to scoop up the droppings. But they were so messy that she got some on her thumb. She grimaced, and tried to wipe it off on some leaves. Then she smelled her thumb, and it smelled like dog shit. Photographer noticed.
“Hiker, did you get dog shit on your thumb?” she asked in horror.
Hiker looked at the other girls sheepishly. “Yeah, I know, it’s gross. What can I do? It’s Dog’s fault. That was a seriously messy pile of droppings.” All of the girls looked at Dog.
Dog said, “Hey, don’t look at me. You guys are the ones that go around picking up droppings. I never asked you to pick up my droppings.” Then she wagged her tail, and ran along the trail, sniffing at scents only she could detect. Hiker gave her thumb one last wipe against the leg of her jeans, and they continued on. When they reached the main trail, Photographer pulled out her camera and photographed it. Then she started back the way they’d come.
“Hey, where are you going?” called Writer. Photographer called over her shoulder,
“I’m going to photograph the trail not taken.” Writer and Hiker looked at each other. Hiker said,
“Here we go. I knew this would happen. It was your idea to bring her!” Writer smiled, and said,
“Relax, Hiker. It’ll be fine.” Hiker just gave her a look. Writer hoped that Photographer would behave. They all knew how much Hiker liked to hike. She did not like to stop every ten paces for this photograph or that note scribbled in a notebook. Photographer caught back up with the others, and they continued on their way.
Photographer stopped several times to take some quick shots of the giant gravel pit that their trail circumnavigated. At first the others would stop to wait, with Dog looking back expectantly. But then they learned to just continue on. Photographer always caught up. She wasn’t the perfectionist she had once been. She was as eager as Hiker was to make some tracks. She only wanted to document their journey.
As the trail along the gravel pit ended and the wide trail inside the park began, a runner approached with a beautiful reddish-tan pup about Dog’s size. Dog began to growl. Her hackles rose, and she snarled. Hiker shushed her, but Photographer grew excited, and tried to capture Dog’s raised hackles digitally. Dog just ran around, paying no heed to Photographer. Writer chuckled, amused by Dog and Photographer.
As the foursome followed the trail, Photographer took a few more photographs. At one point, Hiker looked back to see what Photographer was doing. She couldn’t figure out what Photographer found to be so compelling about the scene she was shooting. Restlessly, she complained,
“Photographer, that’s not even going to make a very good photograph! What are you doing?” Photographer just held up her hand.
“Relax, Hiker. Believe me, by the time this hike is over, you will be glad that you invited me.” Hiker shrugged, and said,
“Whatever. I don’t really mind that much. Oh, hey, could you get one of the tree canopy?” she asked.
“Sure!” responded Photographer eagerly. She laid down right on the trail and pointed her lens Heavenward. She shot a few photos of the tree canopy. Hiker has a good eye, she thought to herself. When the girls reached the path onto which they would be turning, Photographer took a photo of the intersection. By now, everyone was used to Photographer’s strange ways, and just ignored her.
As they turned onto another trail, Hiker turned to Writer and said, “You know, this particular trail just triggered some memories for me. Memories of other times on this trail. I can remember a time when Dog, my Dad, my Husband, and I were on this trail. It started raining so hard that we could not continue. We had to turn back.” Writer nodded knowingly.
“That’s really interesting. If you tell me your memories, I could write them down for you.” Hiker looked at her friend with affection. Her memory was not what it had once been. She had grown to depend on Writer and Photographer to help her retain memories.
“No,” responded Hiker, “that won’t be necessary. There is really only one memory I’d like you to record. It is about The Beautiful Place. We’re actually headed there, now. I don’t know why, but for some reason, today I wanted to see it again.” Now Photographer was intrigued.
“What is The Beautiful Place?” she asked. Hiker looked a little sheepish.
“Well, that’s just the thing, Photographer. It was only really beautiful once -- the first time I saw it. I had just discovered a new trail, which is rare and amazing because I know this park so well.” Writer had pulled out her notebook and had begun scribbling.
Photographer was flummoxed. “What do you mean, it was only beautiful once? I don’t understand.” Hiker continued her story.
“Well, on that particular day, I was feeling the thrill of having discovered a new trail. It was also a spectacularly sunny and warm day.” At that point in the story, the girls had come to a side trail. Hiker gestured towards the trail. “Here we are,” she explained. Then she picked up the story again.
“I reached The Beautiful Place, and it was as if I had entered an Old World cathedral. I just stopped in my tracks, and stood there in awe. It was a long corridor of very tall coniferous tree. There was something about the way the light filtered through the trees… it’s hard to explain. It felt magical. I immediately named it ‘The Beautiful Place’, and that is what I have called it ever since.”
Photographer prodded, “I totally get what you are saying about the light filtering through and the feeling of seeing a cathedral for the first time. But how could a place like that cease to be beautiful?” Hiker just shook her head.
“Photographer,” she replied, “I have thought about that many times. At first I couldn’t understand why it never seemed that beautiful again. But I have come to believe that it was more about the emotional state I was in than it was about the place itself. I think that the sunlight helped. But I really do think that I was in a state of awe that transcended the place itself.”
Writer nodded and continued to scribble in her notebook. “Hiker, that’s fascinating. I think I can write a story about it.” Hiker looked at her friend dubiously.
“Well, let’s see what happens today. Let’s at least wait to see whether it seems beautiful today. I keep hoping that it will,” Hiker counseled. Writer nodded respectfully, and returned her notebook and pen to their respective pockets.
The girls chattered as they made their way down the trail. Dog looked back expectantly every so often. She frequently had to wait for the humans, since she naturally moved so much more quickly than they did.
“Oh!” cried Hiker.
“What?” the other girls asked in unison.
“There’s the trail to Toma Road!” The other girls looked at Hiker, waiting for an explanation.
“Oh, it’s just that seeing the trail suddenly reminded me about a woman who’d let her blind dog wander, and how the dog had gotten lost in these woods. I was on the trail to Toma Road with Dog when I came across the woman,” Hiker explained. She thought it uncanny how the simple appearance of a scene could so powerfully and suddenly summon a memory from years ago. Writer nodded knowingly, exchanging a meaningful glance with Photographer.
The girls noticed that they were approaching an opening in the trees. There seemed to be a road ahead. Hiker witnessed the scene in utter bafflement. “You guys,” she said worriedly, “we missed The Beautiful Place!” She turned around and looked at the way they had come. The other girls were confused.
“What do you mean, we missed The Beautiful Place?” asked Photographer, hoping that she wouldn’t miss the chance to record it.
Hiker looked utterly confused. “Well, this whole time, while we were walking and talking, we apparently missed a side trail that is as wide as a two-track.” There was silence. Dog looked at the humans expectantly, wondering what was going on. She had paid no attention to their conversation. She had been too busy absorbing all of the news of the free animals.
“So?” prompted Writer. “Shall we go back to look for it?”
“We’d better!” answered Hiker. “I can’t believe that we actually passed it and didn’t notice it. I was looking for it most of the time. Maybe while I was looking at the path to Toma Road, I missed it.” Hiker was concerned. It seemed unlikely to her that she could have missed such a major trail. But obviously, she had, so there was no choice but to retrace their steps.
The girls turned around, and proceeded back up the trail. This time, all three girls watched very carefully for The Beautiful Place. Dog was happy to be moving again. She didn’t care which way they went. She just wanted to be in motion. Hiker had explained that The Beautiful Place had been a path of coniferous trees. However, the path had led them away from the coniferous grove and back into a deciduous grove.
Hiker stopped again. “I don’t believe this!” she exclaimed. Photographer had a bad feeling about what Hiker would reveal.
“The Beautiful Place seems to be gone!” Hiker said, shaking her head in disbelief. Photographer was about to say, “Hiker, places don’t just disappear”, but Writer held up her hand to silence Photographer.
“Hiker? What are you thinking?” asked Writer.
Hiker was still shaking her head. “Well, my husband and I just saw ‘The Chronicles of Narnia: Prince Caspian’ last night. That movie was full of magic. Trees were animate, the forest was as alive as we are, talking and moving around. I guess because of that movie, I’m feeling a lot more open to unusual explanations than usual. Strangely, the first thought that came to mind was that we are in some sort of time warp. That we are here at a time either before The Beautiful Place existed, or after.”
Writer smiled. She liked the way Hiker was thinking. She prompted, “Hiker, what else came to mind?” Hiker looked at her friends doubtfully.
“Well,” she said slowly, “the other thought I had was that The Beautiful Place had somehow melted back into the forest. I don’t know how that would work, but in Narnia, something like that could happen.” Writer thought about these possible explanations. Photographer asked,
“But don’t you think that it could be something far more rational? For instance, perhaps we’re on the wrong trail.” Photographer thought it unlikely that they were in a time warp, or that the forest had reabsorbed a wide cathedral-like trail. Hiker chewed on her lip nervously.
“Well, I’m with you, Photographer. I would like to think that is the problem. Let’s continue back up the trail, and maybe I will realize that it isn’t the trail I thought it was.” Writer shot Photographer a warning look. Photographer just shrugged flippantly. They continued back up the trail. Hiker kept shaking her head, saying, “No, this all looks right.” When they reached the crest of the trail, Hiker turned to her companions and said,
“I hate to say it, but I really do think this it the right trail. But then I have no idea how to explain that The Beautiful Place has gone missing.” The other girls looked at her, waiting to see what she would do. Dog also looked at Hiker expectantly. Dog loved Hiker, and would go anywhere that Hiker went. More often than not, Hiker followed Dog. But sometimes, Hiker had her own ideas about where they would go. Today seemed like one of those days.
“Well, let’s go down the original trail a bit to see whether there is another side trail like this one.” The others followed Hiker. Dog trotted ahead down the hill. Hiker kept her eyes to the left, hoping to see another trail, but knowing that she would not. Her knees had begun to ache. She began to feel a bit discouraged. They continued on in silence for a few minutes.
Then Hiker noticed a very faint side trail. She couldn’t believe it. This was only her second visit of the year to Peach Mountain, and she had already discovered a new trail. She knew that the trail could peter out, if it were only a deer trail. But it looked like a real trail that had not been used very much. Dog caught Hiker’s eye, and Hiker gestured towards the new trail.
Dog was overjoyed! She had an exquisite memory for trails. She and Hiker had been to many parks, and Dog probably knew 100 trails. Any time they discovered a new trail, Dog was thrilled at the possibilities. She charged ahead onto the new trail, her tail held high and her ears alert. She put her nose to the ground to learn the new trail.
The girls followed, looking around in awe. They too appreciated the value of discovering a new trail. They hadn’t gone very far before Hiker noticed a dark object in the forest. She stopped to take a look. The dark object appeared to be a car! Her heart quickened, and a huge smile crossed her face. “Girls, it looks like a car right in the middle of the forest! There are trees all around! I wonder how it got here?” she marveled.
Photographer was also intrigued. Hiker took a tentative step off the trail. She typically stayed on-trail because of the literature she had read about how important it is for eco-systems that humans and dogs remained on trails. But she was so excited about the car in the woods that she decided to break her own rule for once. Dog took her cue from Hiker, and charged ahead into the woods. Hiker and the other girls followed. Hiker tried to choose her steps to minimize damage to the forest plants.
Dog reached the car first, and began sniffing excitedly. She could smell that many free animals had been there before her. It smelled as if they had taken shelter. She could smell faint traces of the free animals’ young. Photographer began photographing the car from all angles. All of the girls slowly circled the car, utterly entranced.
The car was a mere shell of its old self. All of its interior comforts had vanished. There were no seats. The crankshaft was plainly visible, running the length of the car’s interior. The car’s engine was missing. All that was left was some thick, twisted wire. The car’s rusted hood was propped up inside the engine compartment. All of the car’s windows were missing. Most spectacular of all, a decent-sized tree grew right next to the car, between its body and its open passenger door.
Dog was inside the car, sniffing happily. Photographer took a photograph of dog through the glassless windshield. Writer noticed that the car’s front tire was buried halfway to its top in the forest floor. As Photographer happily snapped photo after photo, she felt vindicated. She knew that she would hear no more complaining that day about her frequent stops. She climbed inside the car and thoroughly documented its interior. Every so often one of the girls would utter a small cry of delight as she discovered some new detail.
Writer had moved away from the car, and had begun jotting notes down in her notebook. Between a vanishing trail and a car that had come to rest mysteriously in the middle of a forest, she knew that she had a good story to tell now. She could not know what Hiker had felt like at the moment that she’d had to accept that a major trail might have vanished. But she was a Writer. She would find a way to describe it. She would have Photographer’s wonderful photographs to illustrate her story. She knew that she could not do justice to this scene the way the photographs would.
Once the girls had gotten their fill of the mysterious car in the forest, they returned to the trail. Dog was ready to go home. She was getting hungry, and she’d smelled all of the smells she could ever want. But Hiker nodded to Dog that they would continue on. Dog didn’t mind. Perhaps there would be new smells for her to read. She bounded ahead of the others.
Soon, the foursome reached the end of the new trail. Hiker said, “I wonder if this is Toma Road.” She wasn’t sure, because this trail and the other trail to Toma Road seemed to be perpendicular, and yet they both ended at Toma Road. “Well, no matter”, she thought to herself. She had always been directionally challenged. Who knew which ways the two trails and Toma Road itself curved in space?
Hiker nodded knowingly when she saw the dirt road. This was definitely Toma Road. She loved that it was called “Toma” Road, because there was a Toma in her family tree. A woman named Helen Toma had married her great Uncle Kiddo in 1929. Hiker did not remember meeting her great uncle, or his wife, but she supposed that she probably had. Hiker suspected that either Helen Toma or her parents had been born in Italy. Her great uncle’s mother (her own great-grandmother) had arrived in the United States in 1900, bearing her great uncle only four years later.
The happy foursome retreated down the new trail, and over a period of half an hour, made their way back to the car. Each girl felt that she’d had an amazing time. Photographer had gotten her fill of taking photographs. She put her camera away, and simply enjoyed the scenery with her own eyes instead of behind the lens of a camera. Writer was looking forward to telling a story. She pulled her notebook and pen out from time to time to jot down notes.
Hiker felt that the discovery of the car made up for the disappointment and confusion of The Beautiful Place’s disappearance. She also knew that now she had a riddle to solve. She would return and try to find out what the true answer to the riddle was. As for Dog, well, Dog was always content at the end of a long hike, with or without the disappearance of trails or the fantastic discovery of old cars in the forest.
“Rider, you don’t look too happy. What’s up?” Hiker said kindly.
“Oh, Hiker, this weather is just the pits. I want to ride, but I don’t like riding when it’s cold, cloudy, and windy. At least, not for fun,” Rider moaned. “You know, at the pharmacy, I saw a shopping cart blow over in the wind. But then I saw other Riders. I just don’t get it! How ‘come other Riders don’t mind riding when Weather is being so fickle?”
“Rider, I honestly don’t know,” responded Hiker, shrugging her shoulders. “I personally don’t have a problem when Weather is being fickle. I like it better when she announces her plans and sticks to them. But when I’m in the forest, I am protected from the winds”.
Rider frowned, and kicked a chair. “Well, I wish I were like you. Why don’t you take a hike? At least one of us would have some fun!” Rider offered. Hiker nodded, looked at her watch, and smiled.
“I think I might just do that”, she said. “Mind if I take Writer and Dog with me?” she asked. Writer had, by now, come into the room to see what was happening. Dog stood by eagerly, hoping something good would happen. She hadn’t had much fun yet today.
Rider looked at her roommates, and felt sad that today was not her day. But she was never one to stand in the way of others having a good time. “Go for it”, she said, feeling just a wee bit sorry for herself. Hiker readied Dog, and Writer shoved her notebook and a pen in her pockets. As Hiker was shepherding Dog into the car, Writer asked her, “Shall we invite Photographer to join us?”
Hiker gave a Writer a long look. “You know what that means, right? We’ll be stopping every ten steps to wait while she takes a photograph!” Hiker complained. Writer just smiled.
“Don’t worry. We can tell Photographer that we’re trying to get some exercise. She’ll catch on.” Hiker thought about it for a moment, and then nodded her head.
“OK,” she said, you go grab Photographer while I get Dog ready.” Writer ran back into the house, and soon returned with Photographer, who was carrying her new digital SLR camera. She looked very pleased to have been invited. The girls piled into the old Nissan. The poor car’s rear view mirror was duct-taped on, hanging at an awkward angle that rendered it useless to the driver.
Hiker drove them all to Peach Mountain, a large property owned by the University. Hiker had been coming to Peach Mountain for twenty years now. She knew it quite well. Every year she discovered one or two new trails, but she knew that a year would come when she would discover no new trails. Each new trail was like a precious jewel. Peach Mountain had so many trails that Hiker sometimes became disoriented if she had brought a friend and forgot to keep track of her location.
The girls piled out of the car. Hiker put a leash on Dog; Photographer slung her camera over her shoulder; and Writer ensured that her notebook and pen were securely tucked into her jeans pockets. They set out in the spirit of anticipation. Each girl anticipated something slightly different, but they were united in their anticipation of an enjoyable afternoon.
Dog immediately did what came naturally to her. She laid a wet, stinking pile of droppings in the weeds. Hiker dutifully pulled a plastic bag out of her pocket and began to scoop up the droppings. But they were so messy that she got some on her thumb. She grimaced, and tried to wipe it off on some leaves. Then she smelled her thumb, and it smelled like dog shit. Photographer noticed.
“Hiker, did you get dog shit on your thumb?” she asked in horror.
Hiker looked at the other girls sheepishly. “Yeah, I know, it’s gross. What can I do? It’s Dog’s fault. That was a seriously messy pile of droppings.” All of the girls looked at Dog.
Dog said, “Hey, don’t look at me. You guys are the ones that go around picking up droppings. I never asked you to pick up my droppings.” Then she wagged her tail, and ran along the trail, sniffing at scents only she could detect. Hiker gave her thumb one last wipe against the leg of her jeans, and they continued on. When they reached the main trail, Photographer pulled out her camera and photographed it. Then she started back the way they’d come.
“Hey, where are you going?” called Writer. Photographer called over her shoulder,
“I’m going to photograph the trail not taken.” Writer and Hiker looked at each other. Hiker said,
“Here we go. I knew this would happen. It was your idea to bring her!” Writer smiled, and said,
“Relax, Hiker. It’ll be fine.” Hiker just gave her a look. Writer hoped that Photographer would behave. They all knew how much Hiker liked to hike. She did not like to stop every ten paces for this photograph or that note scribbled in a notebook. Photographer caught back up with the others, and they continued on their way.
Photographer stopped several times to take some quick shots of the giant gravel pit that their trail circumnavigated. At first the others would stop to wait, with Dog looking back expectantly. But then they learned to just continue on. Photographer always caught up. She wasn’t the perfectionist she had once been. She was as eager as Hiker was to make some tracks. She only wanted to document their journey.
As the trail along the gravel pit ended and the wide trail inside the park began, a runner approached with a beautiful reddish-tan pup about Dog’s size. Dog began to growl. Her hackles rose, and she snarled. Hiker shushed her, but Photographer grew excited, and tried to capture Dog’s raised hackles digitally. Dog just ran around, paying no heed to Photographer. Writer chuckled, amused by Dog and Photographer.
As the foursome followed the trail, Photographer took a few more photographs. At one point, Hiker looked back to see what Photographer was doing. She couldn’t figure out what Photographer found to be so compelling about the scene she was shooting. Restlessly, she complained,
“Photographer, that’s not even going to make a very good photograph! What are you doing?” Photographer just held up her hand.
“Relax, Hiker. Believe me, by the time this hike is over, you will be glad that you invited me.” Hiker shrugged, and said,
“Whatever. I don’t really mind that much. Oh, hey, could you get one of the tree canopy?” she asked.
“Sure!” responded Photographer eagerly. She laid down right on the trail and pointed her lens Heavenward. She shot a few photos of the tree canopy. Hiker has a good eye, she thought to herself. When the girls reached the path onto which they would be turning, Photographer took a photo of the intersection. By now, everyone was used to Photographer’s strange ways, and just ignored her.
As they turned onto another trail, Hiker turned to Writer and said, “You know, this particular trail just triggered some memories for me. Memories of other times on this trail. I can remember a time when Dog, my Dad, my Husband, and I were on this trail. It started raining so hard that we could not continue. We had to turn back.” Writer nodded knowingly.
“That’s really interesting. If you tell me your memories, I could write them down for you.” Hiker looked at her friend with affection. Her memory was not what it had once been. She had grown to depend on Writer and Photographer to help her retain memories.
“No,” responded Hiker, “that won’t be necessary. There is really only one memory I’d like you to record. It is about The Beautiful Place. We’re actually headed there, now. I don’t know why, but for some reason, today I wanted to see it again.” Now Photographer was intrigued.
“What is The Beautiful Place?” she asked. Hiker looked a little sheepish.
“Well, that’s just the thing, Photographer. It was only really beautiful once -- the first time I saw it. I had just discovered a new trail, which is rare and amazing because I know this park so well.” Writer had pulled out her notebook and had begun scribbling.
Photographer was flummoxed. “What do you mean, it was only beautiful once? I don’t understand.” Hiker continued her story.
“Well, on that particular day, I was feeling the thrill of having discovered a new trail. It was also a spectacularly sunny and warm day.” At that point in the story, the girls had come to a side trail. Hiker gestured towards the trail. “Here we are,” she explained. Then she picked up the story again.
“I reached The Beautiful Place, and it was as if I had entered an Old World cathedral. I just stopped in my tracks, and stood there in awe. It was a long corridor of very tall coniferous tree. There was something about the way the light filtered through the trees… it’s hard to explain. It felt magical. I immediately named it ‘The Beautiful Place’, and that is what I have called it ever since.”
Photographer prodded, “I totally get what you are saying about the light filtering through and the feeling of seeing a cathedral for the first time. But how could a place like that cease to be beautiful?” Hiker just shook her head.
“Photographer,” she replied, “I have thought about that many times. At first I couldn’t understand why it never seemed that beautiful again. But I have come to believe that it was more about the emotional state I was in than it was about the place itself. I think that the sunlight helped. But I really do think that I was in a state of awe that transcended the place itself.”
Writer nodded and continued to scribble in her notebook. “Hiker, that’s fascinating. I think I can write a story about it.” Hiker looked at her friend dubiously.
“Well, let’s see what happens today. Let’s at least wait to see whether it seems beautiful today. I keep hoping that it will,” Hiker counseled. Writer nodded respectfully, and returned her notebook and pen to their respective pockets.
The girls chattered as they made their way down the trail. Dog looked back expectantly every so often. She frequently had to wait for the humans, since she naturally moved so much more quickly than they did.
“Oh!” cried Hiker.
“What?” the other girls asked in unison.
“There’s the trail to Toma Road!” The other girls looked at Hiker, waiting for an explanation.
“Oh, it’s just that seeing the trail suddenly reminded me about a woman who’d let her blind dog wander, and how the dog had gotten lost in these woods. I was on the trail to Toma Road with Dog when I came across the woman,” Hiker explained. She thought it uncanny how the simple appearance of a scene could so powerfully and suddenly summon a memory from years ago. Writer nodded knowingly, exchanging a meaningful glance with Photographer.
The girls noticed that they were approaching an opening in the trees. There seemed to be a road ahead. Hiker witnessed the scene in utter bafflement. “You guys,” she said worriedly, “we missed The Beautiful Place!” She turned around and looked at the way they had come. The other girls were confused.
“What do you mean, we missed The Beautiful Place?” asked Photographer, hoping that she wouldn’t miss the chance to record it.
Hiker looked utterly confused. “Well, this whole time, while we were walking and talking, we apparently missed a side trail that is as wide as a two-track.” There was silence. Dog looked at the humans expectantly, wondering what was going on. She had paid no attention to their conversation. She had been too busy absorbing all of the news of the free animals.
“So?” prompted Writer. “Shall we go back to look for it?”
“We’d better!” answered Hiker. “I can’t believe that we actually passed it and didn’t notice it. I was looking for it most of the time. Maybe while I was looking at the path to Toma Road, I missed it.” Hiker was concerned. It seemed unlikely to her that she could have missed such a major trail. But obviously, she had, so there was no choice but to retrace their steps.
The girls turned around, and proceeded back up the trail. This time, all three girls watched very carefully for The Beautiful Place. Dog was happy to be moving again. She didn’t care which way they went. She just wanted to be in motion. Hiker had explained that The Beautiful Place had been a path of coniferous trees. However, the path had led them away from the coniferous grove and back into a deciduous grove.
Hiker stopped again. “I don’t believe this!” she exclaimed. Photographer had a bad feeling about what Hiker would reveal.
“The Beautiful Place seems to be gone!” Hiker said, shaking her head in disbelief. Photographer was about to say, “Hiker, places don’t just disappear”, but Writer held up her hand to silence Photographer.
“Hiker? What are you thinking?” asked Writer.
Hiker was still shaking her head. “Well, my husband and I just saw ‘The Chronicles of Narnia: Prince Caspian’ last night. That movie was full of magic. Trees were animate, the forest was as alive as we are, talking and moving around. I guess because of that movie, I’m feeling a lot more open to unusual explanations than usual. Strangely, the first thought that came to mind was that we are in some sort of time warp. That we are here at a time either before The Beautiful Place existed, or after.”
Writer smiled. She liked the way Hiker was thinking. She prompted, “Hiker, what else came to mind?” Hiker looked at her friends doubtfully.
“Well,” she said slowly, “the other thought I had was that The Beautiful Place had somehow melted back into the forest. I don’t know how that would work, but in Narnia, something like that could happen.” Writer thought about these possible explanations. Photographer asked,
“But don’t you think that it could be something far more rational? For instance, perhaps we’re on the wrong trail.” Photographer thought it unlikely that they were in a time warp, or that the forest had reabsorbed a wide cathedral-like trail. Hiker chewed on her lip nervously.
“Well, I’m with you, Photographer. I would like to think that is the problem. Let’s continue back up the trail, and maybe I will realize that it isn’t the trail I thought it was.” Writer shot Photographer a warning look. Photographer just shrugged flippantly. They continued back up the trail. Hiker kept shaking her head, saying, “No, this all looks right.” When they reached the crest of the trail, Hiker turned to her companions and said,
“I hate to say it, but I really do think this it the right trail. But then I have no idea how to explain that The Beautiful Place has gone missing.” The other girls looked at her, waiting to see what she would do. Dog also looked at Hiker expectantly. Dog loved Hiker, and would go anywhere that Hiker went. More often than not, Hiker followed Dog. But sometimes, Hiker had her own ideas about where they would go. Today seemed like one of those days.
“Well, let’s go down the original trail a bit to see whether there is another side trail like this one.” The others followed Hiker. Dog trotted ahead down the hill. Hiker kept her eyes to the left, hoping to see another trail, but knowing that she would not. Her knees had begun to ache. She began to feel a bit discouraged. They continued on in silence for a few minutes.
Then Hiker noticed a very faint side trail. She couldn’t believe it. This was only her second visit of the year to Peach Mountain, and she had already discovered a new trail. She knew that the trail could peter out, if it were only a deer trail. But it looked like a real trail that had not been used very much. Dog caught Hiker’s eye, and Hiker gestured towards the new trail.
Dog was overjoyed! She had an exquisite memory for trails. She and Hiker had been to many parks, and Dog probably knew 100 trails. Any time they discovered a new trail, Dog was thrilled at the possibilities. She charged ahead onto the new trail, her tail held high and her ears alert. She put her nose to the ground to learn the new trail.
The girls followed, looking around in awe. They too appreciated the value of discovering a new trail. They hadn’t gone very far before Hiker noticed a dark object in the forest. She stopped to take a look. The dark object appeared to be a car! Her heart quickened, and a huge smile crossed her face. “Girls, it looks like a car right in the middle of the forest! There are trees all around! I wonder how it got here?” she marveled.
Photographer was also intrigued. Hiker took a tentative step off the trail. She typically stayed on-trail because of the literature she had read about how important it is for eco-systems that humans and dogs remained on trails. But she was so excited about the car in the woods that she decided to break her own rule for once. Dog took her cue from Hiker, and charged ahead into the woods. Hiker and the other girls followed. Hiker tried to choose her steps to minimize damage to the forest plants.
Dog reached the car first, and began sniffing excitedly. She could smell that many free animals had been there before her. It smelled as if they had taken shelter. She could smell faint traces of the free animals’ young. Photographer began photographing the car from all angles. All of the girls slowly circled the car, utterly entranced.
The car was a mere shell of its old self. All of its interior comforts had vanished. There were no seats. The crankshaft was plainly visible, running the length of the car’s interior. The car’s engine was missing. All that was left was some thick, twisted wire. The car’s rusted hood was propped up inside the engine compartment. All of the car’s windows were missing. Most spectacular of all, a decent-sized tree grew right next to the car, between its body and its open passenger door.
Dog was inside the car, sniffing happily. Photographer took a photograph of dog through the glassless windshield. Writer noticed that the car’s front tire was buried halfway to its top in the forest floor. As Photographer happily snapped photo after photo, she felt vindicated. She knew that she would hear no more complaining that day about her frequent stops. She climbed inside the car and thoroughly documented its interior. Every so often one of the girls would utter a small cry of delight as she discovered some new detail.
Writer had moved away from the car, and had begun jotting notes down in her notebook. Between a vanishing trail and a car that had come to rest mysteriously in the middle of a forest, she knew that she had a good story to tell now. She could not know what Hiker had felt like at the moment that she’d had to accept that a major trail might have vanished. But she was a Writer. She would find a way to describe it. She would have Photographer’s wonderful photographs to illustrate her story. She knew that she could not do justice to this scene the way the photographs would.
Once the girls had gotten their fill of the mysterious car in the forest, they returned to the trail. Dog was ready to go home. She was getting hungry, and she’d smelled all of the smells she could ever want. But Hiker nodded to Dog that they would continue on. Dog didn’t mind. Perhaps there would be new smells for her to read. She bounded ahead of the others.
Soon, the foursome reached the end of the new trail. Hiker said, “I wonder if this is Toma Road.” She wasn’t sure, because this trail and the other trail to Toma Road seemed to be perpendicular, and yet they both ended at Toma Road. “Well, no matter”, she thought to herself. She had always been directionally challenged. Who knew which ways the two trails and Toma Road itself curved in space?
Hiker nodded knowingly when she saw the dirt road. This was definitely Toma Road. She loved that it was called “Toma” Road, because there was a Toma in her family tree. A woman named Helen Toma had married her great Uncle Kiddo in 1929. Hiker did not remember meeting her great uncle, or his wife, but she supposed that she probably had. Hiker suspected that either Helen Toma or her parents had been born in Italy. Her great uncle’s mother (her own great-grandmother) had arrived in the United States in 1900, bearing her great uncle only four years later.
The happy foursome retreated down the new trail, and over a period of half an hour, made their way back to the car. Each girl felt that she’d had an amazing time. Photographer had gotten her fill of taking photographs. She put her camera away, and simply enjoyed the scenery with her own eyes instead of behind the lens of a camera. Writer was looking forward to telling a story. She pulled her notebook and pen out from time to time to jot down notes.
Hiker felt that the discovery of the car made up for the disappointment and confusion of The Beautiful Place’s disappearance. She also knew that now she had a riddle to solve. She would return and try to find out what the true answer to the riddle was. As for Dog, well, Dog was always content at the end of a long hike, with or without the disappearance of trails or the fantastic discovery of old cars in the forest.
Trailhead
Trail not taken
Raised hackles
Dog grazing
Yet another trail not...
Comfortable shoes
Near The Beautiful Place
Nearing The Beautiful...
First glimpse of the car...
Dog arrived on the scene...
Rear view
Tire sunk into forest...
Sitting at the wheel
Car in the forest
Back seat
Tree in car
What is left of engine...
Back passenger door
Hood rudely thrust into...
Car interior
Car trunk and back window
Back seat
Tree that came along...
STP
Moss growing between...
Research Property
Passenger seat and glove...
Crankshaft
No headligiht anymore
Entering car
Front view
Foot pedals
Odometer
Front seat
Dog checking out the car
Brake pedal
Entering car
Car in the forest
Car in the forest
Comments:
intrepideddie (May 20, 2008. 01:23am)
Finally, duct tape and dog poop in the same story!