I’ve benefited a lot from the incredible trail work of so many others over the years. Their efforts have enabled me to climb heaps of mountains, go camping in some beautiful locations unreachable by car, and visit many a river, pond, brook, and valley, all of which have brought me peace and joy beyond compare. All of this wonderful generosity got me thinking the other day, I should really pay it back.
So, I reached out to my local trail conservation group and volunteered to contribute some time maintaining the trails nearby. They readily welcomed the extra hand, and after a couple of weeks of rain and scheduling conflicts, I finally found some time today to get out there and give it a whack.
It’s not like I’ve never done trail maintenance before, so I kind of knew where to start, but this is the first time I’ve done it on trails available to the public. My other experiences have been on lands tied to relatives and friends, where I could make things up as I went, however I felt. But today I needed to follow some guidelines and see what’s what so I can report back to the primary trail steward.
Clearing out the trail sides on a beautiful fall evening.
Today’s Go at It
Today’s effort went on for about ninety minutes at the end of the workday. I’d been tied up with stuff from 8 to 3:30pm and needed a break from sitting down. And some sun. Throwing the weedwhacker, clippers, battery-powered chainsaw, lopper, and a few other tools in the back of the pickup, I headed over to the Betty Arnold Forest to see what I could do. I’d scouted it out a couple weeks earlier and noted several overgrown areas.
The main parameter I needed to keep in mind was that trails in my area require four feet of width clearance, and eight feet up. Starting with the weedwhacker, I cleared out the tall grass by the trailhead sign and around the perimeter of the parking area. Then I made my way up the trail with the lopper and the chainsaw, stopping at three main areas to cut back the weeds and brush that were encroaching the trail. I carried the chainsaw with me for the duration, and was beginning to think I wouldn’t need it, when just as I was about to wrap up my efforts, I came across a large fallen tree sunbathing across the trail.
Not Enough Chainsaw
It was a bit bigger than anything I planned for. I was able to cut one section of it, but the battery on the chainsaw died halfway through the second cut, so I’ll have to go back to finish the job. I can’t let that tree get the best of me, you know? You’re gonna get it, tree! Actually, I have no malice towards the tree—I just enjoyed the trail work and would like to see the job through.
In fact, despite the fact that I was stooped over for ninety minutes and could start to feel it in my lower back, I absolutely loved being out there. It’s a different way to meditate in nature. I found myself looking at plants more closely, partly because I didn’t want to get poison ivy, but also because the act of cutting plants back draws your focus to the earth around you. You start to see the nuts on the ground. The blackberry leaves hiding under young beech and pine.
I even noticed where other trail workers must have clipped before me. We bump into people all day long in our busy lives and pay no mind to what they’re doing or where they’re going. But running into one patch of shrubs where I saw that someone else made a recent cut, drew me into the moment and bonded me to that unknown person more than any walk on a crowded street or a busy store, where I’m lost in a haze of humanity.
Blackberry leaves, I believe. If you know for sure, please let me know!
A Contemplative State
There are so many different ways to absorb the restorative powers we get from nature, and I found today’s effort was one that drew me in without me having to think about it. I didn’t have to focus on my breathing or actively meditate to feel calmer. I just had to cut and see. Cut and see. And I felt calm. I felt at peace. After a while, the sweat started to run down my shirt, and I stood up to stretch my back and dry my neck. My breath felt so smooth and clean as I looked across at the glimmer of sunlight searching its way through the forest canopy.
Studying it, the light grew as the leaves moved apart with the natural rhythm of the wind, before dissipating as the leaves fell back in amongst themselves. It was a distant game of peekaboo that no one else on earth could see but me. A game designed just for me, it would seem, where the sun wanted to look in and find me.
And it found me.
Peekaboo