By Perri
We have been on the road for almost two months now, and I have re-discovered the joys of a particular kind of walking. I’m not talking about hiking (which I also love) or the speedy, get-that-exercise walk I used to fit into my after-work schedule. In this walking, I set off in a general direction, no trail or road, and wander a while. With focus. I learn the land, or try to anyway.
Every place has its stories– volumes of stories, told over eons. As I move “aimlessly” I try to understand one or two of these. It is a bit like meditation and a bit like discovery. Each place we park up has its own voice, its own dirt and rock and ravens.
I am still developing my ability to observe keenly, to empty out all my nagging, chattering thoughts and just be, just look, just see. The stories of this land are told in patterns– roots and leaves and scat, the spaces where rocks accumulate on a slope. I don’t know much about these things but I try to notice and learn.
Here are some things I think about:
The Human History
I look for paths, recent or ancient, and signs of human habitation. Sometimes this is old pull-tab cans and barbed wire. Sometimes a high patch of ground is covered in chert flakes from tool making. There are often old roadbeds or cabins, livestock tanks, items washed down a gully in some long ago rain. It is rare to find a place with no signs of humans. This too, is a story, if you find it.
Geology
Rocks are not just rocks!
I am not an expert in any sense of the word, but I can recognize the main types of rocks, and can (sometimes) piece together the story landforms tell. Such deep time is held in the shape of the land, the layers and colors, even the dirt which was once something else (as were we all).
Here along the northern edge of the San Rafael Swell in Utah, these dull gray and brown sedimentary rocks were once underwater mud. They show the marks of rain and tide. A few have fossil shells in them. Walking, I marvel at the distance they have come, both in elevation and in time. An unimaginable span of time.
While walking, I study, stopping to observe the subtle differences in each layer as my steps bring me to higher or lower elevation. I follow washes downhill, to see the range of rock types whooshed down during rain. I stand on outcrops and scan the horizon.
Plants and Animals
I look for signs of wildlife too: tracks and scat and burrows. I scuffle around under the tallest trees with the best vantage points, looking for bones left by predators. I note pinecones stripped of seeds by red squirrels and the tangle of twigs left by packrats in hard to reach crevices.
I notice changes in plant life as I move through the landscape. The shift from sage to juniper to pinyon pine. When I come across something new, I note it. Later on, I will research the plant or animals I observed, adding to my understanding.
A Meditation of Sorts
As I move through the landscape, I am not looking FOR anything, I am just… looking. Now that we are on the road, I wander for hours this way, noting, questioning, finding, listening, leaving.
And what I have learned is that each spot is heartbreakingly unique and wonderful. We have camped in seven places since we arrived in Utah (so far), and every one of them has its own beauty, its own voice. The same goes for Colorado and Wyoming, South Dakota, Nebraska and Iowa too.
The world is a wonder. If you can, go out and wander a bit. Be aimless. listen, observe and question. There are stories everywhere.
