Me and the Bears

i've been lucky in life. good things have come my way and i've always had enough, if not more.
unfortunately, the collection and possession of things can be a snare that engulfs us, blinding us as to what really matters.

in an effort to distinguish what counts in life, there may be nothing that clears the vision quite like living without. i'm not saying that you have to move to a third world country, but time overseas can have a similar effect. what i'm talking about here is time in the woods. even if it's just for a short recreational time, your vision increases. a hike up a hill can make you appreciate a cool drink of clean water, even without the aid of artificial refrigeration surprisingly enough. riding the trails on your mountain bike gives a certain sense of the enjoyment of just being able to chose for yourself where you will go. camping overnight can help to broaden your understanding, but what will happen if you extend this trip to more than a weekend escape?

i've been lucky in being able to have more than one job that has sent me to the woods for a day, a week or even the whole summer. needs are nearly reduced to shelter, food, and water. walls, roofs, doors and floors become luxuries. the body quickly gets used to sleeping on the ground as it begins to realize that more important than cushioning layers beneath is just a flat place to lay. artificial schedules, like TV programming and the rotation of movies through the Megaplex, are replaced by a simple cycle of when to work, when to eat, when to sleep, sunrise and sunset. you give up being defined by what you own, and become what you have learned and the character you display. even social customs can be viewed under new light as you learn what you can live without. (i'll shower... ¿next week?)

i hope that this description doesn't sound too much like an transcendentalist's dream. i won't claim to have ever gone so far that i was completely cut off from the world outside of the woods. i have been far enough out that i stopped getting dirty because there just wasn't any more room for dirt, and i've carried my room and board on my back for a number of miles. it's out there that i've started to think.

each time i come back from the woods, whether it was a short day trip or a week long trek, i take a look at the dirt i've collected. fine dust has settled through my clothes onto my skin. wash water quickly turns brown with spinning clothes, and it's the second shower that finally washes away the remaining hints that i may have tanned a little in the sun. my boots have often been caked with mud. other camping equipment and the vehicle used to get "out there" have similar fates. as all this dirt washes down the respective drains i start to wonder if i'm taking too much from the environment. ¿how many pounds have i brought home with me, only to be cast off like second hand material? there's nothing wrong with that dirt, and had a purpose of its own. ¿was that dirt going to be the home for something new to grow? or ¿was it just simply helping to hold up that mountain side? i wonder if i'm treating the dirt the way it deserves to be treated ¿am i taking more from the environment than i'm giving back?

i think it's time to go give something back, and i think i know what i'm going to do.



(i'm gonna go poop in the woods)



and i'm going to feel good about it every time i do it.