Your web-browser is very outdated, and as such, this website may not display properly. Please consider upgrading to a modern, faster and more secure browser. Click here to do so.
Sunday, Bloody Sunday
[think of this as a story book with pictures]
This was possibly the most tragic Sunday I’d endured in quite a while.
White knuckles on my steering wheel; I could not keep my eyes on the road. These clouds. Clouds kept distracting me; they were breathtaking. Big heavy tufts of white scattered around hazes of heavy grey. The earth seemed to have two layers to me lately; suddenly, I was often seeing levels of clouds unlike ever before. I pushed thoughts of apocalypse out of my head and wondered why my world was caving in. I ducked my head at odd angles for a better look out of my windshield, the view was more important than staying on the road. I needed to see where everyone goes at the end. It looked like a great day to be there.
I turned into the parking lot, arranged myself for a quick escape. I hate these places and I hate these things. I pulled open the door to the funeral home and was unexpectedly hit with a wall of unpleasant smells I couldn’t quite place, but I had the feeling that embalming fluid and tears were definitely among the list of offensive. I’ve been to this place more times than I care to count, but the smell had never hit me quite like that.
I spent the next few hours avoiding public tears and offering consoling hugs and promising, apologetic smiles. It literally kills me to see the people I love suffer. As the minister offered the same old words in the same old manner on the same old subject my mind wandered. I am longer afraid of death. Is that troublesome? I wasn’t sure. I had seen Death’s face enough times in the last three years that it no longer jarred me.
All of these topics were plaguing my mind, and I needed a distraction to replace the images of my loved ones’ contorted faces and flowing tears. This being my last day of freedom for a year or so, I decided to go on one of my adventures.
I had this road in mind that I’d mean meaning to try out, and that was my decided goal for the day. This being the second to last weekend in September, the trees had just started to turn magnificent colors.
Here’s the first picture of my journey:
On my way to the curious road, there were a few more clouds & signs & pictures I couldn’t resist taking:
By now the uneasiness I had felt earlier in the afternoon had started to melt away. Fresh air, beautiful skies, and long, leisurely drives have a way of clearing my head. I finally made it to my beckoning dirt road I’d always wanted to traverse.
Oh yes, and although I hate hate hate self snapshots, I decided to throw a few gpoys in along the way
(see, I can’t even take this shit seriously)
Much to my surprise, my long awaited road lead me to a secret little lake. I love lakes. And since I’m such a rebel, I blatantly disregarded the posted sign, in the name of art. I’m from BFE, these ‘No Trespass’ signs are really meant to keep unwanted hunters off of private property. I also came across a lovely fallen birch tree, which I had to snap as birch is my favorite.
I continued on. My road rounded and offered a place to turn around, or a two-track to go forward at one’s own risk; a seasonal road not maintained by the county. This is my cup of tea exactly. I was all in.
See how the branches are so self-indulgent they intertwine to make their own arch? I was drunk on nature at this point, and my smile miles wide. The smell of the air, and the sounds all around, and the glow of the green… this is heaven. I can never quite find the words to describe the green glow of a forest. They radiate and its magical. You can see the magic, you can feel the magic. I just can’t describe this magic. I was determined to capture this magic in a picture, but yet again, I failed.
I kept on down my two track for miles and miles, wandering about the forest. On this particular journey I was alone, but when friends have accompanied me on other such adventures, they tend to express concern about getting lost. Let me tell you a secret, there is no getting lost. It is sad. I’ve wanted nothing more than to get lost and survive on my own for a week and have an epiphany about life and find out the secrets of the world; be a modern, rogue Thoreau. Sadly, I had a job my freshman year of college delivering pizzas, and learned all too well how to navigate the cardinal directions in my car and that “Mile” roads in my county run East-West, while the “Avenues” run North-South. No matter where I go, I can always get home. This isn’t the worst set of skills to have, I suppose.
So miles & miles later I end up at the county line. I decided to go the long way back home. By now the sun is starting to set, and it is wonderful, magnificent, glorious. I am in a particularly hilly area, and I know that if I drive up just the right hill, facing just the right direction, I can snap the most awe inspiring photograph of the sunset and turn this awful day into something hopeful, something promising. I find an inviting road and turn the opposite direction of my true destination, all in the name of a great photo. Well, I decided this road was much too tempting, that I would want to drive too far to the north, when I really needed to head south to get to the cemetery before nightfall. I see what looks to be a nice clearing ahead in which to swing in and turn around, and what the hell really… I have four wheel drive.
Have I mentioned ever, how calamity finds me at every corner?
Oh, nature. These beautiful, tall grasses were concealing a nice, long, deep ditch. This picture doesn’t really do the hole justice… the top of the ditch was about where my hood is. There were no beautiful pictures of the sunset on this day. There was a call for help to one of my best friends, and a nice old man arrived nearly the same time she did. He pulled me out with chains and his tractor. My face was a nice shade of red the rest of the evening.
This is how I learned to smile through the pain. These little episodes happen every so often. (And by that, I mean often.) I figure I have two options, give up & cry or smile & push through.
What’s a little ditch when hours earlier you were laying someone to rest? Grin & bear it, baby.