When I am among the trees, they give off such hints of gladness. I would almost say that they save me, and daily. I am so distant from the hope of myself, in which I have goodness, and discernment, and never hurry through the world but walk slowly, and bow often. Around me the trees stir in their leaves and call out, “Stay awhile.” The light flows from their branches. And they call again, “It's simple,” they say, “You too have come into the world to do this, to go easy, to be filled with light, and to shine." -- Mary Oliver The past couple weeks have been a whirlwind of planning and preparing, arranging and scheduling, hosting and serving, and finishing details with family and friends and flowers and food and feasts and fun and frivolity and finally the whirlwind of marriage. We were drained. What better time than this to head to the woods and just be quiet, humbled and recharged. Poets talk about being alone in the woods; ascetics escape to mountain peaks; religions talk of the wilderness experience. This Monday we went to Heart Lake on Fidalgo, looking for peace and quiet, simplicity and silence. Summer loses its vigor this time of year; it is tired, it is dry, it too is drained. We thought we could hike lonely trails, listen to gentle breezes, the distant melodies of chickadees perhaps, ripples on the water, the sound of leaves turning, and the softness of autumn tiptoeing in through the backwoods. It started out well, the sun a spotty presence amid billowy clouds, wavelets tickling the lily pads along the shoreline. Salal berries hung wrinkled, quite overripe; a few leaves fluttered down to the trail. My heart grew restful in the peace of the place. The woods were doing their precious refreshing. Then a distant navy jet engine came to life, drowning out all other noises, even the pleasant thoughts in my head. It grew and shouted and roared and screamed and bellowed for an eternity, or at least a minute or two. We walked around the lakeshore into the spacious maple and alder forest, which is when a nearby gravel pit started loading dump trucks with rocks, banging and clanging around. When all was quiet again, a motorcycle raced by on Heart Lake Road, crescendo-ing, then fading slowly, eventually, into the distance. It was somewhere along here that I had to laugh, that the everyday noises of our society, serving us with safe skies, building materials and transportation needs, come with us even into the otherwise quiet woods of our protected lands. And as I laughed, the noises receded, a crossbill sang in distant old-growth, a frog hiccuped in the marsh not far away, and the mystery of the silence of the place filled our hearts. We whispered if we talked at all as we entered the forest cathedral at the south end. The noises outside gave way to the noises inside my head. The worries, the plans, the dreams, the everyday needs … I listened to them briefly, realized they were not necessary right now, and let them flow on. Meanwhile, we sat on moss-covered logs and saw the passage of hundreds of years in the trunk of a tree. There were still occasional outside noises. We heard them, accepted them, and they faded away. We saw a wood duck watching over its mate swimming in the marsh area. A leaf fell from a maple as summer welcomes the fall. Dragonflies hovered over the lily pads; a raven called out, its voice echoing in the now-silent spaces. With acceptance of our place, we transcend with unshakeable strength and peace. A heart-shaped rock in the trail caught my eye as we walked back. I offered a thank you for the reminder to let my heart – even amid clanging noises – always be at peace, like Heart Lake. jack Directions: From H Avenue in Anacortes, take the Heart Lake Road south to the parking area at Heart Lake. From Whidbey Island, follow Highway 20 north from the Deception Pass Bridge, drive about four miles and turn left on Campbell Lake Road. Turn right on Heart Lake Road.
By Bus: there is no bus service close to this area. By Bike: follow the directions as above for vehicles. Highway 20 is busy with narrow shoulders. Mobility: the trail is mostly narrow, and has many roots, rocks, and other uneven tread.
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Maribeth Crandell has been a hiking guide in the Pacific NW for over 20 years. She's lived on Whidbey and Fidalgo Island for decades. As a frequent bus rider she easily makes connections between trails and transit. Archives by date
April 2024
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