The First Mile

April 1, 2008
Author: Rich Flynn from Grampian, PA

I had been there before, but it was a long time before anyone ever thought of turning the old railroad into a place for hiking, bicycling, dog walking, and exploring. I had been there long ago when, despite the warnings from cautious parents, boys would hop a ride on the coal cars that rattled daily down the shining rails. Thousands of tons of coal had passed this way, leaving behind wounds that would never heal. The fact that those old rails would ultimately become an object to provide recreation is a sign to me that we humans are doing a little better.

Those days of train-hopping passed much too quickly, as did the carefree season of my youth. Fate would have it that I would spend years of my life with my feet anchored firmly in the concrete. As I look back on those years of car rentals and baggage claims, I often wonder how different things might have been if I had spent those years closer to my roots and the daily rattle of the coal cars.

The place where I stay is only a few hundred yards from the most remote end of the trail. It is not crowded, and there have been times when I would ride a bike for the first five or six miles without seeing another human. I rarely go that far anymore. Since the time that I spend there is not really my own, the bike has been replaced by a big old dog whose company I enjoy immensely, and I am mostly limited to the first mile or so of the trail before I have to head back.

On the west side of the trail is a hemlock woods that slopes down to a small stream, which is a hundred yards or so distant. It was this woods instead of the groomed trail that he insisted upon exploring, and he insisted on having my company as he explored. It was "the Mutt" who was responsible for causing me to stray off of the beaten path, and it was this little patch of woods that would become so important to me.

It was early spring when we started our daily treks through the little patch of woods that we would come to know so well. For me, it became a daily ritual that provided a release from all of the not-so-good things that were going on in my life. For him, it was an opportunity to romp and explore and revel in the way that only a dog can. For both of us, it became the part of each day that we most looked forward to.

More than a year has passed since he first lured me away from the crushed limestone trail on that spring day, and we have learned more than I ever would have expected. We have learned about the cycles of nature that are given to us over and over again, about the seasons, and about the more subtle, easily-missed changes that occurred with each passing day. We have seen a newly-sprung fern uncurl and erupt to adulthood, and we have seen the hemlock limbs weighted to the ground, burdened by the weight of a late- spring snow. We have seen the Adder's Tongues covered with brown water as the spring rains filled the creek beyond its banks, and we watched as they gave way to the Trilliums, and, in turn, to the Foxglove and Turk's Caps. We walked together under trees that were bursting with the first buds of springtime, and we witnessed the dance of the last leaf falling to earth in the fall. Even more important, since our time was limited and our patch of woods was so small, we noticed the things that would have remained unnoticed if we would have been hiking to merely cover miles before dusk. We had time to find and absorb the little wonders that sprouted, grew, and faded, all at their appointed times, and we came to understand that these tiniest of cycles were no more or less important than the obvious ones that we see every day, and that their lessons were of the cycles that are a part, not only of our little patch of woods, but also of all nature, and in turn, all of mankind.

Now, as I look back to that first day, so long ago, I wonder if the old Mutt somehow knew that there were things that I needed to learn in order to make the hard times just a little easier, and if it was entirely by chance that he drew me off of the groomed gravel path into a very special classroom where I would learn profound lessons from the time that I spent with an old Mutt in the little patch of woods that I will never forget.