Chapter 31 The Field #2
I whisper, “Is that really the bird? The Lord God Bird?”
“Yep. The same bunch of crazy ornithologists from Cornell who took that picture recorded it. They invented a sound machine, built it into a truck and drove down to Louisiana to try to record the ivory-bill and every other rare bird in the USA back in 1934. They dragged their equipment through the swamps and bayous and ended up getting this recording. It’s a goddamn miracle.
Whenever I think I have it tough, traipsing in and out of these woods, I think of Jim Tanner and his crew taking a wagon and mules into the swamp and sleeping on the ground every night.
They didn’t have a warm bed to come back to or a kitchen. Can you imagine?”
I shake my head reverently. “I can’t.”
Trevor takes out his compass and says, “Okay, let’s see if we can get you in and out of these woods now. Grab your compass and I’ll walk you through that part of the process.”
Over the next couple of hours, I learn how to make sure I don’t get lost in the woods, and how to shoot an azimuth—which, I learn, means “compass direction.”
By that afternoon, I almost feel ready.
The next morning, we pile into the pickups and drive over the bumpiest dirt road I ever imagined for what seems like an eternity. When my butt is protesting, I remember those birders from Cornell, stuck sitting on a hard wagon bench, and suppress a smile.
Trevor gives the group our intended azimuth and we line up the mirror that is part of the compass and then get the red arrow into the shed.
He calls out in my direction, “Remember: Red Fred goes into the shed.”
I move around, staring at my arrow until it points north, and then I find a distant object and start hiking to that spot.
And then do the entire process again. This way, we are all spread out over an extensive area and searching in the same direction, keeping the right amount of separation between the teams. I’m paired with Claire and Dan, but they let me figure it out on my own.
Once I reach each spot, I tie a yellow string to it so we can find our way back when we turn around. Claire and Dan explain they don’t need the strings anymore, but it is important for new searchers to use them for quite a while.
Nodding my head, I think; I won’t ever be comfortable without my bright security string leading me back to the rendezvous spot.
Staring at my compass, I keep tripping over the roots and stones, but I eventually get the hang of trusting my direction, so I only consult my compass periodically. As I work deeper into the square, I look up at the trees.
“These trees are so big,” I muse aloud. “I can’t believe it.”
Ten or fifteen feet separate us, but Dan yells back, “Cypress! Some of them have been here for a hundred years. Silently growing and doing their thing.”
A sense of peace washes over me.
As the days go on, I find comfort in this forest; it feels a lot like my little hidden patch of woods behind my bench in Central Park, except the size is something I never dreamed of.
In the forest, the weight of life lifts off my shoulders and the wall of separation that has been there as long as I remember things, and I’m able to breathe easier.
The pain of the last few weeks lessens, and I’m not as hemmed in by fear or worry over others’ perceptions of me.
I can’t hear the whisperings of my ancestral ghosts or the demanding God from church; instead, nature whispers sweet nothings in my ear all day long.
All those yoga teachings become real out here.
Remembering them as I walk through the trees soothes me.
I’m beginning to put the pieces of my heart back together.
In the middle of the deep woods, the forest seems to watch, ancient eyes hidden in the underbrush, I’m wandering the earth before man, before time, when there was just earth, leaves, roots and magic.
The Garden of Eden before the fall—all nurturing and all goodness.
Cleansing. When I return to the motel, I’m dirty and bug bitten like everyone else, but inside I’m purified.
I have cleansed myself of my sins. A place like this does not care that I lived in sin with Jake and lied to my parents and to myself.
The forest forgives all. I’m at peace, no longer feeling alone.
This is where God dwells. This is his church, and I’m home and comforted like I’ve never been at St. Augustine’s.
I can’t believe that Vee was right. Church can be anywhere, and I shake my head in wonder when I don’t have the urge to send up a prayer of forgiveness for my blasphemous thoughts. Wow, who am I?
On Friday I’m on my own, working my block and I’ve reached the farthest distance when Trevor calls over the walkie talkie for the group to turn and head back. I spot my yellow string in the distance and I start walking.
For the first time, I let myself think about Jake, remembering one morning, lying in bed with him, watching him sleep. The sun was just starting to chase away the darkness, and I watched him breathe. My breathing slowed to match his slower breath, and we were one.
Suddenly, I’m knocked out of my musings and find myself flat on my face on the soft ground.
Rolling over gingerly, I move my shoulders and neck.
Sitting up, I see the offending root I tripped over.
I roll my ankles, and I feel a twinge in my right ankle; the same one I sprained.
It doesn’t feel as bad as it did on New Year’s Eve, though.
I hobble over to a tree that has fallen down and sit.
I start to take my boot off and then think better of it.
Instead, I tie my laces as tight as I can, figuring my hiking boot will act like my walking boot I wore after my last spill.
Sitting on the wide tree trunk, I raise my leg to elevate my foot.
Sinking deeper into my seat, I lean back against the part of the tree that remains standing.
Last time I tripped, my mind immediately jumped to MS, but this time, it doesn’t. I’m just clumsy, not doomed.
Peering upwards, I say out loud, “Thank you. I’m truly happy I don’t have MS. Sorry it took me this long to realize that. I’ve been pretty stupid.”
Pausing, a wave of serenity wells up inside me. I’m not sure who I’m speaking to. God, maybe . . . mother nature, perhaps. Whoever it is, they are taking care of me and will take care of me, as they believe I deserve to be happy.
I close my eyes for a minute; warmth envelops me as if I’ve been covered with a blanket, replacing the usual coldness of the glass. Boy, this feels nice.
After a moment of rest, I pull myself up and am caught in the threads of a giant cobweb.
Looking down, I see the silver chains clinging to my vest, connecting me back to the tree, the woods, the world.
Laughing, I wipe the clinging threads from my face.
I marvel at how I didn’t disturb it when I first sat down and head off toward the trucks with a warm flame flickering in my belly.
My ankle hurts a little, but it is bearable. I smile at the dirty faces of my fellow field team members and slide into the closest truck. They haven’t been waiting for me too long and don’t notice my limp. Back at base camp, after ice and ibuprofen, my ankle feels almost normal.
Lying awake that night, I give myself permission to think about Jake.
Closing my eyes, I remember his fresh citrusy smell and tears prick my eyes.
I picture the dreamy smile he gives when he is downing one of the bakery treats.
Then I picture his head against the white of the pillow as the morning sun hits his hair.
Oh, his lovely hair. By now, he will be back and have found the pile of items I left for him.
For the hundredth time, I wonder if I should have written a note.
But the pile says it all. I release him and am gone from his life.
I’m now shooting my azimuth. Maybe I will move back with my parents, but as Vee coached, I don’t need to fit myself back into that tight box.
I can continue to work for Professor Montgomery, keep doing yoga, and maybe take a class or two at Columbia.
I will find a life of my own. I’ve figured out that it was me that was walling myself off from wanting and from dreaming to protect myself from the pain of wanting and not getting.
But it turns out that barricade—my bubble— was even worse.
It was a life unlived. The picture of my lovely, little cobweb in the corner of my drab bedroom flashes through my head.
Of course! I need to spin webs to connect myself to the world instead of shielding myself from it.
I was the one keeping myself locked away, not my parents or the church or anyone else.
The following Tuesday is my first day off.
Jenny and I hang around the motel and she shows me the laundry room and we do a little cleaning in our room.
The project team gets a special low rate at the motel, but we must do our own towels, sheets, and cleaning.
We spend the afternoon making pierogis and Jenny loves it.
The day flies by, but I miss the woods and the trees. Just before the pickup trucks should be returning, I decide to give Vee a call. The cell service is iffy in the room, but Jenny has shown me the best spot to stand, which is in the middle of the driveway of the motel.
Vee picks up and exclaims, “Well, hello there. Boy oh boy, you have someone pretty worked up. Jake is fit to be tied. Where are you? He’s been to your parents’ place, and he’s ready to call the police.”
Taken aback, I stutter, “W-what? What do you mean?”
“Well, he wants to talk. He said he told you he wanted to talk to you when he returned, and you just up and disappeared.”
“I thought about leaving a note, but wasn’t sure it mattered,” I whisper. “He went to my parents’ apartment?”
“Yep, he sure did. They wouldn’t speak to him, so he got nowhere, and now they won’t open their door to him.”
“I didn’t want him to worry. You know I’m in Arkansas. I’m on a bird study project. He could have asked Professor Montgomery. He would have told him. I wasn’t running away or anything. Well, er, maybe I was.”
Vee laughs. “I knew you flew to Arkansas, but nothing else. Remember? You were all secretive when I helped you book your flights. Where the hell are you? In some swamp or backwoods?”
“Pretty much. I’m in the panhandle, looking for the ivory-billed woodpecker.
We’re in the forest and it’s really cool.
I’m just trying to figure out my life, and this seemed like a good idea.
What should I do? I can call him, but I really need to start dinner, and this is the only spot for cell service. ”
Vee laughs louder. “Christ, Emma, you and Jake are perfect for each other, really. That sounds awful by the way. I’ll call him to let him know aliens have not abducted you and you are safe and just need time to think about things. How about that? Is that okay?”
I started to say why that’s not okay, but change my mind. The exact explanation doesn’t matter. I’m gone, and it’s over.
“Just tell him goodbye, okay?”
Vee lets out an exasperated harrumph. “I will not tell him goodbye. You need to call him and tell him that if that’s what you want.”
The call ends and I stare at the phone in my hand.
Call Jake and say goodbye. I can’t imagine doing that.
Is that why I couldn’t leave a note saying the same thing?
Victoria from The Language of Flowers flashes through my head.
Victoria and all her running away. Could I be doing that too?
I sigh in frustration. The one thing I do know for sure is I was running away from that damn check.
The pierogis are a huge hit. Trevor’s first bite almost brings him to tears, and he spends the entire dinner reminiscing about his babcia.
It’s so sweet. Remembering those kids in fourth grade turning up their noses at my special dish, that old hurt lifts off me and floats away.
What do fourth graders know? They are a bunch of idiots.