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Stephanie Thompson
5/6/14
Art and Science in Nature
Field Trip
Tuscas Mountains
A group of students, David Grey, and myself, hiked in the Tusas Mountains, down the ValleCito river to a lake, but instead found a marsh we stayed at. The river had carved along the rocks, breaking down the stone into sediment, and eroding its path through the mountains. Alpine, Ponderosa Pines, and Aspen trees dot the bank that we walk on. At times, it feels silent, and at other times, the mashing roar of the river overwhelmed the loud, frantic call of my normally loud anxiety and neurosis.
I remember thinking that a few minutes, or even hours, of my life, spent with my hand in the water, feeling the waves rush over my skin, would be harmless to me. But that relative to the lifespan of the earth, it took only seconds for this river to carve a gushing wound into this otherwise flat earth. I thought about how much stronger the rock and stone was than my skin.
We passed many shelf mushrooms on the stumps of dead trees, and dead plants under the shade of the massive, overwhelming living ones. We saw trees on the ground, their roots ripped straight from the earth. I stood by one such site of devastation, imagining the dramatic moment, the huge roots gripping the earth like fingers, losing their hold on the lifeblood seeping from the river into the bank, ripping out from the ground like a limb from a body, violent and powerful, to smash into the innocent flora and fauna underneath. I thought about the forest, watching in silence, without horror or fear, without judgment, without narrative. And then we were walking again.
We made it to the marsh, with bright green lichen glowing like a fairytale, interrupted by huge, gnarled dead trees, wrapping and weaving within their own branches, like twisted, petrified fingers, frozen in a terrified attempt to claw their way up. I had never seen a chipmunk before, and was amazed by how much smaller and faster they were than squirrels. They flitted almost faster than I could watch over logs and grass, and then back into the thick of the trees. I had to follow suit. My sweater, shoes and socks were abandoned on a dry log, and I rolled up my jeans to the knee, before immersing my feet in the bracing water. It was freezing. I walked through the marsh up to my knees, freezing and utterly tranquil for almost an hour.
We headed back up the trail. A huge tree stuck out of the cliff of one part of the trail, and when I saw it, I took the quartz piece from my neck that I had wrapped with copper wire, and wrapped the necklace around a branch. I chose the one pointing the furthest off the cliff, hanging over a deep, deep chasm. I doubted anyone would ever be brave or selfish enough to go after it. I left it without looking back; when I feel called to do something like that, I do it without question or hesitation. The old Gods reach out to me this way, it seems. We passed the smallest shelf mushrooms we'd seen earlier, and this time I noticed something white sticking out behind the stump. I left the group and found about six elk bones. They were entirely stripped of flesh, but not in great condition. I took them and wrapped them in my scarf, deciding to bring them with me. If they'd been buried at all under the dirt, I'd have left them in their graves, but they sat on the forest floor. I took it as a sign that the forest was offering them to me. The sky was slightly overcast, the air was cold, and when we returned to the ranch, it snowed until the white layer was five inches tall. We sat inside, the fireplace roaring, in silence.

Description
body div#devskin0 hr { }

Stephanie Thompson
5/6/14
Art and Science in Nature
Field Trip
Tuscas Mountains
A group of students, David Grey, and myself, hiked in the Tusas Mountains, down the ValleCito river to a lake, but instead found a marsh we stayed at. The river had carved along the rocks, breaking down the stone into sediment, and eroding its path through the mountains. Alpine, Ponderosa Pines, and Aspen trees dot the bank that we walk on. At times, it feels silent, and at other times, the mashing roar of the river overwhelmed the loud, frantic call of my normally loud anxiety and neurosis.
I remember thinking that a few minutes, or even hours, of my life, spent with my hand in the water, feeling the waves rush over my skin, would be harmless to me. But that relative to the lifespan of the earth, it took only seconds for this river to carve a gushing wound into this otherwise flat earth. I thought about how much stronger the rock and stone was than my skin.
We passed many shelf mushrooms on the stumps of dead trees, and dead plants under the shade of the massive, overwhelming living ones. We saw trees on the ground, their roots ripped straight from the earth. I stood by one such site of devastation, imagining the dramatic moment, the huge roots gripping the earth like fingers, losing their hold on the lifeblood seeping from the river into the bank, ripping out from the ground like a limb from a body, violent and powerful, to smash into the innocent flora and fauna underneath. I thought about the forest, watching in silence, without horror or fear, without judgment, without narrative. And then we were walking again.
We made it to the marsh, with bright green lichen glowing like a fairytale, interrupted by huge, gnarled dead trees, wrapping and weaving within their own branches, like twisted, petrified fingers, frozen in a terrified attempt to claw their way up. I had never seen a chipmunk before, and was amazed by how much smaller and faster they were than squirrels. They flitted almost faster than I could watch over logs and grass, and then back into the thick of the trees. I had to follow suit. My sweater, shoes and socks were abandoned on a dry log, and I rolled up my jeans to the knee, before immersing my feet in the bracing water. It was freezing. I walked through the marsh up to my knees, freezing and utterly tranquil for almost an hour.
We headed back up the trail. A huge tree stuck out of the cliff of one part of the trail, and when I saw it, I took the quartz piece from my neck that I had wrapped with copper wire, and wrapped the necklace around a branch. I chose the one pointing the furthest off the cliff, hanging over a deep, deep chasm. I doubted anyone would ever be brave or selfish enough to go after it. I left it without looking back; when I feel called to do something like that, I do it without question or hesitation. The old Gods reach out to me this way, it seems. We passed the smallest shelf mushrooms we'd seen earlier, and this time I noticed something white sticking out behind the stump. I left the group and found about six elk bones. They were entirely stripped of flesh, but not in great condition. I took them and wrapped them in my scarf, deciding to bring them with me. If they'd been buried at all under the dirt, I'd have left them in their graves, but they sat on the forest floor. I took it as a sign that the forest was offering them to me. The sky was slightly overcast, the air was cold, and when we returned to the ranch, it snowed until the white layer was five inches tall. We sat inside, the fireplace roaring, in silence.