Into the Woods: people who read fairy tales and other forms of literature know that going into the woods is an action fraught with danger. Today Simon and I went into the woods.
Interestingly the new hiking trail runs through the woods. In fact if you move quickly you will be through the woods and out in several minutes. Today though that was not to be. As usual Mary was ahead when we entered the woods, and if I were writing a story, I would make the character she met there an evil witch. Frollie, who likes to mind everyone's business, first saw the witch who had two small dogs, and tried to make friends. The woman was not having any friendship from Frollie. I got close enough to hear her cast a spell: "If that dog comes near me and my dogs again I will spray her!" Whoa! Frollie was off lead but she quickly retreated too, having sense enough not to mess with a spell-casting tone of voice.
Our walk was pretty much brought to a halt. We couldn't follow after the threat-issuing woman and her companion, for Frollie and Dexter were, unfortunately, off lead. Mary called them, but they chose this moment to disappear into the woods, ominous phrase, and were soon out of sight though not out of hearing. We couldn't simply turn around and go back with them running loose and a witch around. We too had to go deeper into the woods, following a bramble-filled trail along the side of Silver Creek. Simon and I had been down the trail a short distance before, but this time we were trying to catch up with the bellowing beagle and his adventurious buddy.
Simon loves going into the woods, and the trail starts just over the bridge, goes down a little bank and then straightens out. My first hint of danger came when Simon pulled me down the bank; I was running. I do not run. I tripped but managed to keep my balance. We hurried into the dark interior of the continent, well, maybe not. We hurried along the leaf-strewn path, until we were farther into the woods than we had ever been before. There were no dogs, the bad news, but there were no witches either, the good news. At one point Simon and I went down to the edge of the creek; Simon had a long drink. I thought it time to go back, and that is one of the problems with woods. Frequently there are no clearly marked paths; frequently you have to search for a way out, that is, find your own way. Mary and Schuster had disappeared; Simon and I were on our own.
We had, I thought, found the path going back to the paved trail, and we followed it. Unfortunately it was not the trail we took to get there. This trail led us to a creek runoff that we had to cross: down two feet and over. Another thing about woods: terrain changes. Simon had already gone down into the dry bed; I stood on the edge of the two foot drop and looked down. I could not get Simon back up, and I could not walk or climb down this bank. The drop may have been only two feet, but it looked like twenty. It looked as though the only real choice was to jump down. I imagined a broken ankle or leg at the worst, bumps and bruises in either case. Looking down was not going to lessen the depth. I jumped. Bravely. Foolishly.
I jumped, did not break an ankle or leg, but I did jar every muscle and bone in my body. And then I fell down. My head and neck and body still hurt from the impact! And then I fell down. Simon was solicitous. He came hurrying back to see what happened, and why I was rolling around on the ground, muttering. We all have heard the commercial: "I've fallen and I can't get up!" I remember the woman being in a nice bright kitchen. I was down in the middle of a dry runoff with leaves and rocks and a somewhat muddy bottom, two muddy bottoms. I had fallen and could not get up! Simon got bored with my cursing and flopping around trying to stand and decided to explore. That was when his lead slipped out of my hand and he disappeared. I called. He didn't come. I could imagine him hung up on some bush or stump and slowly choking. I still could not get up. But then, blessed sight, he reappeared, apparently having found the creek again, and he came running to me, up the dry bed, trailing the lead, and apparently as delighted to see me as I was to see him. He jumped up onto my leg and licked my cheek. I should say that going into the woods can have positive consequences as well as negative ones. The tide was turning.
In fact, if you think for a moment about Dante who awakens in a dark woods (in his case signifying sin and death), those woods lead finally to a vision of God. No such luck this time though. Now it was just a matter of standing and getting out.
Sticking out of the side of the steep bank, the one I flew down (well, when you are down on your hands and knees, anything might look steep!), was a sturdy tree root. Not too dignified, I crawled to it, and if I was whimpering a bit by then, perhaps I might be forgiven. My knees kept finding the rocks hidden under the leaves. Nevertheless, holding the root in my left hand and the cane and Simon's lead in my right, I pulled myself up. Gravity managed! I hobbled to the other side of the dry bed, which was not steep, and we were up and out.
Not only up and out but there were Dexter and Frollie waiting on the road when Simon and I got there. I delivered my most withering command to them, "STAY!" and they did. I yelled for Mary, who answered from a distance. Turns out she and Schuster had wandered into a distant bramble patch, from which she emerged eventually. Into the woods is always a private journey in the end. She still does not know about my mishap. I do not know why I did not tell her. Perhaps I am waiting to see if she ever reads about it here.
In any case she put the leads on Dexter and Frollie and we all went home. We never saw the witch and her two dogs again. Perhaps she is sitting snugly in her gingerbread house somewhere else in the woods.
As for me when we got home I fed the dogs, giving them each an extra portion of Alpo, especially Simon; I showered, put my very dirty trousers in the laundry, put Schuster in his crate and we went to Saturday night Mass, celebrating the first Sunday of Advent. Thus, stretching the meaning a bit, the true adventure does end with a vision of God, a new beginning, and a very sore body.