Once a year, I take a personal day and don't invite anyone else to come along. I'm not even nice about it, either. One day, completely alone, playing in the woods. I wait until I know for sure that mushrooms are happening, then I put in for my day.
I watched the weather for several days, afraid that Wednesday would be ruined by storms. Rain I can handle, but I'd rather not be struck by lightning. There was at least a 70% chance of rain that day, so I selfishly declined when asked by my 3rd-shift-working husband if I'd like to come back to bed after my shower. This is the same guy who said the night before that it would be fun to have me home that morning. Stupid boys and their stupid boy penises.
Donning my moccasins (okay, they are Skechers sandals, but they are soft, brown, and frayed), I escaped from the palace of love, peanut butter sandwich, cans of Diet Dew, camera, mushroom sacks, and dry clothes in tow, and headed out. Dad had the 4-wheeler hooked to the truck, so I could just park my mama-mobile and drive away from my life for a few hours.
I can tell you the secret to my mushrooming success: I look down, a tactic much more effective for hunting than for navigating. I almost never get lost in the woods, but I had some issues Wednesday. The first real problem happened on what we call the mountain. Oddly enough, I got thoroughly turned around on the mountain last year. Last year when I got turned around it was nearly dark and I had the boys with me. This time, however, I was gloriously alone. Well, alone except for whatever was making all that screeching noise. Sticking with the Indian scout theme of the day, I decided I could use the sun as my guide since I knew what direction I needed to go, I just didn't exactly know where that direction was. I looked up, located the sun through the clouds, then realized it was noon. At noon, the only thing the sun could tell me for sure was which way was up. My back-up Indian scout skills kicked in eventually, and I started looking for the white tops of the sycamore trees in the valley.
The other navigational adventure Wednesday happened on my uncle's land. I know the trails very well and love to ride the 4-wheeler on his property. His land is beautiful in its wildness. Wednesday I found a new trail, so I followed it. It was nice--not tippy or rough--so I just kept following it. Mostly, I was curious. I'm not entirely sure where my uncle's property ends and the neighbor's property begins, but I think the fence I came to at the top of the hill is probably a clue. Again, INDIAN SCOUT! The trail came out at a fence line. To my right was an open field and to my left was a clearing. The field looked familiar, but I couldn't place it. The clearing didn't look at all familiar. Since Indian scouts are both curious and sly, I went both directions. The clearing didn't do me any good, but that open field turned out to be my grandparents' field. New path from here to there! Coming up into the field answered my questions about trespassing. I certainly was. Accidentally, but I still was! Of course, there is the issue of looking at a field I've visited all of my life, a field I'd been in numerous times that day, and not recognizing it.
Perhaps it's best for all that I'm an English teacher and not an Indian scout. I never did manage to start a fire without some sort of man-made incendiary device. I tried rubbing sticks together. I tried flint. Nothing. The sticks got warm but didn't ignite; the flint sparked but didn't light a fire. I don't always know where I am even when I know where I am, and I doubt that I really can move through the woods undetected. I'm a little afraid of hidden screeching animals, a lot afraid of slimy, slithery, or hoppy creatures, and quite fond of running water. I don't hunt anything with legs or lungs, and if someone else catches wildlife I won't deal with it. Nope. I like grocery stores, beds, showers, and toilets. It was fun for a day, though.
