Headed right at the end of the driveway, that being west on this part of the northbound McFarland Road, in bright sunlight. Read somewhere a journey starts with the first step. Probably in a Chinese fortune cookie. Ain't that just the sparklingest bit of wisdom? Better wash that kind of thinking out of my head before I take another step or this'll be one long, long hike.
Seems there's always some kind of discussion going on in my head as though there's more than one person living up there. And one of them's out to get my goat. Can't say I'm all that fond of my goat but seein' as how it's the only one I've got, he's stayin' with me. Said before I don't know where thoughts come from. Maybe they're stored upstairs over time from words I heard or read, maybe just a snippet of conversation on the bus to work. Might not even be aware of what's being said but the ear and brain don't miss a thing. Stores those words deep in a wrinkle to sit for who knows how long. Then on a Tuesday one of those little sparks in our brain shakes a few words loose while running around in a panic lookin' for the reason I'm standing in the kitchen. Not that that's ever happened to me. Or, on this morning, runnin' down the mental checklist of what's in the pack, tryin' to figure out what I've forgotten 'cause one of the only certainties in life is that I've forgotten something important.
Yeah, first step, has to be one I guess. Maybe not? Should've been paying more attention when heading out the door. Paused a moment on the bottom stair, jumped right over that first step and started on the second. Put that in your fortune cookie Lao Tzu and smoke it.
The rise from Aspen Brook's valley let me know thinking's not for the uphills. And from what I've seen of what lies ahead, my brain'll be plenty busy getting my heart in gear and lungs sucking deep. Lots of uphills followed by thigh pounding downs. Couple of million roots and rocks to step around and over. Look down young man, look down. Guess I'll content myself with staying upright. Think during the breaks and at night in the bag. I know, I know, my mind's sure to wander. Always does. You'd think I'd be content being where I am at the moment seein' as how I'm usually where I want to be. Doesn't seem to work that way.
Midway to McFarland where I'll catch the Border Trail as it passes by, I set the pack down and rested my kiester on a mostly dry embankment in the warmth of the rising sun. Felt good to have the weight off. Also was impatient to load up once again. Almost took an act of will to swig down some water from one of the green plastic Army canteens clipped to the pack frame and chow down half the hershey bar squirreled in my shirt pocket. Shouldered the pack and finished the bar while walking.
While the chocolate was melting in my mouth a forestry truck approached and slowed to a crawl. Took a look at my pack, then at my thin gray hair bared to the sunlight. Then back to the pack.
The ranger asked if I was okay. Said I was. Asked where I might be off to. Said my cabin. Asked where that might be. Said two miles back toward the big lake. Asked if I knew I was heading the wrong direction. Said yes but I was taking the scenic route. Maybe stop for breakfast in Ely in a week or so. He nodded, asked if I might pay him a visit on my return, let me know how breakfast was, then wished me a fine morning before driving on.
Conversation's not what I'm seeking on this walk. Wouldn't turn one down but'd rather not have to decide the issue. My nephew Archie'd find that hard to believe. In days past I've enjoyed approaching complete strangers simply to get their take on something I found interesting. More likely to learn something I was lacking. Weather, fishing, typical mukluk sizes for Inuits. You know, the usual run of things. But not this time. For conversation I'd packed a few of Archie's letters he'd mailed me from Vietnam. 'Course I'd already answered in turn but felt my words to have short changed him. Felt I was missing something big. The whatever that'd tie his words into a whole. Not that he was a great shake as far as writing. But his words were coherent and I was hoping to puzzle out some form of truth. Anyhow, that was my intention. I shouldered the pack and moseyed on.
Don't know when they changed the name of this road to the Arrowhead Trail. Heard tell the state's tourism department was behind the name change. Made it sound more scenic. My map calls it County Road 16. Locals still refer to it as the McFarland Road. Today I'll call it something to put to my rear. Don't see that happening anytime soon. Feels like every step I take's shorter than the last. Keep this up I'll be heading backward with every forward step.
Heard a while back that a life's worth living so long as a person has something to look forward to. In my case that's the bridge over the connecting stream between McFarland and Little John. Nice worthwhile spot for a break. Also the end of civilization 'til I hit the Gunflint in a couple of days or so. At the moment that seems like the other end of the world and it's less than halfway.
Always thrills me to see the bluffs towering over the south shore of McFarland. Usually means I'm heading somewhere I want to be. This time's no exception, though as much as I want to do this I'd rather be paddling the border lakes. That's just the way I am. Born of water's a good way to come into this world. Each lake I pass'll bring a little ache of something missed. Oh well, nothing wrong with standing between earth and sky. 'Specially with a length of fishing pole in my hands. Yeah, I couldn't resist. Packed my four piece traveling rod and reel. Good way to take a break or spend an evening. Maybe catch dinner? Hope springs infernal.
Not sure why but the view up Little John commands my attention. Always has. The way its cedar lined shores ease their way left and disappear, going to who knows where? Kind of invites me to set off, see what's out there. McFarland doesn't do that to me for some reason. Some things just look right, feel right. Some things don't. Meeting Lena wasn't that way at all. Little about her looked right to me at first but from the moment I saw her, she commanded my attention. Not like she asked, just that I always knew when she was around. Might have been in love with her from day one but didn't know it. Wouldn't surprise me at all. In some ways I'm plenty smart. Other ways as dense as lead. Don't know how it was with her. After all she's a woman. A whole different animal than a man. The ladies are in touch with the things that can't be seen. Being a man, I'm barely in touch with the things that can. But I sure do like the view down Little John. Doesn't matter that I don't know why.
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