Return to the Hills

After two bouts of strep throat and the holiday whirlwind, I have been too busy or sick to enjoy the rich experiences of the outdoors. Yesterday, Wayne and I were finally well enough to return to the woods for a much needed hiatus from civilization. Although we were only doing a day hike, I strapped on my pack to retrain my backpacking strength for our upcoming adventures on the OHT. The first steps onto the trail were literally a breath of fresh air. Hiking is always full of surprises and engages the senses; you never know what you will see, hear, or feel. The Ozark Mountains may not be as grand as the Rockies, but their wonders are multiple and surprising, every nook offering the promise of exploration. The hike that Wayne and I traversed went down a few drawn out switch backs, detoured at a beautiful overlook of bluff lines and the Buffalo River, and then dropped down to the river and an old cabin. The descent was easy and fast-paced, but it was a double sided coin with the knowledge that the trek back would be a steep – heart pumping challenge. Down in the valley, Wayne stooped down and handed me a delicate ice formation, and said it was an ice rose for me. I was amazed, for I had not yet seen ice form in this way. The ice had frozen in paper thin waves and when I held it in the sun it looked like a flower made of star light, a lucent gem flickering with sapphires. I was thankful for Wayne’s appreciation for small beauty that was not overwhelmed by his pursuit of adventure. We reached a small stream that fed into the Buffalo, a perfect swimming hole or reading spot for warmer days. At one bank, I noticed that part of the stream was slightly foggy, not a dancing reflection of the forest. I walked over, and saw that a layer of ice had frozen over a portion of the stream. Underneath the invisible layer was a pile of autumn leaves, many of which were still spotted with crimson and orange. I ran my hand over the cool table, wanting but unable to touch the preserved leaves. Wayne tried to skip a rock on the ice. Thunk thunk, skkk thunk. It sounded like knocking on hollow wood or tapping an empty crevice in a cave. We threw a thin pile of gravel on the ice, and it was like a magical powder that revealed a hidden ground. The specks of grit seemed suspended in the air. The illusion of a promised pathway…

The mysterious Ozark Mountains- they are my home and I love them, yet they always surprise me. When my fingers caressed the ice upon the running stream, I could not touch the leaves under their ice encasement, for they were like whips of the beautiful autumn that I had experienced a few short months ago, a memory that enriched the present, crisp experience of winter in the hills. The stream had captured both seasons into something beautiful. The Ozarks are an endless adventure, for you can hike the same trail numerous times and never see the same thing. Time, the seasons, and life in the Ozarks are like the mists that fill the valleys under the light of the moon, twisting and changing too quickly to comprehend, yet awe and wonder overwhelm you. There is a sense of belonging and alienation, not an idealization of the world, but a primal connection to the earth around you. That evening, I looked from the overpass at the bluffs in the valley. You could see for miles through they pale, empty branches, and the lighting on the bluffs and boulders competed with the valley’s shadows for the richest shades of blue. Yet, perhaps one of the most amazing things was they way the sun shined through the heathery trees of the surrounding hills and gilded the carpet of dead autumn leaves into a floor of glowing amber. The ground of the valley appeared to be glowing, and a little of autumn’s fire warmed the mountain again. The blue shadow of the hills and the deep evergreen of the cedar and pine groves were even more beautiful, and not because of a deathly absence of autumn.

Oh Ozarks, too full for my experience, I am thankful for the restoration of your valleys and the insights of your mountain tops. May the blessings of your winds always blow and comfort those who call you home.