Walking Alone

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Walking Alone

If we are very lucky we may have a happy place. It might be in our head, especially if we take drugs, but I'm talking about an actual place. A spot that's healing and therapeutic or just relaxing. I'm surrounded by ocean people. The beach is their place to rejuvenate. The ocean is fine, but I find it a bit noisy and jarring. I like to walk in the woods. It's where I can, as Allie used to say "think my thinks." Even as a child I liked to roam around amongst the trees. I had my favorite tree. Mr. Shag. Not every little girl bonds with a tree.

The best woods I've ever wandered through are in Maine. There is nothing like the smell of Maine woods. I haven't been there since I was a child visiting my aunt's cabin, but I remember it being dark and cool and squishy underfoot. Pine needles inches thick. We used to pick moss and ferns and make terrariums to take home. A miniature diorama of the habitat. We kept them moist with a spray bottle, but I doubt they lasted more than two weeks.     

Conveniently, we now live near an impressive mountain. In minutes you can be wandering through the woods. There's something so mystical  about the place I love to walk. The topography is varied. You get sun and shade, steep uphill and slippery downslope. At one point you look over a valley of green trees and it's dazzling. That spot, where you can first hear creek water in spring, is where I want my ashes scattered. Unless, of course, I change my mind and find some other even more extraordinary location in the future.   

For years I would walk and talk with friends about our marriages and families. That particular walk is like taking truth serum. At a certain point on the trail you just bare your soul. We'd grouse about our parents and children. Processing. Processing. It was so cathartic we sometimes said too much. Frequently one friend would call me right after our walk to make sure I didn't repeat what she had talked about. No. What's said on the mountain stays on the mountain. Just like Vegas. Now I'll walk there with my daughters or with Eric and, occasionally, alone.

Walking alone on Mt. Tam has always had an eery component. When I first moved to Mill Valley in 1980 there was a murderer on the loose. David Carpenter, also known as "The Trailside Killer", raped and killed several women on Mt. Tam, including two Mill Valley women. Kind of takes the fun out of the solitary nature walk. During that time I was working at a nightclub in San Francisco and another waitress insisted the artist's rendering of the suspect looked exactly like her next door neighbor. She said it gave her the creeps because he would come in her back gate looking for his little dog while she was sunbathing. We didn't believe her, but it WAS her next door neighbor! One day the police showed up and took him away. He's been on death row in San Quentin for years.      

I had a bit of an adventure when I was walking one day by myself. I came across a deer carcass  with its throat ripped out. The blood was fresh. Afraid the perpetrator was still in the area, I called Hanna the dog and ran back down the hill as fast as my little legs could carry me. When I reported it to the authorities they told me the deer had most likely been killed by a mountain lion. Oh my. Quite nerve-wracking. As time went by I began to hike alone again. Until the suicide. 

Several years ago a young woman was reported missing after a difficult break up. Family and friends spent weeks weeks searching for her. A gun was missing and the signs weren't good. One lovely Sunday morning Eric and I decided to walk my favorite trail on the mountain. There was unusual activity. Search and rescue crews passed us on the way up. Command central was located at the top. Helicopters hovered. Of course, they found her decayed body right on my sacred area of the mountain. It had to be when we were hiking there. Shudder. She was twenty-five years old and had worked as an IRS agent.   

That sad and gruesome scenario took a while to get out of my mind. Now I don't really think about it. The power of time is truly remarkable. There will always be little adventures, but I'm hoping for something a bit more benign. In fact, the last time we walked there was some industrious graffiti on the water tower. Along with the drawings was helpful advice: "Squat to poop." Now that made me laugh out loud.

In photo: Lana and Allie Lindkvist at the spot.