Forest Finds

Leaves and dead branches crunch under my sneakers as I make my way through the forest in the back corner of our property. Having only explored the forest once before, I make mental notes of dried-up creek beds, unique trees, and eagerly keep an eye out for animals as I try to better understand this part of our land. I quickly learn it will be difficult to take in my surroundings after encountering massive spider webs every few feet I walk. At first, I change course, taking a different path so as not to disturb the spiders and the labyrinth of webs they worked so hard to build. But no matter where I turn, glistening webs suddenly appear in front of me and silky threads cling to my face. Now realizing I cannot enjoy a leisurely, observant stroll through the trees without destroying some webs I pick up a long stick. As I walk, I swing it up and down outstretched in front of me, as if I was waving a magic wand and casting spells. All while apologizing to each spider whose web collapses and now silently sways in the soft breeze.

Finally, I trek down the path of my choosing and make my way to a large burrow in the ground. I haphazardly and forcefully tap on the opening of the dark hole with my spider stick, hoping to catch a glimpse of a fox, an armadillo, or maybe even a badger. My eyes are glued to the darkness when suddenly I hear a rustle. My heart skips a beat, and I jump back, only to realize the rustling was not caused by a predator emerging from the burrow but rather me, stepping on a teeter-tottering branch, stirring other branches and leaves around it. I decide it's time to stop recklessly waving my stick around the forest like Mickey Mouse waving his wand in Fantasia and I start to make my way out of the trees.

The barbed-wire fence on the furthest perimeter of our property greets me as I emerge from the trees. I stop and breathe deeply, taking in the expansive view of our neighbor's green, empty pasture. A quiet peace fills my heart, reminding me why we moved here. Before the long walk back home, I decide to check my exposed ankles for any ticks; my new greatest fear since moving to rural Missouri. I awkwardly bend at the waist raising my right leg toward my face and notice my freckles are moving across my ankle. It's as if they are trying to rearrange themselves into a new configuration after 37 years of stagnation. Alarmed, my brain frantically begins problem-solving. Knowing I did not ingest any hallucinogens it suddenly occurs to me that the crawling freckles are in fact tiny bugs about the size of a pen point and are nearly indistinguishable from my actual freckles, of which I have many. I furiously swat at my ankles and my jeans attempting to remove them, but they are even too miniscule to wipe away. In an effort to not completely freak out I reassure myself that they are only bugs and I can simply wash them off as soon as I get back to the house.

I take a few more strides along the barbed-wire fence when I remember what Jim (my new local friend and mechanic) said to me only days before and the words echo in my head; "You gotta watch out for those seed ticks. They're so small you barely notice them, and you'll be like, 'Is that a bug on me?' I just stay outta them woods." I freeze mid step, completely haunted by Jim's words as reality sinks in; I am covered in seed ticks! Looking down at my ankle again to reassess the situation with the new information I remembered, I notice a brown clump on my shoelace about the size of a nickel... a whole cluster of seed ticks are on my shoelace! Now I feel the teeny nuisances making their way up my leg, tickling my inner thigh and repeatedly biting me. I rip my sneaker off and am filled with dread as I longingly look at our house in the far distance, across the many acres I must get through to rid myself of my worst nightmare. I silently thank the deer as I hurriedly hobble through a soft path of flattened long grass they've created while holding my shoe at arm's length. Sweating, and yet still contemplating if I should just set myself on fire, I finally arrive at the basement door on the side of our house. Before dashing to the shower, I tear off my clothes in the yard, knowing in the unlikely event that a neighbor drives down the road I will most definitely be the new "eccentric" neighbor from Portland, Oregon.

It is there in the shower, that the understanding of the forest I initially sought at the beginning of my venture washed over me like the cold well water flowing from the shower head. This forest on my land doesn't belong to me. I am merely a guest, or perhaps an intruder. It belongs to the deer who find safety and shelter within its trees. It belongs to whatever lives in the burrows, taking solace from the hot Missouri sun deep in the cool dirt. It belongs to the spiders whose decorative and delicate webs drape the forest with intricate patterns. It belongs to the trees who've anchored themselves into this soil for decades and softly whisper in the breeze. It belongs to the birds, who hop on the branches of the sweet-smelling junipers and shady oaks. And it belongs to the seed ticks who cleverly attach themselves to unknowing and unprepared visitors.