Gentle Steps
Rogers Park, Kittery
Five years ago, I startled a couple while walking along the wooded paths of the Cutler Coast Public Reserved Land. It was unintentional, of course. They said they didn’t hear me coming up behind them. It wasn’t the first or last time this has happened. My footsteps are often very quiet, even when walking through a forest with dried leaves and twigs scattered on the ground. Sometimes, I find myself intentionally making my footsteps louder when walking down a narrow store aisle or sidewalk to signal my approach. I assume my quiet walking has come from being incredibly shy growing up or perhaps years of trekking through animal-rich forests, but wherever it comes from, I’ve come to love my gentle steps.
Anyone keeping up with my The Places Between series knows that I’ve been doing a lot of exploring. Over the course of September and October, I visited over 70 different places in Southern Maine. Some were popular state parks and others were off the beaten path, but for the first time in over a year, I was hiking again. In Maine, there’s a well-known “leave no trace” policy. This policy not only discourages littering, but also human interference of local ecosystems. Don’t feed wild animals, don’t break branches off living trees, don’t build rock cairns. I like to think of this policy as a reminder that we are all guests on this Earth.
In my travels, I’ve been listening to The Celtic Myths and Legends podcast. One of the most famous creatures to come out of Celtic folklore are faeries. They’re sometimes friendly, sometimes tricksy, and always capricious, but they serve an important role. If you are kind to them, say your “pleases” and “thank yous,” and leave your last bite of pastry for them, they’ll guide you through the woods. The host of the podcast mentions doing all of these things, as well as thanking any tree she grabs to support herself.
I thought about faeries and gentle steps when hiking in Rogers Park in Kittery. The woods had sustained storm damage, and a large tree was left, leaning over the trail, held aloft only because its forked trunk was caught on another tree. It was a beautiful, windless day, but a low creaking would permeate the silence the closer I got to the two trees. It may have been weeks—more likely months—that the damage first occurred, but the standing tree held firm. Inevitably, it would fall, but that moment would not be the moment I spent passing underneath it. I thanked the tree for protecting me, not necessarily because of faeries, but because I believe in the interconnectedness of all things. I know two things to be true: that tree is alive and because of it, the other tree did not fall.
I walked gently through that forest and observed all the traces of people who had passed before me. I wondered who those people were—if the one who hung the little ghost would come back for it; if the one who sprayed a face on a trunk did it to make someone else smile. I wondered if there was a community of hikers who explored these woods and left little notes for each other, or if they were all strangers—benevolent and tricksy like faeries.
I hiked to the water and all the way back, and when I returned to my car, I hoped—if not for this post—that no one would ever know I was there.
Rogers Park