Yesterday I didn't feel so good, so I went for a liesurely walk instead of my usual (up & down up & down the biggest hill I could find within 5 minutes of my house). I also wanted to stay in the sunshine, so I walked past the library and along the railroad tracks.
Behind my house is a swamp, and through the swamp runs fanno creek. It's all fenced off, and no one really goes in there. What I found was that behind the swamp is a lot more. A Big field and trees and lots of other cool open beautiful space. I walked around and around, took pictures of all the pretty things.
Swamps are somehow scary to me. Are they to all people? It started getting dark, but even in the daylight there's something eerie about the stillness, the silence, the deadness, andyet lurking life in a swamp. The fact that you can't easily get from point A to point B, the fact that you're never sure if your foot will hit ground or water under the thick reeds, the fact that you occassionally hear another creature, but never see it. The strange sense and smell of living decay.
When I was little we lived near a swamp. It was THE place for adventure and bravery, among Pixton kids. I had lots of scary experiences there, that threatened my life(in my childhood view). Snakes, frogs, half-eaten birds and animals, "nearly" drowning, and other stuff like that. Maybe I'm only uneasy in the swamp because that was how I felt as a child. But somehow I think almost any sensitive person would feel that way... if caught exploring there alone, no one knowing where you are, the sun fixin' to set.
I tried to get back. I didn't know if I could cross the swamp/creek, but I wanted to try. There
must be a fallen log somewhere. It was getting dark. I knew
Coyotes lived back there and surely other stuff. I was getting caught on brambles, tripping in holes and marshy mushy ground. I found all things mysterious and beautiful and scary. Finally I found (miraculously) a fallen bridge. I was sure it was unsafe, but going back the way I came, alone, in the dark, was not safe either. Deep, muddy water swirled below. I said a silent prayer and stepped slowly and carefully along the teetering brace.On the other side a man told me about the blue heron who lives nearby and introduced me to his dog. I felt I had just cheated death, or childhood, or both. And life was normal again already.
2 comments:
Growing up in Tualatin, we used to ride bikes and go down the railroad tracks, which would take us as the crow flies through the swamps and Fannow Creek Marsh. If you know the right ways, you can go from Tualatin Park to the Tualatin River to Tigard Park, to Fannow Creek and then up toward Tigard Cinemas (which was the only movie theater around back then, and of course we didn't have cars). It meant an all day odyssey to go see a flick, but hey, it was summer, what else were we going to do? Along the way there were little forts built by kids (a few by us) and the occasional makeshift bridge or rope swing. It all has kind of a hazy "Stand By Me" memory to it now... simpler times I guess.
wow. Funny to hear that someone's childhood memories are HERE, instead of here bringing up my childhood memories of THERE.
Sometime I'll have to pick your brain to find the secret routes through.
And maybe you can confirm for me that the fort thing I didn't go near because I thought it was maybe a homeless' home, or a secret bunker for dangerous men, is just a child's fort.
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