A Living Magazine - Day 326 - Homecoming - Granby to Southwick

I woke to the tiny clashing symphonic notes of a million mosquitoes just outside the tent. I remember rolling my eyes in the resignation of the insect war I was about to face. I was well-hidden from the view of the winding road below me and the farm way over on the other side of the field abutting my camp site. But at some point, I knew I just had to get my shit together and go.

There was also the issue of climbing down the steep cliff. I packed up, beating down the hordes of hungry mosquitoes, one at a time as they crawled all over and threw themselves at me, while I reviewed possible scenarios for climbing down, in my mind. Then, I was ready to go and there was no more procrastination time. I loaded the pack on my back and reviewed the edge of this 40 foot hill. Going up was no problem. Going down would be the challenge. I chose the best of all the bad scenarios, and began my descent. It quickly turned into a downhill skiing adventure, when the soft leaves, pine needles and loose dirt gave way. I'd slip sideways left, and then pivot and slip sideways right. I never did lose my footing, but by the time I stood at the bottom my shoes were filled with every type of material present on the cliff, and the insoles were bunched up, under my feet.

By that point, my desire to stay out of the view of cars was thrown to the wind. I hobbled over to the guy wire of a power pole as rubbernecking morning commuters passed by, and then took off each shoe, cleaned it out, and replaced it on each associated foot. It was easy then to make my way downtown...

Granby was a neat place, but not overly so. The momentum of what I still needed to go through pulled me forward, and I got going on the march out of town, out of Connecticut and into Massachusetts.

After many miles and half a day, I reached the unmarked border between the two states. In truth, I was actually in the little appendix of Massachusetts that hangs down below the rest of the southern border...  

It didn't take long to see the official signs for Southwick...

To be in Massachusetts was a major psychological triumph. It was a state I had passed through on the first crossing; one that I'd had a very challenging time in. Now to be in what I considered true New England again, marked an important milestone. I worked at the McDonald's for a while there in Southwick, but had to leave as the darkness fell. I hadn't really searched for a sleep spot. There was the possibility of one a couple miles north of town, but I really was tired of walking and wanted something closer.

I noticed that there was a relatively thick border of woods behind a bunch of the stores along 202. At first I tried a spot next to Mobil, but as I walked into it, I noticed that it was too close to an apartment complex and I'd heard dog barking quite close--never a good sign. Wasn't going to work.

Not yet defeated, I returned to 202 and looked around. Walking back down and past Rite Aid, I saw thicker woods behind it. Scooting between the fence at Rite Aid and the road above it, I walked nonchalantly into the woods at just about sunset. It certainly was the best spot, but as the night grew darker, I realized it would work well enough...

On this night there wasn't a lot of ruminating. I was tired and beginning to feel a very dangerous emotion that has only gotten stronger as I get closer to my destination--you'll see. I crawled into the tent as soon as I could; falling asleep immediately.