A Living Magazine - Day 341 - Homecoming - Brattleboro to Chesterfield

I woke, not yet knowing that I'd be embarking on one of my hottest and muggiest treks yet. But it was to be a week of re-discovering New Hampshire--a state I had been to so many times in my life, but not realized just how beautiful and lush it was. My impression after 45 years had been one of tourist traps, billboards, heavy traffic and what I thought was only one area of true beauty--the lakes region around Winnipesaukee. How wrong I'd been! But, how else would I (or anyone else, for that matter) have known without WALLKING it? Also, I would get a kind of intensive seminar in the behavior of small creatures.

I showered one last time and organized the pack in a leisurely way, since one great thing about Motel 6 is it's noon check out time. I said goodbye to Room 120, and took off to McDonald's to work while the sun passed over it's zenith in the sky. Checking the weather, I saw that the thunderstorms predicted for the upcoming week would mostly occur during the daylight hours. I was able to get a couple posts published. 

It turned out that the temperature actually rose as did the humidity while I'd sat in a nice frosty restaurant. When I left it was a hot, thick wind that assaulted me, and the sweat began immediately. First, it is always my back, where the padding of the backpack is pushed up against me. Then a Mickey Mouse pattern developed on the front of my shirt, eventually blending Mickey's ears and face to form a solid wall of sweat. Once the shirt was saturated, the back of my shorts began to follow suit.

This had me cracking up for a good five minutes.

The bridges of Route 9 across the Connecticut River--one for cars, one for walkers.

It was what it was, and I had to just endure it, like the rain on the walk to Brattleboro. After three days of rest, the hot road, the constant traffic at the beginning of a holiday weekend, and the black flies orbiting me like tiny moons around a giant wet planet, all conspired to produce a stress reaction to my sudden change of environment. I'd noticed in the past that whenever I was in this kind of situation where I had no choice but to walk, the best thing was to remember the five mile rule: Every five miles brings a greater adjustment to a long distance. I just had to make it through the first five miles (one hour, forty minutes), and things would get smoother...

What I'd neglected to take into consider in this calculus was the long and steep hills I'd encounter along the way. As one might imagine, I see all kinds of details along the edge of the road. There is a natural drama going on among the community of small critters that no driver will ever witness.

Something I noticed immediately, was the thousands of Eastern tent caterpillars (not Gypsy moths) who had lowered themselves from the tree branches onto the pavement below. Amazing - at least to me - was their inability to walk away from the road, and back into the woods! These little guys literally hit the ground running--but the wrong way. It isn't even the traffic that kills them but the five minutes it takes to even reach the white line of the lane.

The pavement had to have been 140 degrees F, and not knowing just how far they had to go, they were literally being cooked alive. They'd get confused and simply stand there. I saw the the final results of this, they were horrific--at least if you are a caterpillar. First they stand, then they die, then they begin to dessicate (dry out), with the fluids of their bodies leaching out around them in an elliptical shape that then dries as a brown patch--like a new and developing layer of tar along the road shoulder.

The next victims of the road were hornets and bumblebees, hit by cars and stunned. When this happens they writhe and walk around in circles, until the tenacious and well-organized ants find them. Then the real battle for survival takes place. Given time, these winged creatures might recover and fly away. But once set upon by the ants, there is usually only one fate. I found a hornet, being absolutely inundated with small black ants.

I stopped and watched for a moment, wondering if there was a way I could intervene without getting stung by either species. The hornet was curled to protect its belly, and every now and then would snap an ant in half with her big jaws. But for every ant lost in this frenzy, five more would hop onto the hornet, biting it when soft spots in the exoskeleton could be located. Ants release a formic acid which eats away at flesh and makes their bite more painful, overwhelming such an unfortunate victim.

This all happened at an alarming rate--from the hornet's perspective. I found a twig and offered it to the hornet, who would hook it with a leg and then fall back into the gathering mass of ants. Finally, she hooked it with two legs and hung on. The ants fell away, and I was able to place her on the wooden guardrail post. It was sad, really. She sat up for a moment, and then rocked back onto her side, dying...

A hornet faces the sun one last time before dying of ant bites.

It was the way of Nature. It is not sentimental to simply appreciate the power and efficiency at which the force of creatures, even these small ones, will fight and struggle with all of their might to hold onto the tiny speck of living energy that the Universe has given them.

Even if they live for such a short time in this world, their instinct is to make the very most of every moment of being alive. Tiny creatures don't waste time being depressed. They don't mope, nor do they over-reach. For them, life on earth is comparatively equal to a million years. And, when the flame of existence is flickering, and they have given their all; done their very best to complete the programming of nature in their own way, then, like the hornet above, they can surrender to the dark night of non-existence with noble and unquestioning assurance that they have played their part in space and time. 

I'm not suggesting that insects have the same kind of thinking consciousness that higher mammals and human beings do. But, I am suggesting that they DO have a form of consciousness that inspires and drives them forward with something akin to enthusiasm and passion. That is why living creatures - even small ones - are not just biological machines. They are individuals motivated by some of the same overhanging spirit forces that also motive all other forms of life, including humans. They know when they are successful. They know when they are in trouble--and trouble IS a form of pain. They know when there is no more hope. Yes, all creatures possess a form of what we call, "hope."

I was fascinated by all of this. And, shortly after walking another mile or so, I saw a bumble bee staggering around in circles. The ants had not yet found her. But they were close by marauding, in their meticulous and energetic way. I used the same method to lift the bee over and onto the relative safety of another guardrail post...

A bumble bee gets a second chance to pull itself together. I hope she made it back into the air.

There was nothing I could do for the caterpillars. There were far too many. My only helpful act could be not stepping on them. I also try not to step on the ants either. Though I chose to take two of their meals from them, they will be just fine. Think about this. Ants are by far the most numerous insect on earth. There are somewhere on the order of a  million billion individuals. A human being weighs about a million times more than the average ant. So, the weight of all ants in the world would equal the weight of all humans. They are not a family in need of protection.

Nevertheless, I DO NOT kill for no reason, nor for sport, nor out of anger. Over my lifetime I have developed a personal code for killing. Call it whatever you want. I call it "the death code," and here it is...

A Personal Death Code 

Killing is only forgivable for the following reasons:

1. By Accident
2. For Food
3. In Self Defense
4. To Defend a Friend
5. To Alleviate Unbearable Suffering

The above is very straightforward to me. But, if someone else were to adopt this code, they must use their own sense of morality or ethics to judge the fine lines that might creep into any scenario where they are deciding whether killing must occur.

Now, some folks might find this extreme, but I even try to follow the above code with plant life and not just animal life. The code is distilled from a mixture of Buddhist philosophy and my own life experience. I absolutely abhor indiscriminate killing. And, I will do everything I can to stop it if I see it going on. I will not consciously tolerate it if I see my friends repeatedly do it either. Life is far too precious - all life - to squish anything that doesn't suit your fancy, just for the hell of it. And, very honestly, I believe that something very like Karmic value has protected me in the extraordinary number of instances where Nature could have turned injurious or deadly during the last two years. Be not deceived, Nature takes care of those who take care of Nature. It follows rules. Those rules are not based on temporal mercy, but on evolutionary progress.

Humanity is the only species ever derived from natural or supernatural processes (take your pick) to practice cruelty for cruelty's sake. It is the only species to wield cruelty as a sword and indifference as a shield. It is the only species to willfully propagate insincerity and derive pleasure from the pain of both it's own kind and the suffering of other creatures. To me this is despicable. It is doubly so, because humanity has the power to do these things on an individual, local and planetary scale. But, most importantly, it has the power to NOT do them.

I see Nature's many metaphors as the only visible lessons we can learn from. While peace may not be part of Nature's processes, now that we have so utterly separated ourselves from it, peace MUST become our only goal. I have said many times, that we must choose to seek peace through loving (e.g. giving--unbidden). We stand at the brink of a bifurcation of our timeline. It is these few years to come which will decide whether we kill our own planetary mother (Nature on earth) along with ourselves, or learn the higher ways of our better selves, and work with Nature to live peacefully and in a sustainable way...

When I finally got to the edge of Chesterfield, I had the choice of going downtown or following Route 9 (aka Franklin Pierce Highway) past the town to find a sleep spot along the way to Keene. I chose the latter, and it left me with very limited options for dinner and to replenish the Gatorade I'd polished off many miles back...

My five mile rule had worked fairly well. Compared to what I would walk in the next few days, this first day had been short but intense. I felt better than I had when starting out. The heat hadn't diminished at all, but the direct sunlight was not as intense. This part of Chesterfield was about as sparse as the edge of a town can be...

This was the only business I saw near the turnoff to downtown Chesterfield.

Great example of an old stone New Hampshire building.

I tried to find out what it is on Google, but it remains unlisted.

My only view of Spofford Lake in Chesterfield.

I was very, very thirsty by this point. I feared that there would be no store between this town and Keene. As if the gods of the New Hampshire mountains could read my thoughts and offer deliverance, I came up a hill and saw Spofford Irving - The Big Deal. The place was kind of nice. It had sandwiches and pizza, beer and soft drinks. I grabbed two Gatorades (one to down all at once, and one for the night and next morning's walk). 

Then, without thinking, I grabbed a piece of pepperoni pizza, seeing that the sandwiches were over-priced. It was small, thin, with three pieces of pepperoni on it. When they rang everything up, I saw that that one little slice was $3.09! Stunned, I paid for it. And, three minutes later after it was in my gullet I kicked myself for spending so much on so little. I was pissed at the store for gouging too. They were the only game around, and they were taking advantage of it. Rather than complaining, I bit my tongue, knowing it was ultimately my fault for not looking at the price. I wasn't even full, but had spent enough to buy one of the smaller sandwiches. Lesson learned.

I just wanted to camp now and relax. I stumbled across a park called, Chesterfield Gorge State Wayside...

Although my mind was still set on obtaining something more to drink (one Gatorade was not enough), I thought that if this place did have a drinking fountain it might be a good area to camp. I read the many signs describing the gorge. There was no camping prohibited. I always wonder if that prohibition is supposed to instead be implied? But, remembering my extensive study of the laws about camping on public land, my mens rea defense probably would apply to this situation. Had I been better-hydrated and on a longer schedule, I would have walked the mile long trail to view this natural formation. In case you are interested, these are the PDF versions of the signs I read...

1. How Chesterfield Gorge Was Formed 

2. Explore The Gorge 

3. Plant Species in the Gorge

It would be a neat little spot for a family to stop, use the little restroom, pee the dog, check out the visitor center (which was closed when I went), take a half hour to explore the gorge, and have lunch at one of the picnic tables. Unfortunately, all the place lacked was the one thing I wanted right then--water. My interest was not strong enough to stay. And, the sun was starting to touch the tips of the tallest trees. Two trucks that looked like park rangers were parked, with their drivers having a good ole' conversation. I decided to not risk camping there, and left...

About a mile and a half later I reached the point where I just needed to stop. I had been looking around and just couldn't find a place until I saw a little unused road, just beyond a house. I waited until traffic was very light and then just casually walked into the woods.

It wasn't ideal. There was a small space between the trees where the driveway of that house could be seen, and theoretically, if they took out their binoculars they could probably see me. But I relied on my concept of light blindness, I didn't worry. It was dense and dark in the woods even before the twilight had turned to starlight.

It was still really warm as I set the pack down and began assembling the tent. I was covered in sweaty clothes and not feeling particularly grand. As I ran the first ten pole through its slot, THEY arrived--ten million mosquitoes, as if flying in formation they dove at me in sortie after sortie of strategic raids. I spent half of the time trying to kill as many as I could (protected by rule number 3 of my code above). But they seemed to be winning, until I was able to get the tent up and throw the pack into it, along with my half-eaten self.

I did not put the fly on the tent. This was partially due to the heat and practically no chance of rain, but mostly to escape my little whining, bloodthirsty friends. I set about killing the five or so that had entered the tent along with me, then rested with my head on Saggy for a while, before pulling the sleeping bag out.

One problem with sweating so much is that it soaks into the lining of the pack, dampening the sleeping bag. And, though I pack the sleeping bag in such a way as to only expose the bottom of it to the constant moisture, it was still pretty wet. With the humidity, I didn't expect it to dry very well. Inside the bag it was still dry. I didn't want to climb into it yet anyway, and just lay on top.

I couldn't resist drinking half of my second Gatorade, there and then. I knew I'd pay for that on the walk the next day. But, I also knew Keene was large enough that I'd be able to get more there sometime before noon. The mini-vampires were throwing themselves at the outside of the tent. But I was safe inside. Their buzzing was irritating in a way I hadn't anticipated. Still, I eventually did fall asleep.

I would have one of the strangest of all my strange dreams, and awaken to an equally strange and otherworldly sight later that night...